Posted on by palmtreemomma

Listen to the Suffering

Because my husband chose to marry me, a woman, he can easily pass as straight. And he did, for many years. We settled into our life together, raised our kids and grew our business. Whenever I would bring up the issue of his orientation, he would sort of shrug it off. He was okay with his life. We both worked on our stuff and made great strides toward wholeness. The depression from earlier years diminished and life was almost good. As good as it can be when you are starting a business and raising 3 wild boys in a small house with very little money. But we made it though every crisis that threatened our existence and it felt as if maybe life was almost normal. Whatever that means.

Then, out of the blue, we hit a rough patch. Tired of hiding, Austin started coming out of the closet to more of his close friends. He was always very candid with me about these conversations. While I was grateful to know, I was also puzzled because I sensed depression growing in him again. Something had changed and I couldn’t put my finger on it.

The Painful Truth

The more we talked, the more I began to realize that he hadn’t been as happy all these years as he had led me to believe. Though he said he was fine, things were not always fine.

Once again, I felt the rug being yanked out from beneath me. This time, though, I wasn’t just shocked and scared, I was angry. I had believed him when he said he was doing okay. I trusted and thought we were in a good place. But obviously we were not in a good place if he was feeling miserable.

While my brain knew it was not about me, it still was another blow to my self esteem. The healthy part of my self knows it’s not my job to make him happy and I can’t change his orientation. It just is. But I also feel terrible if my partner is unhappy. It’s pretty hard to be a feeling person and not take it at least a little bit personally.

I was sure this time that we were headed for a divorce. As a big-picture-carry-the-world-on-my-shoulders kind of person, I turned every scenario over in my mind. Who would raise the kids? Who would stay in the house? Would we sell the business? What would I do for a job? On and on my brain churned and my broken heart reshaped itself into tears dripping down my cheeks.

It’s pretty damn hard to see suffering in another and not be able to do a single thing to ease that suffering and bring happiness.

I was still angry too, that he let me think he was happy when he wasn’t.

It’s a weird place to be in – broken because you see the suffering of another and can do nothing but suffer with them. Yet to be so angry you kind of just want to walk out the front door and never look back.

Tired of Hiding

Sometimes the greatest gift we can give ourselves is to lean in and really listen to our suffering. Something began to emerge and slowly make sense as we did this.

Sometimes the greatest gift we can give ourselves is to lean in and really listen to our suffering.

Austin was tired of hiding who he was. He had long reached the place of no longer fighting against who he was or trying to change his orientation. He had accepted his bisexual identity but was still passing as straight. And he was not alone. 26% of bisexual adults are not out to anyone important in their lives, while 54% are out only to a few people.

It takes a heck of a lot of energy to pass as something you are not. There is a longing deep within us that wants others to see us and love us for who we really are. We all get tired of hiding and want to leave our masks and molds at the door and bring our true selves to the table. The dream of finding a place we can both be real and celebrated is in all of us.

Any time we must keep our true self hidden in order to fit in or please the powers that be, we are saying yes to a toxic system.

Any time we must keep our true self hidden in order to fit in or please the powers that be, we are saying yes to a toxic system. One can only survive toxicity for so long before dying from the poison. Rather than die from the inside out, Austin was slowly bringing his whole self to the table.

Receiving the Gift

When someone takes off their mask and shows you their true self, they are offering you a priceless gift.

When I was a child, I loved to give gifts. There was one person I remember, that I could never seem to give a good enough gift to. No matter what I gave or how hard I tried, it was never a cherished gift. It stung my little heart but it also taught me a most valuable lesson. I learned to cherish the gifts I am given and to celebrate the heart that is offering the gift.

Are you able to cherish the gift of authenticity when it is given to you? Or does your religion cause you to argue and debate? Can you accept what you hear without trying to change the gift in some way? Are you able to celebrate the heart that is offering the gift even if it makes you uncomfortable?

I’ve kind of gotten a front row seat at seeing how people respond. Sometimes its beautiful – like the friend and mentor who got up from her seat and wrapped Austin in an embrace after hearing his story.

It can get ugly when people just want to prove how right they are or start hurtful rumors behind our backs.

Sometimes it is awkward when people don’t know what to say.

Sometime there’s a quiet “Me too” whispered back.

The gift of authenticity

So while you may wonder what happened next with us, I want you to sit here in this for a minute. I want you to think about how you receive the gift of authenticity. It’s a dying treasure, swallowed up by a toxic culture. But people around you are tired of hiding and long to be safe enough to show you who they are.

Sadly, some of you will never know the authenticity of those nearest you. There are doors that will always be closed because you have already shown that you are not a safe person.

We need to be safe receptacles for authenticity. We must create safe spaces where people no longer need to hide. If your religion has some folks preferring to hide than be real, maybe you should rethink your religion. If your God can’t love authenticity, maybe you are the one who doesn’t really know your God. When you must argue and convince the other that you are right, you show your own toxicity, along with a fear of authenticity.

It doesn’t need to be this way. There are many who are oh so tired of hiding. We can foster authenticity by living it ourselves and we can dismantle toxicity by being safe people.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Human First

Everyone loves a good story, one filled with hope and redemption. All I need to do is follow the trail of likes, comments and extra visitors on my blog. I can see exactly what people like and want to hear.

Most of us are drawn to what makes us feel comfortable. Our whole lives we’ve been steeped in the lie that tells us life is supposed to feel good. That every story can and should have a happy ending and that bad things aren’t supposed to happen.

The truth is more nuanced and difficult to pin down. My life is much too busy and complicated to figure out what it is supposed to be. All I know is what is. Life is messy, disappointing, surprising, exhilarating, depressing, good, bad, beautiful, ugly all at the same time. It just is.

Many of you shared your love for last week’s post about the business we built out of the ashes of our marriage. Realize however that not everyone has this same story. There are many couples in MOMs who are exhausting themselves with questions and tears. They struggle to figure out whether or not they can and should try to remain in their marriages. Even for us, I still have days when I have doubts. It’s not easy.

Life is Messy

I’ve felt despair shake my body while tears squeezed their way from my heart onto my cheeks, feeling things too deep for words. There are other strains and stresses in my life that I have not shared with you. Years spent living so poor we were an inch from life on the streets. All this in the middle of the earthquake that defined our marriage. Life is messy and sometimes the pain is unbearable.

Perhaps the reason we gravitate toward stories of hope and redemption is because we want to believe that it will be okay in the end, for us. We long for the reassurance that the mud and muck we are wading through will be worth it. We listen to these stories and we share them with others because we want them to experience that same hope. This is not a bad sentiment, but the true test of friendship is when I choose to be present in the midst of the unending crisis. This kind of a friend stays present throughout the course of a disasters or a break-up. Staying for closet door openings and truth telling moments, whether we agree or not. It is not looking for an escape route as soon as the ending is not looking so rosy. True friendship sticks around when life is messy.

It has become clear to me this year that many Christians have a difficult time with this type of love. Loving someone different from themselves seems like too much work and self protection is given a higher priority. All I need to do is to talk about Pride events, the border wall or immigrants and the barriers begin to go up. This is all pretty ironic when you study ancient texts and read the words spoken by their prophet that they will be known (as Christians) because of the love they have for each other.

Perhaps it wasn’t always this way. I hope not. But I’ve noticed a trend in the American church that has been painful.

some things i notice

These Christians feel the need to let us know they love us but they disagree. It’s a weird urge that doesn’t let them commence being friends until they have explained their beliefs. It is as if the only way for them to keep themselves clean is by putting this clarifying distance between us.

This type of Christian loves us but wants to influence us to change in some way. They offer their wisdom or the wisdom of another person who has chosen to live out their queerness in a different way. Perhaps they assume that we have never thought of those things ourselves and wrestled with those same questions.

These folks say their faith is for all people. Much of our experience proves otherwise. They like to surround themselves with those who look like them, speak their language and comply with their unspoken club rules.

Sometimes they are just socially awkward, preferring silence or small talk. They let their discomfort lead them. Instead of leading by doing the work to love all, they prefer to hold on to judgement, especially when life gets messy.

Another way

In February, I had the privilege of returning to Bangladesh. It had been nearly 9 years since I last pressed the soles of my sandals onto the land I had once called home. For 2 weeks I wrapped myself in her embrace. As I listened to her heartbeat, I remembered what my Muslim friends taught me. While the weeks were full of experiences that illustrate my point, the one that shows it best was the day I was so sick the earth felt like it was going to swallow me up.

excerpt from the Kahiniwalla blog –

Misery violently took over my night, pushed sleep aside and sent me rushing to the bathroom. The initial relief was short lived. I soon found myself fumbling in the darkness, desperate for the antibiotics the Traveler’s Clinic had sent with me. I gulped down the first giant tablet, determined to be ready for travel by morning.

Yet, morning still found me pasted to my bed, stomach swirling in unreasonable circles. Eyes squinted tightly shut to block out the light and hands grasping a plastic bag just in case. As we left the city behind and headed towards Dhaka, I laid back in my seat and willed myself to survive the journey.

It was awful, I’m not gonna lie. Our driver, Ramjan, who had been nothing but a gentleman since we left Dhaka, was now doing his best to maneuver his way home. It wasn’t long before I found myself squatting on the side of the road, upheaving the remains of my stomach. Ramjan hovered beside me, full of concern, telling my friend to hold my hand and pull my hair back. He even took a long look at my vomit to try to figure out what I had eaten that was causing my insides to have such a mutiny.

When I was finished, he motioned for me to hold out my hands so he could pour water into them. He showed me how to rinse out my mouth and wash my face. As I squatted in the dirt by the side of the road and cupped my hands to accept his gift of water, I felt the Divine tapping me on the shoulder and I knew I was taking in a holy sacrament. I saw my Creator mirrored so beautifully in the face of our Muslim driver who shared his water with this tired and sick American woman. Something inside came unglued and it’s a wonder I made it back into the van instead of catapulting down the embankment.

Human First

The water shared by our conservative Muslim driver was still wet on my face when I remembered what my Muslim friends had been teaching me all along – to see others as human first. Not once did they share their beliefs before deciding whether or not to be a friend. Though the ancient text they follow may tell them that I am an infidel, they showed me a depth of love and acceptance I rarely see people of my own background and faith giving to those who are, in some way, different.

I cannot count the times I have been shown love and grace by people whose beliefs were quite different from my own. I was a stranger, and they loved me. Though I was different, they accepted me. I was a foreigner and they welcomed me, giving me a seat at the table and the best of their food. Though I was an infidel they took care of me as if I were their own. I held their babies and they held mine. They saw me as human first and they treasured my humanity.

Life is messy and complicated but it becomes beautiful when we see each other as human first. We have so much to learn from those unlike ourselves!


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Photo courtesy of Adrienne Gerber Photography.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Rising From the Ashes

You cradle me in the darkness.
The palm of your hand a giant womb.
I curl my body into the stillness,
Breathing the air offered in this space.
Quiet, darkness, stillness.
If the darkness would not come,
I would exhaust myself with doing
and forget to rest.
But here in the darkness
the quiet seed splits and dies.
By learning to rest in this quiet darkness
beauty rises from the hard split shell and
like a phoenix rising from the ashes,
I find my life again.

The early days, after Austin came out to me, were an upheaval that came alive and breathed heavily down our necks. After a decade of being volunteers, traveling the world with our babies and immersing ourselves in the warmth and beauty of other cultures, we found ourselves back on the shores of our homeland. Ready or not, we were starting over once again.

Austin had exchanged his dream job of designing under a development agency in Bangladesh for a graphic design job in Ohio. We both were doing the inner work of finding authenticity but that didn’t pay the bills. Our marriage was in shambles and we both struggled with depression as we navigated the inner landscapes of pain.

In the midst of trying to figure out if our Mixed Orientation Marriage would work, we did the unthinkable. We started a business. Together. We had no money, no business background, no sales experience and very little energy.

Ripple effects

The smoke was still rising from the ashes when the opportunity fell into our lap. A friend we had gotten to know during our time in Bangladesh, Samantha Morshed, was running a large and growing Fair Trade business that trained women in the rural areas of Bangladesh to knit and crochet baby items. The brand, Pebble, is characterized by an amigurumi style and features a variety of rattles, hats, blankets and stuffed toys.

Pebble grew out of one mamma’s heart who saw how so many women in Bangladesh leave their babies with extended family and move to the city to find work. Often they live in the slums and work long days in the garment factories in unsafe and poorly paid situations. Isolated from the safety of family, they are left vulnerable and are often taken advantage of.

A desire to keep babies with their mothers inspired Samantha to gather a few women around her and teach them how to knit and crochet. She started with 12 women in 2004 and, by the time we met her, it had grown to employ more than 2000 women. Today, more than 120 Pebble centers have opened throughout rural Bangladesh, giving fair wages and steady employment to more than 13,000 women. They can walk to work, taking their babies with them. Entire communities are being transformed by the ripple effects of women who are valued, given a voice, equality, and financial freedom. You can watch a short video here, to learn more about Pebble.

If you’ve followed this blog from the beginning, you will know how difficult it was for us to leave Bangladesh. The people in this beautiful country had captured our hearts and changed our outlook of the world. When Samantha asked us to be her US distributors for Pebble, we saw it as an opportunity to stay connected to this land where strangers are welcomed and curry constantly wafts on the breeze.

Building something new

We named our business Kahiniwalla, which means storyteller in Bangla. We started small, ordering one or two boxes of product at at time, shipping through the postal system. Austin would reach out to potential customers in the evenings or weekends, eventually cutting back his hours at his day job so he could put more time into Kahiniwalla. I did the book work and the fulfillment.

Despite the fact that we didn’t know what we were doing, it grew. Within 4 years we both quit our part time jobs and were working full time for Kahiniwalla. Together.

It was more than a little crazy while, for the next 4 years, a we worked out of our tiny home. The rooms were literally bursting with Pebble boxes, as we had now moved to importing partial container loads by sea. The kitchen, bathrooms and boys’ bedrooms were the only rooms not overtaken in some way with Pebble inventory, with the attic housing the bulk of the boxes. When shipments came in, we moved our dining table into the living room to use as a work station and we would fill the dining room, floor to ceiling with boxes. In the winter, we donned coats and gloves to do our work in our unfinished, uninsulated attic, filling orders for customers. Conversely, in the summer, we would drip with sweat.

No going back

After moments of shattering, it is impossible for life to get back to what it was before. After Austin came out to me, as much as I wanted to get back to the old normal, there was no going back. The choice was to separate and start over separately, or stay together and build something new. Kahiniwalla became our new tangible thing that we built together, like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

It’s almost unbelievable how this new thing fit us each so well. Austin is a people person and loves to tell stories, so traveling to trade shows and interacting with customers is the perfect fit for him. His creative side shows in the ads he creates, photography he does, and instagram posts.

As an introvert, I love to be at home, fill orders and maintain the books. I enjoy writing blog posts for the business. When shipments come in, I love to organize everything. Our personalities and skills fit together like a glove. Despite the craziness of starting a business in our circumstances and living on very little income for the next decade, it served to draw us together and grow our love.

I would not advise another couple to start a business together when their marriage is rocking on the precipice of ruin. Not much about it made logical sense. All I know is that in surrendering to the journey, our hearts first led us deep into the darkness until we found something magical rising from the ashes.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Breaking the Silence

This week I watched as a friend was bravely vulnerable. Honest. Raw. Real. Within 24 hours, her vulnerability got her fired from her job.

We often don’t know what to do with utter vulnerability. When someone leaves their masks and molds at the door and gives us a look at the tender heart that is struggling beneath it all, it can be frightening and words can easily fail us.

We are accustomed to a cookie cutter society, where we know there are different flavors and shapes yet we still expect each person to fit into some type of mold. When someone is unflinchingly honest with us, the mold breaks and we see something we are not used to seeing. We seldom know what to do with it.

We have frequently experienced this, since my husband came out as bi. Sometimes the silence hurts more than words of judgement. Silence is interpreted by the hearer and it speaks loudly. Too often, unintended harshness is heard in the words left unspoken.

The unspoken rule

It is as if we adhere to an unspoken rule that says you should not acknowledge what another is going through or show compassion unless you morally agree with the issue at hand. True compassion, however, is the sympathetic consciousness of the distress of another, with a desire to alleviate it. Compassion is universal and goes deeper than morality. It sees distress for the pain that it is. If someone is utterly honest with you, you can show compassion without ever telling them if you agree with them on a particular issue or not.

We don’t know what to do with utter vulnerability, but we can learn. When someone shares something hidden with you – an affair, depression, betrayal, addiction, sexual or gender orientation, and you are left speechless, there are some things you can say.

What to do with utter vulnerability

I’m listening. Every week I get to hear these words from the mom of a childhood friend after she reads my blog post. Two simple words that say everything.

It sounds like you have a lot going on right now. Let me know if you ever want to talk. I’m here. This lets them know you see them and are there for them without pushing yourself onto them.

I hear you. Keep talking. Sometimes simply acknowledging that you are listening is all they need. In a world where we often miss important things, it communicates that you hear and are not ignoring or pretending it never happened.

This is all new territory for me but I would like to learn. Can you tell me more? Admitting you don’t know much is okay. Always be gentle in asking for more. Never pry. Trust must be earned and should never be assumed. Communicate that you are willing to be taught, instead of telling them you have the answers.

I had no idea this was going on. How can I be there for you? In other words, what do you need? Again, it acknowledges the pain without controlling the narrative.

I love you no matter what. This one is overused and can easily sound hollow. Only say this if you are prepared to back it up. Living this one out may prove to be much harder than saying the words in the first place. And be aware that what you think is loving may feel like rejection to them, which defeats the purpose of saying the words in the first place.

Be There

Whatever you do, find a way to acknowledge that you see and you hear. It is devastating to be vulnerable and have people you thought were your friends either ghost you or pretend nothing happened. We must find a better way to navigate the broken bits of life with those we care about, not running away from it, or telling them how to fix it.

Be the person who stays, shows up, listens, finds the words to speak, but most importantly, walks beside. Be a before and after kind of friend. And remember, you can’t love with arms wide open when you are holding on to judgement. Love widely.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.