Absolutely beautiful re telling of a life. I am so blessed. I am sorry you had to go through those experiences,but glad you have the grace and talent to share with us. I am so sure that every thing happens for a reason. Yours will no doubt touch others who need to hear it. I touched me. Write on dear one, Diana
I will turn 58 in six weeks. I came out to my mother late in 1988 and faced much the same response you describe. I brought one of her friends along, simply to have someone present so my mother would not go overboard in rage. The friend stayed neutral—neither taking sides, nor mothering me. And at that moment, I had no idea what it would even feel like to be mothered, not truly.
That experience came decades later—at 54, through systemic coaching work. A friend, one year younger than me, mother to a daughter of her own, somehow chose—freely, without demand or expectation—to mother me back to life. For the first time, I could feel what had been missing, what my body had known was missing all along. I carry deep gratitude for her.
So yes, Kate—reading your piece, I feel it through and through. Your story of Ginny, of Christopher’s room, of that first phone call—I had tears in my eyes. These moments etch themselves into us. They remain. And sometimes, someone unexpected reaches in and helps us begin again.
“Mostly I remember it as the day I asked her to choose me, and she did not.” Went through something like this with my mother and it is gutting. It leaves its mark even if love grows around it and on top of it, eventually. This is gorgeous and it broke my heart a million different ways - and the world is an infinitely better place with you in it. I’m so grateful I know you.
Kate. I don't know if I can convey how deeply this moved through me as I read your words. The tears hovering over things named that had been unnamed. The sheer gorgeousness of your writing, which honestly took me breath away. The ending, tied to the inner rings of a tree... how I love and feel this truth and its wish. Thank you for being. 💖
Aw Phoenix, thank you friend. That means a lot to me because I’ve caught glimpses of your heart —and if my words found their way to it, then lucky lucky me. xo
Beautiful, Kate. If I were cored like an oak, you would see similar rings and similar small traumas scrawled across them by a careless, rusty pocket knife. Your story is yours and mine is mine, but the similarities are stunning, which makes me wonder how many other queer trees, under the duress of elemental pressures we could never have imagined we'd endure, have uncannily similar rings. Thank you for honoring us with this glimpse into your core. 🌳🏳️🌈🌳
Keith! Thank you so much for reading it. And as much as I wish we didn’t have to have these common traumas, it’s having them beside humans like you that keeps me alive. Thank you for being you. 🤍
Your writing transported me to visit the part of myself that had to experience appalling models of personal growth - Landmark was not great and neither was Human Awareness institute. Thank god I was straight. I can’t even imagine.
I hated hearing how that happened for you but love how you write about it. Thank you. Now we can be the Ginny’s.
Now we can be the Ginny’s….oh god. Yes Laurie. Thanks so much for reading this and taking the time to comment. Those seminars were something. Surreal when I look back on it.
One of the most powerful essays I’ve ever read. It resonated with me not because I’m gay (I’m not), but because I’m human and identify with your pain.
“I hope if someone were to core me like an oak, they would find a heart that tried its best, again and again, because only love matters. I hope they’d touch the rings and rings of atmospheric conditions I’ve lived through: 2 very bad phone calls, storms of shame and grief, eras of hiding, and eras of becoming. Nothing left out. The newest parts of me growing just under the skin, overwriting and scrawling new scriptures of faith and belonging on the walls of my soul.”
I ache for your sorrow and for the difficulty of, and mixed strong emotions in, the coming out to your mom. This is my greatest sorrow, that people should be made to suffer, or allow themselves to suffer for being who they are. Being who they are honestly and openly should be a wonderful feeling, not one of regret. I know many people who regretted not telling their parents before they passed. Meanwhile, thank you so much for your wonderful accounting of your pain and your doubts. I hope eventually you will have complete peace in yourself and in the memory of your mom. Fondly, Michael
Incredibly powerful story, Kate. Bravo on your transformative healing work. I know the level of determination and commitment it requires. Thank you for sharing your story.
Any raw pain, so real and unadorned, spilled on the page, is true courage to me. I hope and pray more people will find kinder reactions upon speaking their truth. No one, not a single person, deserves to feel such brutal sorrow. But we all are a whole picture, much like the oak Kate speaks of. May there be for each of us someone close who can see the entire picture and love us for all that we are.
A family member came out to me a long time ago. I hugged them , even though, I was in schock. It was hard, but I figured they are still my family member. I love them even today.
Absolutely beautiful re telling of a life. I am so blessed. I am sorry you had to go through those experiences,but glad you have the grace and talent to share with us. I am so sure that every thing happens for a reason. Yours will no doubt touch others who need to hear it. I touched me. Write on dear one, Diana
I will turn 58 in six weeks. I came out to my mother late in 1988 and faced much the same response you describe. I brought one of her friends along, simply to have someone present so my mother would not go overboard in rage. The friend stayed neutral—neither taking sides, nor mothering me. And at that moment, I had no idea what it would even feel like to be mothered, not truly.
That experience came decades later—at 54, through systemic coaching work. A friend, one year younger than me, mother to a daughter of her own, somehow chose—freely, without demand or expectation—to mother me back to life. For the first time, I could feel what had been missing, what my body had known was missing all along. I carry deep gratitude for her.
So yes, Kate—reading your piece, I feel it through and through. Your story of Ginny, of Christopher’s room, of that first phone call—I had tears in my eyes. These moments etch themselves into us. They remain. And sometimes, someone unexpected reaches in and helps us begin again.
So beautiful and heartbreaking. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks so much Amy. Thank you for reading it and taking to time to comment.
“Mostly I remember it as the day I asked her to choose me, and she did not.” Went through something like this with my mother and it is gutting. It leaves its mark even if love grows around it and on top of it, eventually. This is gorgeous and it broke my heart a million different ways - and the world is an infinitely better place with you in it. I’m so grateful I know you.
Kate. I don't know if I can convey how deeply this moved through me as I read your words. The tears hovering over things named that had been unnamed. The sheer gorgeousness of your writing, which honestly took me breath away. The ending, tied to the inner rings of a tree... how I love and feel this truth and its wish. Thank you for being. 💖
Aw Phoenix, thank you friend. That means a lot to me because I’ve caught glimpses of your heart —and if my words found their way to it, then lucky lucky me. xo
It's a purely mutual feeling, Kate. xo
Beautiful, Kate. If I were cored like an oak, you would see similar rings and similar small traumas scrawled across them by a careless, rusty pocket knife. Your story is yours and mine is mine, but the similarities are stunning, which makes me wonder how many other queer trees, under the duress of elemental pressures we could never have imagined we'd endure, have uncannily similar rings. Thank you for honoring us with this glimpse into your core. 🌳🏳️🌈🌳
Keith! Thank you so much for reading it. And as much as I wish we didn’t have to have these common traumas, it’s having them beside humans like you that keeps me alive. Thank you for being you. 🤍
Your writing transported me to visit the part of myself that had to experience appalling models of personal growth - Landmark was not great and neither was Human Awareness institute. Thank god I was straight. I can’t even imagine.
I hated hearing how that happened for you but love how you write about it. Thank you. Now we can be the Ginny’s.
Now we can be the Ginny’s….oh god. Yes Laurie. Thanks so much for reading this and taking the time to comment. Those seminars were something. Surreal when I look back on it.
Strange and horrifying to think that there is bullying in therapeutic settings, but there we are. Thanks for your comment, Laurie! 🩵
One of the most powerful essays I’ve ever read. It resonated with me not because I’m gay (I’m not), but because I’m human and identify with your pain.
“I hope if someone were to core me like an oak, they would find a heart that tried its best, again and again, because only love matters. I hope they’d touch the rings and rings of atmospheric conditions I’ve lived through: 2 very bad phone calls, storms of shame and grief, eras of hiding, and eras of becoming. Nothing left out. The newest parts of me growing just under the skin, overwriting and scrawling new scriptures of faith and belonging on the walls of my soul.”
Amen. So beautifully said.
Much respect.
What a lovely comment, Robert - thank you!
Thanks so much Robert. I’m really glad it resonated with you 🤍
I ache for your sorrow and for the difficulty of, and mixed strong emotions in, the coming out to your mom. This is my greatest sorrow, that people should be made to suffer, or allow themselves to suffer for being who they are. Being who they are honestly and openly should be a wonderful feeling, not one of regret. I know many people who regretted not telling their parents before they passed. Meanwhile, thank you so much for your wonderful accounting of your pain and your doubts. I hope eventually you will have complete peace in yourself and in the memory of your mom. Fondly, Michael
Thank you Michael! I’m at peace with it all now. At my age, I’m too tired to carry around the bullshit, ya know?!
Thanks for reading this and taking the time to comment.
Couldn’t love you more than I already do. Perfect way to start my morning while sitting on my yoga mat not doing yoga - bawling my eyes out 💜💜💜only
Love baby
You’re one of those mothers...mothering the world. Thank you.
🥰
Incredibly powerful story, Kate. Bravo on your transformative healing work. I know the level of determination and commitment it requires. Thank you for sharing your story.
Thank you for reading it. I appreciate it!
Any raw pain, so real and unadorned, spilled on the page, is true courage to me. I hope and pray more people will find kinder reactions upon speaking their truth. No one, not a single person, deserves to feel such brutal sorrow. But we all are a whole picture, much like the oak Kate speaks of. May there be for each of us someone close who can see the entire picture and love us for all that we are.
Thanks so much for reading it and these kind comments.
Thank You.
You are most welcome 🙏.
Such a touching story, Kate - it echoes my own thorny journey coming out to my parents. Thank you for sharing it with the Qstack community. 🩷🩵💜
Thank you for all you do for our community Troy!
A family member came out to me a long time ago. I hugged them , even though, I was in schock. It was hard, but I figured they are still my family member. I love them even today.