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I married later in life; I was 32 and a first-time bride. I thought I had finally found the right guy. Darryl was kind, considerate and caring. He was everything I wanted in a husband. By the time our first anniversary came around, we were expecting our first child. By the time our fifth anniversary arrived, we had three beautiful children. I thought our marriage was incredible.
Over the next several years, we had our ups and downs. But I had expected that. Our physical relationship wasn't the same as it had been when we were newlyweds, but that was to be expected, as well. Before I got married, my mother had given me "the talk." (You know, the awkward conversation that mothers and daughters have about sex and marriage.) Mother had warned me that there would be times when my husband would insist on sex, but she had also told me that over time, the fires of desire would wane and passion would diminish. She also advised me to work out any problems by discussing them openly, and hinted that the best way to "make up" after an argument involved, "Well, you know, dear..." Since my parents had been married for 35 years before my father died, I knew that she had some good advice.
In the fall of 2001, Darryl changed jobs. Instead of working at home, he was working retail, and had plenty of late night hours. We didn't talk as much, but I chalked it up to mismatched schedules and the stress of three young children (ages 8, 6 and 4). After the first of the year, my own job got tougher, as my department was reorganized and under new management. At the same time, I began to have some health problems and started a series of doctor visits, medication changes and tests to determine the cause.
On April 4, 2002 I heard the words that changed my life: "I'm gay." Two simple words, but as a wise man once said, "The smallest words are the hardest to define and have the greatest impact." Shortly after disclosure, I talked to one of our parish priests to get some guidance. I was raised Roman Catholic, and still practice my religion. He merely told me that I had to go home and tell Darryl that I appreciated his honesty and that I forgave him for his unfaithfulness. I tried to follow his advice, but couldn't help but feel he really had no idea what I was going through. Even today, I find no comfort when he says Mass and learn no lessons from his sermons.
"I can't forgive him," I wrote shortly after disclosure, "but I appreciate his honesty. It was a risk to be honest with me, but having this issue out in the open allows us to work through our problems. I am not closing my eyes to the magnitude of the problems to be solved. However, we have agreed that the most important factor in our decisions are the children. All of our decisions have to be made with an eye on the impact on them. As a corollary to this, there are no immediate plans for divorce, since we both believe that children grow up best in a home with two biological parents. We are still Mommy and Daddy; that hasn't changed. In some respects, I don't know what to do next, so I will do nothing. The old saying, 'Decide in haste, repent in leisure,' certainly applies here. I would rather take extra time to make sure my/our decisions are the right ones for all of the people involved. I told him that this issue has stretched our marriage to the breaking point.... It is a tribute to the basic strength of our relationship that it has not destroyed our marriage."
My health problems had come to a head at the end of March, with a trip to the emergency room. By mid-April, I had finally seen a specialist, and had two possible diagnoses: endometrial cancer or fibroids. Of course, I was an emotional wreck. I used my health problems as cover for the turmoil that disclosure had created. I became more isolated from everyone, and retreated into my own "closet." I distanced myself from my remaining family, my friends and my coworkers.
In May, additional tests yielded a final diagnosis of endometritis (infection of the endometrium), which was treated with heavy doses of high-powered antibiotics. I had my health back, but other problems remained.
My work situation was becoming more and more intolerable, though I was determined to "stick it out" until I had obtained the additional education I needed to be promoted. The friends in whom I had confided offered conflicting advice; some said to divorce, while others told me to follow my heart. And I had no idea where else to go for help. I stood in a bookstore one night for about 45 minutes, searching the "psychology and self help" section for something that might relate to my situation, too afraid to ask the pimply-faced clerk for a suggestion. ("Hi, my husband's gay. Is there a book for that?") I thought about searching online for resources, but had no clue even what key words I should use.
In August, I contacted an Employee Assistance Counselor through my employer and asked her about books or online resources that might help me deal with the changes in my life. A week or so later, she got back to me and said that she had been unable to find anything that related to gay spouses. She offered to help me find a marriage counselor, but I thanked her politely and declined the offer. My gut told me that since she wasn't familiar with my issues, she couldn't make good recommendations.
Over the next several months, my sense of isolation increased and I became more withdrawn. I was going deeper and deeper into my "closet." I continued to have problems at work. I was told that I was distracted, rude, unprofessional, and didn't fit in. I never told any supervisor or manager about my situation, because I couldn't discuss it openly. At one point in time, I told them that I had spoken with the Employee Assistance staff and that they had been unable to help me, but that made no difference in their treatment of me. Finally, in April, 2003, my manager decided that I no longer fit in the department, and fired me. Was it a direct result of Darryl's disclosure? Probably not, but his disclosure had affected me so much that I was unable to handle other challenges.
In July of 2003, I finally found some support and understanding. I had read a letter in "Dear Abbey" (or a similar column) in the newspaper that talked about straight people married to homosexuals. I brought that section of the paper home, and after my kids were in bed, I checked the Web site that was referenced. One of the links I found there was to a support group for wives of gay and bisexual men. I applied for membership, was accepted, and started to heal. It was through that support group that I learned of the book, The Other Side of the Closet.
Shortly after, Darryl and I finally really talked for the first time in over a year about our problems and about the issues facing us. Having already read the book myself, I handed it to him one day and asked him to read it, too. I told him that I had joined the online support group, and that I had learned a great deal from my "sisters" there. I told him that at last, I felt able to begin to articulate my feelings.
I had realized that I was grieving the end of our marriage as I had perceived it, the marriage that will never be, the dream and vision that I had held of our relationship. I had to accept the loss of the dreams, of the "happily ever after," before I could move on; I needed to let go of all of the old before I could start rebuilding our relationship. I knew from previous experience, having buried both of my parents, that grief is a journey, and had realized that I was embarked now on a different kind of journey, one that includes grief and loss, but also growth and acceptance, as well. I will never be the person I was before disclosure, but hopefully, I will grow and change into a better person.
I have experienced the classic phases of grief in dealing with this: anger, denial, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I have been angry at my husband, at God and at the universe for dumping this problem in my life. I have denied that disclosure affected me deeply and changed my life significantly. I have tried to bargain with God and with myself by playing the "If only" game. ("If only I was thinner.... If only I was prettier.... If only I was....") But I've also realized that my path to acceptance and enlightenment must begin with me. Who am I? What do I want? Where do I want to go? When will I be healed/whole? How will I get there? Until I can answer these questions, I cannot move on.
Darryl was pleased that I'd taken the time and initiative to start working on these issues and on our marriage. He told me that he'd thought about suggesting that I join a support group of some sort, but hadn't been sure I'd be receptive to the idea. He also admitted that he'd probably never have started such a discussion himself, since he'd assumed that everything was fine, and didn't want to risk "rocking the boat" any more than he already had.
By the end of August, I had come to realize that I could not meet all of Darryl's needs. At some point in the near future, he will need to form a relationship with another man. I began to realize that I needed to set boundaries as we talked about opening up our marriage. I started thinking about what I wanted, and about what I thought our children needed. I told him that he needed to be honest with any potential sexual partners about his domestic situation, and that I wanted his partner integrated into our family life as a "friend," especially if the relationship is likely to continue for a long term. I told him that I don't want him sneaking off to meet a lover and spending less time with the kids and me. If we spend the morning at the zoo, then his partner can join us there; if we go to a movie, then his partner can join us there. But his partner will need to understand that he is a parent first, and will have to make accommodations for that. I told him that I realized that a lot of gay men probably wouldn't be interested in a relationship with such limitations, but that I needed the conditions for our relationship to work. They were non-negotiable.
Darryl told me that I can start looking for a sexual relationship, as well, but I am not ready to do that. And in any case, if I decide to take a lover, I will be honest about my domestic situation, just as I expect Darryl to be. I doubt that many men will want to bother with a women in my situation.
In September, we went to our first PFLAG meeting together. We borrowed a book from their library, Just Tell the Truth, about gay men who marry. I sat down and read the book, crying the whole time. I realized that Darryl had been what the book's author called "orientationally repressed"; though he'd only known it for two years, he'd in fact been gay all his life. I finally realized that it wasn't my fault, that I hadn't "made" him gay, and that my litany of self-blame had no basis in fact. I also realized that part of my problem was that I wasn't being honest with people. The idea of "hiding" our situation was in direct conflict with my concept of integrity.
We talked about it, and agreed that we needed to be completely "out." We had previously talked about telling the kids, anyway, since we knew that sooner or later, at least some of the parents of our kids' friends would realize our situation, if they hadn't already. And Darryl had been unhappy with the fact that his parents still didn't know. So by the end of September, we had told our children and members of our immediate family, and I had started telling my friends and coworkers at my new job.
Several of my friends could not understand why I did not go running to a divorce attorney when Darryl came out. Even now, people are often shocked when they realize that we are still living together and he is openly gay. But we had three children together; our responsibilities to our children take priority. It is much easier to co-parent when you are still married, and so we plan on remaining married. We are able to share responsibility for watching the kids and for taking them to soccer games and dance lessons and all of the other stuff that goes into raising kids these days. Since we had a strong relationship before disclosure, we are able to work together.
I had a great deal of trouble coping with disclosure. In many respects, I spent over a year in shock. I tell people that I lost a year of my life. I was numb. I felt like I had to hide from the world during that time. It was all I could do to just be with other people, let alone to interact with them. During the period of "numbness" I found myself reviewing my choices over and over, and revisiting the awful moment of disclosure. But the year was not wasted. I am now able to articulate the reasons behind my decision to stay and to continue working on the relationship. I have come to realize that Darryl still loves me in many ways, and that that will never change, but that he can no longer meet my sexual needs and that I can no longer meet his. So we live together as siblings or best friends, rather than as lovers. For now, that is enough. I am content.
Not everyone "gets it," of course, and sometimes it hurts. A well-meaning marriage and family counselor told me that I was making the wrong decision, that I needed to divorce my husband because allowing the children to live with an open marriage would send them "mixed messages" about love and commitment. It tore me up. Here I am trying to live a life of commitment to my family because I love them, and she is telling me that I am creating a poisonous environment and that my kids would be better off going through the pain and rejection of divorce than learning that love takes many forms.
But I am beginning to accept my new role. I am the straight wife of an openly gay man, and I am proud of who I am. Even though our relationship is unusual, families like ours add to the richness and diversity of their communities in ways that no one else can.
Do I still love my husband? Yes! Do I need to make allowances for the change in our relationship? Yes. It is my choice to stay married to him and in this relationship. Do we have challenges? Of course we do. Hard ones. And sometimes it's the littlest things that are the hardest. Will we always have challenges? Yes, just as any couple does. But our challenges won't necessarily be the ones that most people have.
I have no desire to break up our family. It may be differently functional, but it's not dysfunctional.
-- Lydia Joy Burgdorf (February 2004)
(The books referenced above are The Other Side of the Closet: The Coming-Out Crisis for Straight Spouses and Families by Dr. Amity Pierce Buxton and Just Tell the Truth: Questions Families Ask When Gay Married Men Come Out by Dr. Terry L. Norman.)