I’ve started a new book but finally came to the realization that reviewing any book in two parts is confusing to read and confusing to write. So, I’m going to finish reading any book before reviewing and go from there.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about metamorphosis, specifically my own. This will be a little navel-gazing, so please skip if you don’t want to read a little bit of self-indulgence!
As a little girl it was expected that I would grow up, marry a man who could take care of me, have a few kids and repeat the cycle with them. There was no room for anything else. I’ve been trying to look back at my childhood, trying to find where I got this image in my head that shaped most of my life and I can’t find it. I tried to blame my parents for a looooong time, but I can’t do that either. I remember having a conversation with my mother when I was about 5 and I asked her if two girls could get married. Her answer was yes – not a resounding yes, but still, yes.
Because I believed that there was nothing else for me but boyfriends before a forever husband, I stuffed the feelings and crushes on girls way down deep. I just liked them as friends, just wanted to be them, not be with them. So I found myself with a boyfriend at 16, and lost my virginity along with the rest of my friends. It was the thing to do.
At 18, I was married, not to that boyfriend but to someone else. That someone else was physically abusive, and so I was just as quickly divorced. I moved across the country, and again, got married at 21 to a man 17 years my senior. I figured he would know how to be a proper husband so that I would become a proper wife.
Instead I fell in love with his cousin – a woman. A GAY woman. Suddenly I was forced to confront all kind of things about myself that I had stuffed away. It took a while but I was able to come to terms with being bisexual. I mean, I was married. That’s all I could be, right? I spent most of my time living two lives – one being the dutiful wife, the other dating and sleeping with as many women as I could.
After a few years, I started to self destruct (a story for another time) and that marriage ended. Shortly after that, I got married yet again (yes, three times). It didn’t last, obviously.
It was after that, that I was finally ready to see myself for who I was – a woman who loved women.
To be continued …