Posted on by palmtreemomma

Passing as Straight

My husband can pass as straight. People often wonder why he would choose to openly label himself as bi when he has a wife and can pass as straight. You may be wondering the same thing.

It’s a simple question with complicated answers; answers that he did not come upon easily. While I have talked about this briefly throughout previous posts, I will attempt to bring a bit more clarity today.

But first, let me tell you about a dream I had.

The trickle and the geranium

I dreamed our city had been hit with an apocalyptic-like devastation. Power was out, no one had water, and vegetation had all dried up. The earth was brown and barren. Outside of our kitchen door, in the exact spot where our compost bin stands in real life, a natural spring opened up, bringing a constant trickle of water to the surface. Though it was just a trickle, it was enough to provide drinking water to our entire neighborhood. What was even more astonishing was the red geranium growing beside the spring. When everything else was dead and dry, water for the body and color for the soul came from what before was rotting bits of discarded life.

A trickle, when shared, is more than enough to sustain. Sometimes I think the world heals more when we share from the little we have than when we give out of our abundance.

In my dream, the neighborhood knew it was welcome to come share our trickle 24/7. We didn’t hide it or hoard it, afraid it would dry up and we would have nothing left.

For us, staying in the closet and passing as straight would have been a bit like keeping that trickle of life-giving water to ourselves.

One of the reasons…

Some years back, a friend of Austin’s, who was also queer, took his own life. This friend had come out to Austin, and to Austin’s knowledge, no one else. Raised in a very conservative community, this person did not see hope of ever being able to live authentically. Unable to live with the shame and despair, and seeing no way to reconcile the religious teachings of the community with the reality of his inner world, life became unlivable. Isolation, sadness and despair drove him to end his life.

This particular story has sat heavy on our hearts. When this happened, Austin was still hiding under enormous shame and despair and yet remembering his own suicidal ideation as a teenager. He sometimes wonders if the story could have had a different ending if he had been able to speak into his friend’s life from the place where he is at now.

While we will probably never know that, we do know that we can make a difference in the lives of those who are still with us.

For those still in the closet, especially for those in communities where it would be unsafe for them to come out, loneliness and isolation are devastating reality. By allowing others to know his truth, Austin has opened the door a crack for them, so that they know they are not alone.

Passing as Straight

Being a safe person for those still in the closet is important. By coming out publicly, Austin is signaling to them that they are not alone and that he is an ally. This is especially important for those who are passing as straight and see no other alternative.

There are many men and women passing as straight, who have chosen to marry a straight partner. There are many reasons for this choice. Some do so out of religious and/or cultural pressure. They know they will be cast out if they show their true colors. Some want a family and biological children. Others believe that marriage will cure them of their unwanted attractions. Some genuinely love the person they marry and cannot imagine life without them. There are many reasons for these mixed orientation marriages, and they work for some people.

But there are many queer folks who know they will take their secret to the grave with them. Married or not, they do their best to pass as straight because they see no other option.

We want them to know they are not alone. That they are precious. Enough life has been lost.

Signal for change

While this is not the only reason Austin chose to come out publicly, it certainly is a very important one to both of us.

I hope to write more about other reasons some other day, but suffice it to say that it takes an incredible amount of energy to pretend to be someone you are not. Austin was tired of hiding. I was tired of him hiding. It was time.

When someone like my husband comes out publicly, it’s a bit like a thorn in the flesh to the straight community. He no longer fits the narrative they are familiar with. By breaking molds and being bold, he is calling out long established norms that are hurtful to the queer community. He is a fresh voice, calling for change, fighting for inclusion and challenging long-held biases.

In honor of the friend who took his own life, we are going to keep talking, keep pushing the conversation forward. We are not going to stop raising awareness because it’s time that no more lives are taken over this issue. By coming out, Austin has chosen life for himself and many, many others, who are not free yet to do so on their own.

No matter your views, you can be an ally for life instead of death. You don’t have to completely agree or understand in order to be an ally. Anytime someone chooses death because of the narrative of those who say they are for life, something should trouble us deeply. It’s time to be brave enough to admit we may have been wrong. It’s time to look at things with fresh eyes and truly be pro-life. For all. Period.

How will you choose life today?

If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, or know someone who is, The Trevor Project has someone available 24/7 to call, text or chat with. PFLAG also has links to other support groups. You are important. And you are loved.


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.

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Leaving a God of Violence

This page, where I struggle to birth my thoughts into words and craft my journey as the wife of a bi guy into a narrative you will understand, has become a precious and healing space for me. In an effort to bring hope to others, I try to be open and transparent. In a culture that is all about image and perfect presentation, this is not easy. Sometimes it’s difficult to be honest. I am often misunderstood and judged. As a couple, we have been the brunt of much gossip. It’s hurtful and I’ll write more about that another day. Suffice it to say that even if my story is misunderstood and misconstrued, I know it will also be heard by someone who desperately needs to hear it.

So, today I am going to be upfront about something else. I went to church today. It’s been a minute since I entered the doors of a church. And, while I’m not ready to change that, I did go today because I wanted to hear Austin speak. It was beautiful, authentic and real. And while that is not the point of the narrative today, it made me realize that it’s probably time to stop hiding this part of my life from you.

Because I know I’m not the only one.

Why I stopped going to church

There are a number of reasons I stopped going to church. Since Austin has come out, I have realized just how many churches are not welcoming to the queer community. I have a hard time being comfortable in places where minorities are uncomfortable or marginalized. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. And yes, I know there are some churches that are welcoming to all people. Yet that is only a part of the larger picture that I am struggling with.

Let me be clear, this is not about any, one particular church. It is about the big C as a whole. To be honest, it has a lot to do with the 81% of white evangelicals who voted for and elected a president who is the antithesis of what I believe a good leader should be. I’ve been looking around in disbelief for the past several years, unable to reconcile what I am seeing and hearing with the values drilled into me since birth. To love God with all I have and then to love those around me with the same depth of love I have for myself.

A god of violence

What I see instead is a culture that has fallen at the feet of a god of violence. A culture that places the safety and value of one set of people far above the rest. A place where white unborn babies must be preserved at all cost, yet black and brown babies who die motherless in cages somehow have gotten what they deserved. A culture that treats the “other” as disposable. An economy of enormous privilege and wealth grown on the backs of slavery, yet we cannot acknowledge the depth of the racism that systemically holds back entire groups of people.

We have become a collective mob, wanting to build a virtual (and physical) wall to keep out anyone who is different. Preservation of self and safety has been made into a holy thing. Here white men are excused again and again for terrible acts of violence against women. Justification is almost always given for those who take the lives of black people. The list could go on and on.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a Trump hater. I’m actually grateful for him because he exposed an ugly truth about the culture I am a part of. He is a problem but more importantly, he is a symptom of a sick culture. I’m angry with those whose preservation of their own safety and security is their #1 commandment. Who justify violence when it protects their interests. And while you may try to tell me that this is just human nature, I have a history running through my bones that tells a different story.

Descendant of Refugees

Centuries ago, my ancestors were literally on the run for their lives. Persecuted for their religious beliefs, which went against mainstream Christianity of the day, they were hunted down for refusing to be a part of a church that fell at the feet of a God of violence. I can hear their steps echoing in the mountain passes of the Swiss alps as they fled north to the French Alps. My bones can feel the chill, passed down 9 generations. A chill that has turned into a resolve that peace is never borne from violence. Eventually, a few of my ancestors became refugees, emigrating to these United States.

So, yes, I am the descendant of refugees, of immigrants, of a people so committed to a life of non-violence that they left everything behind to start again. Yet I look around and I see entire communities of other descendants who are now justifying violence (unless it is against white unborn babies). I feel a terror in my bones, a howl of utter grief in my soul and I cannot be silent. Nor can I adhere to a gospel of violence. Of racism. Of exclusion.
It was either throw out the baby and the bathwater or open my eyes and see that the bathwater was toxic and was trying to turn the baby into something it was not.

Replacing the god of violence

I personally think people have both misunderstood and misinterpreted from the beginning. While I still have more questions than answers, I came to the point where I could no longer believe in a god of violence. And, because I still believe there is a God, I came to the conclusion that the fault lay in humans, not God.

And so I have stepped away and filled up my Sunday mornings with quiet. I have given my soul permission to breathe in, savor and settle into my truth. And it has been utterly beautiful and freeing. Not going to church has given me space to find and worship the Divine.

This is where I am at. It may not make sense to you. It may even offend you. But this is my journey and I must follow it. Just as I must break the silence and honor the grief that howls in my soul.

I leave you with a bit of poetry that sums it up.

Finding the Divine

I find the Divine in the quiet of my room.
Mystical truth on the pages of a book.
Intoxicating beauty in the bird’s song.
In snowflakes melting like butter on my cheeks.
I find her swirling in the waterfall and
Singing in the wind.
An ancient song still recognizable.
I see them in the eyes of the queer
Who blesses me, offering holy communion.
I feel him in the hands of a child,
Calling me to wonder and curiosity.
Divine grace falls on me like a winter shawl
As I take in the hospitality of friends who are other.
Her glorious strength is found in the circle of women
Who grace me with their stories.
And I am in awe.


The ocean breathing in and out as
Waves crash and then caress the sand.
Divine splashes everywhere.
Mountain strands that loom and ripple
Breathing glory that calls to mind
An ancient story. Never-ending. Grace and glory.
But, when I enter your big fancy churches
I cannot hear the ancient story anymore.
Because all I see is you.
And your quest for safety and security
Trumps the call to care for the earth itself.
Until the earth burns and its bodies cry,
Turned back from our borders and
Treated as if it were their fault they were born
Where they were born.
While the god of violence watches from his throne.


The Divine whisper is lost in here.
Stilled. Ignored. Silenced. Gone.
Because the Divine does not want to be safe.
Or rich. Or famous.
It lives in the tents of the refugees
And over the hills
Where they run for their lives.
It holds the babies left alone in cages and there it rages.
Divine grief rolls down the cheeks
Of those who are other.
It welcomes all who are outside.
Alone in the cold.
It huddles on the other side of the world
In all the places our missiles are pointing at.
Among the broken and the cast-out.
The Divine is there and you never noticed.


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

Assumptions

When Austin came out publicly last spring, we expected questions and criticism, with a smattering of support. What we didn’t expect was uninformed gossip and automatic assumptions that could not be further from the truth.

Let me just say it as I see it. Straight people are preoccupied with sexuality. The minute my husband came out as bi, a whole lot of straight people around us suddenly started thinking he was having sex with other men or bringing men home to have threesomes in our bedroom. We know this because friends heard it through the grapevine and approached us about it.

I can’t even wrap my mind around this. No human being should be objectified in this way.

For all the talk from straight Christians especially, who assume the moral high-ground, I can’t wrap my head around it. As soon as a person from the LGBTQ+ community comes out, their minds seem to go immediately to sexual acts.

Adolescent minds

Let’s be clear. For some people, straight or queer, life revolves around sex. For most of us, however, straight or queer, sex is one part of the bigger picture. Queer people have the same desire the rest of us have – to have a relationship with someone who gets us. We all want to be known and loved for who we are. To laugh deep belly laughs or walk laps at the park. Someone to help raise kids and turn house into home. They, like us, want someone to share life with and to grow old with.

Coming out as LGBTQ+ should never turn someone into a sexual object. Yet, that is what the straight community has done over and over. We have stopped seeing them as fellow humans and have put them into a box that is objectifying and harmful.

It’s extremely adolescent of us. I once had 3 teenage boys. Now I have 2. Soon it will only be 1. The point is, I know the mind of adolescent males. And I see many grown-ups acting in a very similar fashion.

Imagine introducing the person you love and realizing that your friends can’t really see the person you love because all they can think about is something they have no business thinking about.

So, seriously, stop thinking about sex. Stop trying to figure out how it is done. Imagine others thinking about you in that way. Instead, see them as fellow human beings who have more in common with you than not. No human being should be objectified in this way.

And, for the love of all that is good and kind, stop spreading gossip. The biggest lies and most hurtful gossip have drifted our way from one of the most conservative Christian communities in our state. This makes the idea of moral high ground disappear rather quickly if you ask me.

Understanding Orientation

I find it helpful to remember that L, G, B, & Q are about orientation. GLAAD Media gives this definition –

Sexual Orientation – The scientifically accurate term for an individual’s enduring physical, romantic and/ or emotional attraction to members of the same and/or opposite sex, including lesbian, gay, bisexual, and heterosexual (straight) orientations. Avoid the offensive term “sexual preference,” which is used to suggest that being gay, lesbian, or bisexual is voluntary and therefore “curable.” People need not have had specific sexual experiences to know their own sexual orientation; in fact, they need not have had any sexual experience at all.

For some, it may be primarily a physical attraction, for some, it’s more about a romantic attraction. Still others feel an emotional attraction.

We are all complex human beings and we have enough going on in our own hearts and heads that we really don’t have time to be the moral police for others.

And please remember that orientation is about attractions that may or may not indicate actions. There is great danger in jumping to conclusions. No human being should be objectified in this way.

Helpful tips

If you have someone queer in your life and aren’t sure how to respond, here are some ideas.

Start by seeing them as humans first, who have more in common with you than not.

Become familiar with LGBTQ+ terms and definitions. Here is a good place to start.

Avoid using the term lifestyle. It is offensive and assumes you think they are living in a morally reprehensible way. This is both outdated and inaccurate.

Turn in your moral police badge. It’s not your job to judge another human being. But it is your job to judge your own level of kindness.

Treat them the same way you would want to be treated. Welcome their partner, if they have one, in the same way you would want your partner to be welcomed.

Just be a friend. It can be extremely lonely for queer people on this side of the closet door. Many have lost family and friends. They’ve been misunderstood, judged and cast out. The silence from those who don’t know what to say is overwhelmingly loud. No human being deserves to be objectified in this way, so be the person who breaks the silence. Who welcomes and sees them as another human on the journey.


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

Feeling Small

Facepaint, Unicorn, Pride

“I’m never going to let anyone make me feel that small again.”

Her words come to mind this morning, as the winter sun taps me on the shoulder. Echos of the warm summer day when I bumped into her and she shared her story. She had just left her partner, a lesbian, who had given her a very hard time for being bi and told her she wasn’t gay enough.

She was done, and rightly so. Love does not question the validity of the other person. It does not put them in a box and make them feel not enough. Love, like summer sunshine, call us to life. It grows us, rather than shrinks us. Love does not make another feel small.

Bi erasure

This is a very common experience for bi folks. Though they make up more than 50% of the LGBTQ+ community, they are often misunderstood. Gays feel they aren’t gay enough. Straights feel they should pass as straight. Both sides question their validity, making them feel small. Like an eraser rubbing back and forth on a blackboard, they receive a lot of pressure and resistance, known as bisexual erasure or bi shaming.

Kyli Rodriguez-Cayro wrote a great article in which she shares 5 myths about bisexuality that she believes contribute to bi erasure.

Myth #1 – Bisexual+ people face less harmful stigma than lesbian or gay people.

Myth #2. Bisexual people are transphobic.

Myth #3. Bi men don’t exist, and are probably just gay.

Myth #4. Bisexual people magically become straight when they’re in a relationship with a heterosexual partner.

Myth #5. Bisexual people are polyamorous.

I’m not going to refute these myths, as she does a fantastic job of doing that in her article. I’m putting these out because I believe she is right. These are myths, yet many people believe they are true. Austin and I have bumped up against many of these personally in relating with people since he came out publicly and it has been painful.

When myths are believed as truths

“Many straight folks don’t get why I had to “come out” if I’m in a straight relationship. They would rather that my orientation not exist in their view of the world. They often can’t reconcile that the Austin they always knew was always Bi.”

“Many religious folks have the same argument except it threatens their view of sexuality and morality. They would prefer that a bisexual would be an immoral person so they could condemn them.”

“When I have come out to gay men a significant number of them have straight up told me that the being bi was a stage for them “too”, implying that there is no such thing. I kind of expected this from older gay men but not from younger gay men.“

“Because I am in a hetero marriage I am most often read as hetero which is why it is important to me to enter queer spaces where I am seen.
Often the term gay is used to name groups or events that encompass bi, lesbian, pan and more. I feel a low key erasure when that happens understanding that the term gay like  queer has been used by the whole community. “

~ Austin

Can you see the erasure that happens when this type of pressure comes from all sides? Love does not make another feel small, it believes the best about others. But when myths are believed as truths, the results are painful discrimination.

The effects of bi erasure

Because of this discrimination, bisexuals are some of the most invisible people in the LGBTQ+ community. Unlike gays and lesbians who come out of the closet and are taken at face value, bisexuals have to repeatedly come out, explaining their identity again and again to disbelievers or “myth-believers”. This leaves them at greater risk physically, emotionally and mentally. A greater percentage of them struggle with depression and anxiety. Suicide rates are also higher. Many live in poverty and face alarming health disparities. They are also at greater risk of being victims of sexual violence.

Unlike gays and lesbians who come out of the closet and are taken at face value, bisexuals have to repeatedly come out, explaining their identity again and again to disbelievers or “myth-believers”.

As a whole, our culture has done a lot to erase bisexuals. Whether it is the larger straight community shaming and pressuring them to pass as straight, or the smaller LGBTQ+ community telling them they are not gay enough, we have been a collective weight to shrink them down. We have made them feel small, invisible and unwelcome. That is not okay. Love does not make another feel small. It opens doors to a collective womb that nurtures and grows. Love dismantles myths and embraces truth. Love does not erase.


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

Longing for Light

Sunrise from Mt. Batur, Indonesia

Lets talk about self care and mental health for a minute. We are in the heart of winter and many of us live in places which are cold and have long periods of darkness. We are earthlings, all of us, designed to be nourished by the earth, to quench our thirst from its waters. Nature calms and refreshes us. Sunshine gives light, feeds plants and even our own skin by infusing us with needed vitamins. When we don’t receive these life-giving elements, our bodies, like plants placed in a cold basement corner, begin to droop and wither. This is why is is so important to pay attention and listen to your body.

I’ve struggled with depression on and off for a number of years. I know I am not alone. An estimated 15% of the adult population will probably experience depression at some point. 5% of the U. S. population experiences Seasonal Depression, also known as SAD. If this time of year typically finds you feeling sad, lethargic and irritable, you are not alone.

Listen to your body

About a year ago, I hit bottom fast and hard. One minute I was fine and the next I was flat on the floor, wanting nothing more than to die. The ferocity of my depression scared me and I immediately made an appointment with my doctor. I went on medication for the first time in my life and increased my visits with my therapist. I spilled it all to my closest circle of women so that I wouldn’t be doing it alone.

Our bodies are incredibly wise and have much to tell us if we learn to listen to them. The trouble is, we have to learn the language of the body first because it is easy to misunderstand. A craving for a donut does not mean your body needs a donut to be happy again. A longing to sleep all day does not mean your body needs to sleep all day and then it will feel better. Learn to listen to your body, to the cry beneath the craving. It might just be saying, “pay attention to me and show me value.”

It’s taken me a long time to sort out what my body was telling me on that day. I’m sure I still don’t have it all figured out but it’s easier to see the big picture when we back up a few steps and sit still.

SAD was certainly a part of things. It was right around winter solstice, when we experience the shortest days and the longest nights. My mood changes with the sunlight. The sun gives the warmth and food needed to cloak the outdoors in green. Flowers and trees, green leaves and grass, all bring so much life to my senses. My body and the world outside my window was very light deprived that day. But it was more than that. Death was beautiful to me that day because I had lost hope.

Losing Hope

We were in that particularly rough period before Austin came out of the closet. There were several times that year I was convinced our marriage was not going to make it intact. Our business had taken some huge blows and our livelihood was threatened. One of our boys had just been diagnosed with ADHD and it took pretty much all of our energy to navigate things. While the diagnosis helped us understand him, it did nothing to change the reality of what we had been experiencing for a long time.

My anxiety was through the roof. And like a house of cards, I collapsed without so much as a wind to knock me over. There was no one thing that happened that day to send me down. I just went down. Because it is hope that keeps us standing and my body knew before my brain registered it, that I had lost mine.

Year after year, after year, I had muddled through. Hoping for change in my marriage. I had worked tirelessly to build a small business with global impact. Raising sons to be lovers of peace and kindness. Everything I had poured my big, soft, endless heart into seemed only to break my heart instead of being transformed by it. Honestly, my life felt more than a little wasted and I was more than a little exhausted.

More than a year later, it’s very difficult for me to write about this. I feel a sadness creeping in the edges, dancing on the peripheral. But I’m trying to stay with the story and listen to what that sadness is telling me.

Listening to the sadness

I’m sad that a 45 year old woman felt like a life of love given was lived in vain. She is the one I need to listen to, care for and nurture. Here is what I think she was trying to tell me that day.

I’m so tired. My load is too heavy and I have to lay it down for a bit. I need you to give me as much value as you are giving away to everyone else. An endless supply of energy is not what I have to offer; I have limits. Please fill me back up again. Treat me gently because I am you.

When your partner is distant and you wonder what is going through his head, your value remains. The things your child yells in a fit of rage are not about you so it’s okay to move out of the way. I wish I could offer you financial stability but this way you identify with a larger portion of humanity. The top is not all it is cracked up to be.

Sit for a minute and let light fall into the cracks opened up by your sorrow. Hold still and see me. If you learn to love me well, it will never be in vain. I know your limitations. I hold your gifts and all the light and goodness you have to offer the world. Value me because I am holding you.

Tips for self care

I’ve always felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, needs that seemed bigger or more important than my own. It felt selfish to do something for me when the world was going to hell in a handbag around me. I had a wake up call this year when a friend died of a stress-induced heart attack. She was only 30 years old. It helped me realize that taking care of myself is actually a huge gift to the people around me.

So listen to your body and do what you need to do to take care of yourself. Ask for help. Be honest with your doctor and consider medication. Your kids will thank you later. Find a therapist. Reach out to a friend you can trust. We were not made to navigate this on our own.

Exercise daily for it boosts your serotonin levels. Find what works for you. My husband is a people person and takes classes at the local YMCA. I am an introvert and that doesn’t work for me. I find that doing yoga at home has been the only thing I want to keep coming back to. Something about the stretches speak to me about navigating the painful stretches of life.

Take Vitamin D in the winter. Our body produces it when exposed to sunshine and, in places like Ohio, we rarely get enough of it. While a deficiency is not likely to cause depression, many who take it notice a difference in their mood within a couple of weeks. I usually start taking it in the fall so it kicks in by the time the days are really dark. Read more here.

Be honest with yourself. Sometimes depression is because of the season. Sometimes it’s because of hormones. But sometimes it hits us because we have not been kind to ourselves. Maybe we have carried too much for too long. Perhaps self-hatred has caught up with us and does not want to be ignored any longer. Take a moment and listen to what your body is trying to tell you.


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

Surviving the Desert

New Year’s Eve usually finds me home alone while the husband and kids go to a party. I sit in comfy pajamas, soaking in the quiet of an empty house. Just me and my thoughts. I think about the year gone by and dream for the year to come. Small miracles of hope whispered by pen on lines of paper, as I make a list of things we need. I love to look back over the lists from previous years, marveling at all the check marks that are there. So many small miracles came to me during the year gone by. I sit and pray, a myriad of longings, hopes and desperation swirling like rainbows of color.

This year I found myself at home with the family. It was another night in a blur of time as the fabric of our family is stretched across the loom, new threads being woven in. Our oldest came down with a bad case of the flu right before Christmas and we all hunkered down at home.

Today he is moving all his stuff back into our house, and I feel the walls stretching and expanding outward with each load he brings from his apartment. Boxes line my dining room, ready for him to sift through and repack before catching a plane to take him across country for his final semester of college.

catching moments

So much craziness happening around me. The 5 of us on top of each other in a tiny space. Not much room for me to hear myself think. I’ve been trying to catch moments here and there. Sometimes that is all a mom can do. A moment to catch my breath at the list of miracles from last year. Moments to laugh with the kids as they remind me of escapades of the past year. A moment to get away with my man, to remember who we are together.

I feel a little out of sorts without being able to experience my full tradition, yet I am piecing it together bit by bit. Journal open beside me, I see the list of things I hoped for in 2019. A whole page full. 12 check marks to celebrate needs met. 9 blank spots, empty places still waiting for answers. Some of those spots have been blank for 5 years now.

Sometimes I get stuck on those blank spots, honing in on all that isn’t there instead of marveling in what is there. And, while the empty spaces and losses we feel are important to acknowledge, for they have much to teach us, they should not define us. I know I will always have empty spaces waiting to be filled. But I also always, even in the leanest of years, have much to marvel about.

surviving the desert

A few years ago, Austin and I had an encounter with a very wise person. Without knowing a thing about us or our story, he told us that we had been walking in a desert for a very long time. He went on to say that we were not doing it alone, because water was following us through the desert.

What if the biggest miracles are the ones right in front of us?

At the time, Austin was still mostly in the closet. The two of us were still muddling through what his bisexuality meant for him and for our marriage. I was tired, so tired. I wanted nothing more than for all the pain and struggle to just go away. What I really wanted, was to be rescued from the desert. But what I got instead was assurance that I could make it through the desert.

What if the biggest miracles are the ones right in front of us? All of us hit desert-like stretches of life and want nothing more than to find our way out. But which is the true miracle? Being rescued from the desert and returning to the life we think we should have? Or surviving the desert for year after year after year?

Surviving the desert has none of the glamour of being rescued. It is gritty and exhausting, confusing and utterly draining. It shows our humanity and changes us at our core, for better or worse. But, like any journey, it is an invitation to the beginning of something new. Waking up in the desert is the beginning of a miracle. How it ends is up to you.

Where the sun beats without mercy

She wakes, bewildered, in the unfamiliar
the terrain unlike anything she knows.
Terror replaces sleep and she stumbles
in this wild barren place
where the sun beats without mercy.
For days she sits and does nothing
but weep in abandonment
until the night moon hovers above
and she howls with a despair
that emanates from her bones.


She waits for rescue but none comes.


So she rises and walks in circles at first
round and round this place where
the sun beats without mercy.
As the unfamiliar becomes familiar
and the circles become wider
she sets her gaze on the horizon
and pulls herself towards the mountain.
Though the sand shifts daily
and it takes all she has to take the next step
she moves on while the sun beats without mercy.

She waits for rescue but none comes.

Days turn to years as she walks while
certainty and grace begin to fill the cracks
in her soles and her heart and
each day she finds just enough to sustain.
In the place where the mountain embraces the earth
she finds a spot as soft as her heart.
Tenderly scooping she moves the earth
until there is a space enough for her whole self.
She carves out a home and decorates it
with splashes of dignity and colors it with grace.

She no longer waits for rescue.

She is fully alive in this place where
the sun beats without mercy.
No longer wandering in circles
she has crafted her home and created her shade
where she rests when she is weary
drinks when she is thirsty
dances when she is restless.
She leans into the music of this place
once thought to be wild and barren.
She is surviving the desert.


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Posted on by palmtreemomma

Choking on Niceness

Tree roots growing out of a crumbling temple in Cambodia.

I still think of the butterfly I saw in my dream all those years ago, right before my husband came out to me. She calls to me still, gently showing me the path towards wholeness. Her ripped, ravaged, and giant wings, refusing to stay in the muck, beating still and carrying her across the water. She beckons me on, silently flying towards freedom.

There have been many dreams since then. I have journals set aside just for them. Sometimes the message is instantly clear, other times a pattern may appear over time. While I once dismissed dreams that were not instantly clear, I have learned to pay attention to the ambiguous ones as well. Dreams have much to teach us.

In her book Belonging: Remembering Ourselves Home, Toka-pa Turner, has much to say about dream-work and healing.

For survivors of neglect and abuse, the relationship to the instinctual life can be especially damaged. An instinct is injured when your responses are repeatedly overridden, dismissed, or ignored, often by adults who have a wounded instinct themselves. For instance, you may have been criticized for overreacting when you were having an appropriate response, or perhaps you were told to stay quiet when you knew you should speak. Maybe you had to care for another’s needs before your own. Whatever form the wounding of your instinct might have taken, over time the result is the same. It is the sense of distrusting your own responses, questioning the validity of your feelings and giving your power to another’s information over your own.

Toko-pa Turner

Letting the truth out

I recently had an opportunity to say some things that I have needed to say for a very long time. Things that I had kept bottled tight inside rather than risk being the one to rock the boat. But, when the words came to me, I knew it was time. I said what I needed to say. For me. I spoke my truth. And while I did not get the response I wanted, I am more than okay. It was in speaking my truth that I was set free, not in the other person’s response.

A few night later I had a very telling dream.

I spent the evening caring for a group of children. A 3 year old girl with blond curls was feeling unwell and had vomited. I thought she needed to sleep so I read her a story, thinking that if she held still long enough, she would fall asleep and then feel better. Her parents soon arrived to pick her up and I told them what had happened. As I was talking to them, we looked over to where she had been sleeping, only to find her on the floor, struggling to bring up whatever remained in her stomach. To my horror, she vomited up two large cobs of corn.

I woke from my dream with the realization that the little girl in my dream was me and that I had swallowed down things that were never meant to be swallowed. I had tried to keep in something much too large and the impossibility of it was making me sick.

Falling asleep while choking to death

The years of telling myself stories to soothe and put myself to sleep instead of speaking my truth was toxic. Oh, the stories we tell ourselves to keep our mouths shut and the truth trapped inside! For women who have grown up in a patriarchal culture, it is so much harder to recognize our truth and speak it.

I grew up in a sub-culture where it was expected that men dominate, women submit quietly and children obey without question. This may appear peaceful and yet it was anything but that. Time and again, it proves to be a perfect breeding ground for abuse and enabling.

Under the guise of niceness, I learned to hold much inside. I thought anything else would be selfish. Yet that niceness came at an enormous price. While I knew how to be nice to everyone else, I had no idea how to be nice to myself.

The cost of silence

When a woman’s voice is quieted, the lumps inside swell like cobs of corn, bigger than the throat. Ripping, choking and taking up all the space that was meant for breathing in air, taking in water to give life, and food to nourish. There is no space inside for her gifts to grow and the world suffers that loss.

Darling, you feel heavy because you are too full of truth. Open your mouth more. Let the truth exist somewhere other than inside your body.

Della Hicks-Wilson

The thing is, no one is going to speak our truth for us. No one is standing by to clear our clogged airways and hand us the mic. In fact, there will probably be a stampede to grab the mic out of our hands because the more we stand up and refuse to be silently compliant, the more uncomfortable life will be for those who are the most comfortable right now.

But, sister, you matter. No more falling asleep while choking to death. Enough swallowing down things that weren’t meant to be swallowed. No more being nice to everyone but yourself. Pick up a pen, or the phone, call a friend, admit your truth and let it out.

You will be amazed at how much space the silence took up. Fill it with breathing and living instead. Choose life. For you.


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

Alone

For all who are weary of pretending, those scared to go home, or alone and forgotten, this story is for you…

Unseen and alone

He sits alone, anxiously rubbing his fingers over the rim of the worn cup. The diner has long emptied. Holiday shoppers with full bellies and full cars, driving off under the twinkling lights to warm houses full of warm glows.

He sits alone, swallowing the lump in his throat that grows and grows. Thoughts swirl in his head faster than snowflakes and darker than the midnight sky. It’s almost Christmas.

He sits alone, agony turning his stomach upside down while tears tumble down his cheeks. Dare he go home this year? All his life he has felt like an outsider, his body betraying him. He just wants to seen and loved for who is. Not having to hide or fake smile or keep calm when the family debates politics or drops snide remarks that cut like the knife he carries in his bag.

He sits alone, the smooth cold blade calming his heart and he wonders again why he is here. Why the heck was he birthed on this earth? If he were honest with those who even now are cooking and baking, getting the tables ready for feasting – he knows he would be more alone. Cast out. Forsaken. Hated. Scorned.

Barn full of shit

He sits alone, so tired of hiding. The diner is closing so he stumbles outdoors. Bitter air freezes his breath and pushes him forward. As he passes the nativity by the old church, he pauses, surprised to see a plastic baby shivering in a fake barn. He smells the shit that isn’t there and wonders at the wonder of a baby in a barn. Who would put a tiny perfect baby in the cow’s supper dish? Did this baby not want to belong, to be held, cuddled until the day breaks and the warmth of the sun filters through?

He steals the plastic baby and walks, no longer alone. In the safety of his apartment, he turns up the heat and wraps them both in blankets. He cuddles the cold plastic baby until the words spill out and he speaks his truth. Every last bit of secrets held tight, the years of pretending and trying to look right. He is who he is and embraces her, pronouns and tears jumbled together in a dance to remember.

Christmas morning dawns red in the sky as their heavy eyes shut. Peace and belonging wrapped tight as their blankets. No longer alone, they breath air that is clean, washed sweet with the truth. The plastic baby in the hands that rescued it from the barn full of shit.

The question of whether to go or to stay has faded away. As he sleeps, the baby whispers softly into his ear.

“Thank you. I’ve been in the cold for so many years, Your honesty and bravery have brought us both home.“

Truth about the holidays

A couple weeks ago I wrote about Austin coming out publicly. There weren’t too many surprises for him, as to who was supportive and who was not. If he spent much time around a person, it didn’t take long to get a sense of how they felt about people like him.

Which brings me to the here and now of the Holidays. We know it is a lonely time for those who have lost loved ones but we may not realize how lonely it is for LGBTQ+ folks. That niece or nephew at the big family gathering who hasn’t told anyone yet. The aunt or uncle who has decided to take their secret to the grave rather than risk being cast out. Cousin Benny who is thinking the world would be better off without him because he knows that the same family hugging him now will throw him out or proclaim that he is demon possessed if he speaks his truth. The friend we share drinks with who wants to find the words to tell us she feels like a fraud in the body she was born in and just wants to be authentic.

They are more than you think, closer than you know. Beautiful butterflies being birthed in cocoons not yet ready to open.

Our posture towards them matters. They read us like a book. It doesn’t take long for them to know if they can relax in our presence or if they must be on their guard, anxious and wary. Our gathering spaces can be barns full of shit or places of belonging.

Now, more than ever, is the time to be an ally. To show that you value authenticity more than cold plastic fakeness. You don’t have to agree to welcome, love and be a safe space.

Tips for creating safe spaces

Start with a heart that loves each person, no matter what. Decide to listen and learn when you don’t understand. Value honesty and forget about perfect public images. Be who you were born to be and accept when other do the same. Shut down conversations that are homophobic and/or transphobic. Perhaps even set ground rules that there will be no political discussions. Even if you think everyone is on the same page, don’t risk it. You may be surprised to know that the leaders you praise may not embody safety to some of your guests. There is a great article here that unpacks what LGBTQ+ people struggle with as they head to family gatherings.

If you are Queer, please know that the most important person for you to care for is yourself. It’s okay to skip family dinners that are stressful. Years of traditions and expectations are hard to break from, but you have more value than tradition. Listen to your gut. If it’s churning, turn around and go “home” to a space that is safe. Queer Theology has 8 tips here to get through the Holidays.

As always, I’m here to listen. Drop me a line if you need someone to talk to. Or if you want to be the first to know when a new post is up.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

In the Winter

Sunshine startles me through
thick gray patches of constant clouds.
I have almost forgotten what it is,
that thing we call the sun.
Naked trees whisper remembrances of seasons gone by while
cold wind shakes the few remaining leaves.
Here in the winter, the cold darkness dances its turn.
I shiver, longing for the light, the green, the warmth that is summer.

I am in the winter.

My tears turn to ice, when I let myself feel
all that is buried deep inside.
Like icicles they hang
suspended between gutters and earth.
Reaching but not reaching.
Striving but not arriving.
The lines between too much and not enough
impossibly blurred and I find myself
walking circles in the snow in a game I do not know.

I am in the winter.

I sink, exhausted, no place to go but within.
She holds me gently in a womb I remember.
Softy the wind whispers her song
of belonging and being enough, not too much.
Of life being remade and the glory of buds.
It is here in the cold, dark, stillness of winter,
that beauty is birthed and life is renewed.

I am held by winter.

My senses come alive when I breathe her in
and I feel the unseen life bursting forth.
The beautiful riot of spring,
the melting warmth of summer,
all the blazing color of fall
they begin here, in the womb of winter.
I turn my face to the patch of sunlight.
It dazzles me and I pick myself up.

I am learning to dance in the winter.



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.

Image courtesy of Adrienne Gerber Photography.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Opening the Door

Last week I wrote about the rough patch we hit. Austin, tired of hiding, was slowly coming out to more people. His stomach pains, which had been there for decades, were getting worse. While we had brutally honest conversations, his depression and my anxiety were defining characteristics of this season which lasted the better part of a year. I had days that were okay and days when I was sure it was over.

Looking back, I see several things that were key elements to us moving out of the rough patch and enabling Austin to be the man he was born to be.

A Place for Healing

As long as I have known him, Austin has read and talked about men’s initiation rites and passages. Colonization obliterated centuries of wisdom that once guided indigenous boys on their journey to manhood. In our American culture of the 21st century, we have long cast aside any rituals that were once used to welcome a boy into manhood. In our modernity, we seem to believe that the wisdom of elders is no longer needed and we can become adults on our own. Yet many men (and women) are left floundering, wondering if they have what it takes.

When a friend introduced Austin to The Mankind Project, he was instantly intrigued. They had a spot open in an upcoming New Warrior Training, described on their website as follows –

Take a journey that will fundamentally alter your experience of manhood and the world. Improve every relationship, starting with your relationship to yourself. Show up as the man, husband, partner, father, and brother you were born to be. The New Warrior Training Adventure is a life affirming personal development event, honoring the best in what men have to offer the planet. 

Austin packed his bags and left for the weekend. Neither of us had super high hopes that this would be much different from other weekend retreats or conferences. Yet, when he walked through the door at the end of the weekend, I could see that a thousand pounds had been lifted from his shoulders before he even opened his mouth to speak.

Learning to Breath

I could soon see that much had changed. He no longer hated himself and was finally free to embrace the man he had been born to be. The shame that had long wrapped itself around him was gone. I sensed an opening in his soul, as if he were learning to breath for the first time.

Emotional healing has physical effects as well. He carries himself both lighter and taller these days. And his stomach pains have nearly disappeared.

He also found a freedom to be who he is and not care what others think about him. And that led to the next step of freedom for both of us.

Opening the Closet Door

A few days after that weekend, in the air on our way to a conference, I asked Austin when he planned to come out to everyone. As we talked, we both realized there was no longer any good reason to stay inside the closet – and many compelling reasons to come out. And so began a new era, as he officially came out of the closet to everyone and stopped hiding.

And, while this put us under the spotlight and made us vulnerable as people responded in all kinds of ways, the relief of no longer needing to pretend or hide was incalculable.

Authenticity really is the new beautiful. Queer or not, many of us spend way too much time trying to present ourselves in whichever way we think will get us the most likes. But this kind of living takes so much energy and we have none left to enjoy the life we have, much less be the person we were born to be.

While Austin has no regrets regarding fully coming out, we both realize not everyone has the privilege to do so. Many who are in Conservative families choose to stay hidden because they fear they will be disowned. Some live in countries where they could be imprisoned or put to death if anyone found out their true identity. Some have been married for a long time and fear they will do more damage to their family then they are willing to risk, so they choose to remain hidden.

For those still in hiding

When the air inside the closet
gets stuffy and you struggle
just to breathe,
there is a door that will swing open.
When you are ready.

Those who truly loved you before
will love you still.
And you may be surprised to find
a family you never knew existed.
When you are ready.

A courage you didn’t know was yours
will rise from your chest and
Grow you right out of that tiny space.
To where the dance floor is wide.
When you are ready.

In the meantime
for as long as it takes,
we will sit outside your door.
Close enough so you’re not alone
Until you are ready.

Quiet your restless weary soul.
Until you can hear it whisper.
Until it remembers who you were born to be.
We hold your space for as long as it takes.
Until you are ready.

But if the space is not safe here in the wide open
It’s okay to stay hidden.
We will still hold your place and
Honor your story.
Until the world is ready.



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.