I Came Out as Gay to My Husband, But Our Marriage Is Solid

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Just about the time my husband and I were preparing to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary, I turned 44, and realized I was gay. (That’s another whole article.) This was in 1988.

In the beginning, I believed I’d never come out to anyone, let alone my husband or children. But so many new feelings and ideas were bottled up in my head that I thought I’d burst if I didn’t spill them out on paper. As much as I wanted to keep my secret hidden away and say nothing, as I came to terms with who I was, I experienced a growing need to help others in my same situation. And what began as a catharsis for myself morphed into Married Women Who Love Women. But for this book to be taken seriously, I had to come out to my husband and children. I thought about it long and hard. I shared my concerns with a writer friend.

She, playing devil’s advocate, said, “What is more important, this book or your family?”

“My family,” I said without hesitation.

Still, each time I thought of abandoning my project, I heard the words, “You were meant to be writing this book.” In a weird way, I felt as though I had been chosen to do it.

I loved my husband. I’d known him since I was 16, and he, 18. That hadn’t changed. We had two children and were perfectly in sync. How would he take my confession? Would he leave? Would he want me to leave? Deciding to come out to him was one of the most difficult decisions I had ever had to make.

I waited for a weekend when both of our children, in their late teens at the time, were away. And, sitting on the couch together, I told him I was gay. We both talked and cried and grieved and talked some more. After some time, he said, “I have to take a walk.” I continued to sit, and the room grew dark around me. I’d put those words out. I could never take them back.

He returned home several hours later and, rather than go upstairs, came back to the couch. We both cried some more and, in between sobs, he said, “So every time you go out now, I’m going to think you’re looking for a woman.”

That actually made me laugh. I said, “Before I told you, did you think that every time I went out I was looking for another man?”

And he laughed.

He ran the gamut from being understanding and supportive to being angry and hostile. The first few months had been hell. I thought of divorce, not because of my sexuality — sex had never been the number one priority in our marriage — but because of the bitterness and hostility growing between us. I blamed him, too. Why didn’t he know? Why didn’t he tell me?

We decided not to tell our kids immediately, as our daughter was looking for a place of her own, and neither of us wanted her to feel that she had to change her plans to look after one or the other of us.

During that time, he told me he had been looking at apartments. We talked about finances and what we could do. What we both ultimately came to understand was that what I had discovered about myself was simply an additional dimension. I was still the same person. He also came to understand that my discovery had nothing to do with his being “more than or less than,” and we both realized there was no blame to be had. As our ability to communicate grew, the anger and resentment faded away.

So rather than go our separate ways, we chose to redefine our marriage (in separate bedrooms) because ultimately we were bound by the history we had created together, and by the love we shared. While many women in my position do leave their marriages, I refused to believe that that was my only option. Coming out as gay was only a part of my identity. I was right. We are now heading toward our 62nd anniversary.

We still enjoy doing many things together — going to Broadway shows, playing board games, golfing and having dinner with friends. We’ve never stopped living together, and while we each have our own bedroom, we do, on occasion, watch the news together in his bed or mine. And although we are not sexually intimate, we are comfortable holding hands and walking arm in arm. I won’t speak about his private life — that’s his story to tell, not mine. Just know that the lack of physical intimacy does not mean a lack of closeness. It means we’ve redefined what closeness looks like for us.

While my confession surprised both of us, in hindsight, it made perfect sense to me. I’d always enjoyed the company of strong, vibrant women and have joined women’s groups. Occasionally, I travel with or have overnights with my new friends, who all know that I am married. That has just become a part of my re-defined relationship with my husband.

He is still my oldest, closest and dearest friend. When I asked my husband how he felt about the book I wrote on married women who love women, he said: “I’m not thrilled with the idea, but I would never tell you not to write it. I know how important it is to you.”

 
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