Some flowers don't open until fall. Chrysanthemums, asters, the sedum by my back door. Nobody calls them failures for not blooming in May.

If you've found this page, I'd guess you might be sitting at the computer late at night after the house has gone to sleep. Maybe you typed some words into a search engine that you have never once said out loud. Maybe you're married, maybe you have children or grandchildren, maybe you sing in the choir. Maybe you're forty-five or fifty-five or seventy and you're thinking, it's too late for this, and who would I even be?

You're not alone, and it isn't too late. That's the whole reason this page is here.

Who I am

My name is Carol Ann Whitlow. I'm 47 years old and I live in Columbus, Ohio. I was married for twenty-one years to a good man. We have two grown children, Jennifer, who's 24, and Scott, who's 20. For most of my life I was a room mother, a Sunday school teacher, a soprano in the choir and the lady who organized the church rummage sale. I still do the rummage sale.

All my life I had a feeling I didn't have words for. I thought everyone felt that way and just didn't talk about it. When I was forty-three, a friendship with a woman in my book club made me realize I did have the words after all. I was terrified. I didn't sleep for a month.

In October of 1995 I found a counselor, a kind woman with a lot of plants in her office, and on a Tuesday afternoon I said the word out loud to her for the first time. I said it into a tissue, but I said it. That was the beginning.

I told my husband in the spring of 1996. That is the hardest thing I've ever done, and I know it was much harder to hear. He was hurt, and angry, and then, over a long time, kind. We divorced in 1997. We're not close, but we're civil, and we sat together at Scott's graduation, and I'm grateful to him for that.

Jennifer took it in stride. She said, "Mom, I kind of wondered," which I'm still thinking about. Scott didn't speak to me for five months. Now we have lunch together every other Thursday and he makes fun of my driving. My mother, who is 78, has not come around yet, and she may not. I love her anyway, and I call her every Sunday.

For the last two years I've shared my life with Joyce, a retired high school chemistry teacher I met at a coming-out group for women over forty. She has a laugh you can hear from the parking lot. Last Thanksgiving Scott carved the turkey and Joyce made the stuffing and my daughter said grace, and I had to go stand in the pantry for a minute.

My list of "firsts" tells more of how it went, if you'd like to read it.

What I wish someone had told me

You didn't waste your life. My marriage was real, and my children are real, and the love in that house was real. Coming out didn't erase any of it.

You don't have to do everything at once. Coming out isn't one big announcement. It's a hundred small ones, over years, and you get to decide the order. Some people I still haven't told. That's allowed.

Get support before you tell the people closest to you. A counselor, a group, one trusted friend. You'll need somewhere to put your own feelings while you're helping other people with theirs.

Your spouse will need support too. Please be as gentle as you can. They are losing something, and they didn't choose it. There are support groups and a national network just for husbands and wives whose spouses have come out. If I could do it over, I'd have had that information ready to hand him.

If you have children still at home, talk to a family lawyer first. I hate that I have to write this, but in some places it can still come up in custody decisions. Know where you stand before you say anything, and protect your relationship with your kids.

Think about work. In most states it is still legal to fire someone for being gay or lesbian. Some cities and some employers have their own protections. Find out what yours are before you decide how open to be at the office.

Your faith doesn't have to go. I spent a year thinking I would have to choose. I didn't. There are congregations in most denominations that welcome gay and lesbian people, and there are churches started by and for us. It took me three tries to find a place where I could sing again. I found it.

Be safe. If you have any reason to think someone at home might react with violence, please reach out to a crisis line or a counselor and make a plan first. Your safety comes before anyone's feelings.

It gets lighter. Not all at once. But one morning you'll notice you're humming.

Where to find people

• PFLAG (Parents, Families and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) has chapters in towns all over the country. It's not just for parents. My son went to a meeting before he called me back. I didn't know that until this spring.
• A gay and lesbian community center, if your city has one. Many run coming-out groups, and some have groups especially for people over forty or people who have been married.
• Gay and lesbian switchboards and hotlines. Many cities have a volunteer phone line you can call just to talk to someone. Look in the phone book or ask a counselor.
• A counselor who is comfortable with gay and lesbian clients. It's fair to ask that on the first phone call. I did.
• Welcoming churches and synagogues, including the Metropolitan Community Churches.
• Me. I'm not a counselor, but I've been where you are, and I'm good at listening.

Write to me any time. I read every letter, and I never share them with anyone. [email protected] If you're writing from a shared computer, you might want to empty your sent mail afterward.

You are visitor

since Valentine's Day, 1999. Welcome to each one of you.

Last updated Tuesday, September 14, 1999
© 1999 Carol Ann Whitlow