Posted on by palmtreemomma

A Necessary Shattering

That which seems to have twisted your life or personality for the worst is the very thing that will heal you and give you meaning.

Thomas Moore ~ Dark Night of the Soul

I wrote this quote in my journal during the early days. When Austin first came out to me, everything was so raw and full of pain. I struggled to reconcile what this meant for my marriage, my faith and my own self esteem. While these words gave me a bit of hope, I felt more despair and disappointment than anything in those early days.

Nearly a decade later, I can look back and see the truth in Thomas Moore’s words. The things that twisted my life and nearly broke me have become agents of healing and truly have given my life meaning.

But in the moment, when the world has shattered, nothing is as it seems. It’s incredibly hard to believe that anything good can come from this necessary shattering.

A mere puppet

Sometimes the pain resurfaces and catches me off guard. Then I feel as if the tears of a thousand or more drops are there, waiting. That if I were to start the flow, it would never stop. Other times the pain is so sharp and big that it feels I’ve been split down the middle of my soul. It’s all the losses, rolled up in a ball of barbs and nails and glass…Sometimes my soul can only weep in stunned agony as I realize again what these losses have cost me.

A young girl cannot tell when she is consenting to the murder of her soul, when the essence of who she is has been destroyed and a horrible horrible imitation set up instead – one that meets the needs of those around her, with no thoughts to her own because she has no ‘own.’ Given no voice, no space, no privacy in the big scheme of things, no individuality, she has become a mere puppet.

How does one go about reclaiming the original soul – that feminine soulfulness? Is it possible to be emotionally born again?”

Journal entry from the early days

In the blur of those early days after the shattering, I felt like a mere puppet. I knew that I was hungry for something more, desperate for ME to be alive and real. I knew that I was a mere imitation of something deeper and true, even when I did not have the words to sort it out.

My husband had invited me to join him on his journey towards authenticity but I discover that there was no free ride. I had to do my own work. As tired and confused as my soul was, it was also desperately hungry.

The last few weeks I have been writing about the names Queer people choose to help frame their identity. Naming is so important for the LGBTQ+ community as they embrace authenticity. It is equally important for the rest of us to embrace authenticity in our lives.

embracing authenticity

Before I could embrace my own authenticity, I had to figure out who I was. Waking up in a mixed orientation marriage shattered the illusion of life as I thought it was. As utterly painful as this was, it was a necessary shattering. I could then sift through the broken bits and find who I really was. It started with giving myself permission to have thoughts, feelings, dreams and a voice of my own.

It was a shocking revelation that my worth was not in what I did, but in who I was.

The problem was, destructive patterns had long been in motion. As a child, I was noticed and praised when I worked hard, and sacrificed my own wants and needs for someone else. In fact, living a life of sacrifice was held up as a noble cause. When the heart is young, one tends to repeat that which works. This method of getting affirmation soon became a habit.

It was a shocking revelation that my worth was not rooted in what I did, but in who I was. By the time of the shattering, I had spent well over a decade officially volunteering for various organizations. Unofficially, I had served others my whole life. I could fill a book with the acts of services performed and the money given away or never earned. While many of these things I did truly came from my heart and were acts of love, much of it was also born out of “shoulds” and expectations.

Moving back to the US and giving up the noble title of volunteer was shattering in its own way. I felt I had nothing to offer the mainstream market, no job skills or college degree to back me up. The identity of a decade+ was gone and my perceived value along with it.

The gift of the shattering

The first winter after we moved back to the US, I was fortunate enough to be able to stay home. For the first time since high school, I didn’t have a job description or position to fill. I had time and space to be, getting to know myself like never before as I pondered, read, wrote and dreamed. I gave myself permission to rest. Hope began to fill the raw edges as I learned how to be my own best friend. This necessary shattering gave me the gift of being able to see myself – in all of my glory and all of my shadows- so that I could then love that self that had been tucked away beneath a facade of what everyone else thought my life should look like.

Like a worm in a chrysalis, slowly metamorphosing into what it was meant to be all along, I was changing from the inside out.

Becoming your own best friend

While I wish I had a magic formula to share with you, one that guarantees a quick and smooth journey to authenticity, I have discovered it is much too mystical and unique to be bound to a series of steps. Your journey will be as unique as you are. My only piece of advice is to start listening to yourself. Our bodies are incredibly wise and can tell us more than our brain at times. Pay attention to how you feel. If you are doing something your brain tells you is good and right but you consistently feel drained by it, maybe it is not the best thing for you. Give yourself permission to say “no” to things. Take time to step back and work out the things that give you life and energy. Do what it takes to become your own best friend.

My necessary shattering was the catalyst that force start me onto this journey. On the other side of the deepest pain, I found a life that was better than I could have ever imagined.


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

Baggage Claims

Home. No longer a sprawling tiled-floor apartment in a concrete building, buzzing with the noise and heat of a tropical city. Home was now carpet and wood, stacked quietly on top of itself.

Instead of 3rd floor windows overlooking a bustling street, I could look out onto grass and trees. The yard was just outside of the back door where I could sink my toes into long green grass. It had been years since I’d walked barefoot in the grass. I could meander down the street to the quiet neighborhood park and breath in the lush green of an Ohio summer while walking beside the creek.

Being near nature was soothing and I breathed it in every day. I feasted my eyes on the green of the earth and the blue of the sky and felt my soul expanding again.

Finding Myself in the Baggage

While the boys were occupied climbing trees and playing with toys they had not seen in years, I began to unpack our baggage and all the boxes we had stored during our time away. It wasn’t long until I made a discovery I was not too happy about. I was finding myself in the baggage.

While the physical act of unpacking and setting up house all over again was a welcome distraction from the grief and pain, I was still me. The same things still triggered me. I found myself constantly reacting instead of being proactive and creating the space for what I needed.

Constant Companion

I discovered, for better or worse, I was my own constant companion. While changing continents was necessary, it was not magical. Our baggage accompanies us through change.

The codependency I talked about in the previous post dominated just as much as before. I obsessed over creating a calm and happy space for my family. If they were happy, I thought maybe I could be happy too. I couldn’t dream of doing something for me until they were all happily occupied and the house was cleaned up for the day. I believed my needs only mattered when their needs were taken care of. Which, when you are caring for little humans, is expecting the impossible.

Our baggage accompanies us through change.

I didn’t know how to do anything else. It still felt selfish to take time for me when there was so much to do and so many hungry mouths to feed.

Spiraling Down

My emotions were enmeshed with my husband’s and I tried to ride the roller coaster bravely but mostly fell off in terrible ways. If he was sad or depressed, I felt it was my fault. When he was tired, I felt I should do more so he could do less. If he withdrew emotionally, I feared he was loosing interest in me.

It was a vicious cycle and I was dying inside. I had initiated a transcontinental move for my family so that I could begin to heal in a familiar place. But now that I was here, I couldn’t let myself take the needed steps to heal because it felt selfish.

I went through some dark dark days. I wasn’t suicidal, but I wanted to die. I begged God just to take me. Hope had vanished. The weight of the world was on my shoulders and I could barely take another step.

The Value of Supportive Friends

There were a couple of people who kept me from going over the edge during this dark time. One friend cancelled her anniversary plans with her husband and met me at an ice cream shop. In the safety of her soulful presence, I let it all out. She listened and then she pushed back just enough to help me see I needed to start taking care of “me”.

Another friend had just separated from her husband, who was gay. She decided her kids were better off with a mother who was moving towards wholeness, even if it meant breaking up the traditional family image they had projected for years. A parent who was whole and healthy, was better than one who broken inside.

Her wisdom had a jolting effect on me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. It wasn’t selfish of me to do what I needed to do to take care of me. Moving towards wholeness may be temporarily disconcerting to those around us, but, in the long run, makes us into someone who can love and live better.

I must add, though, that if you are in a codependent relationship, the other person will be more than temporarily disconcerted. If you are no longer the crutch or the enabler, you may feel the full force of their wrath and it will be doubly hard for you to pursue wholeness. If you are in this situation, it is of utmost importance that you surround yourself with wise people. Find true friends to keep you on track and help you sort through what is true and what is distorted.

Finding Myself in the Baggage

Nearly a decade later, I can look back and realize that I truly did find myself in the baggage. It was a long process but I dug deep and sorted through. I let go and tossed out. Now I treasure what is left behind. Today, I truly like the self that I found in my baggage. It was the baggage that had to go, not me.

Once you figure out who your true self is, and care for it, something beautiful happens. You no longer realize with dread that your self is your constant companion. Your soul savors it with joy because it’s like coming home. You can knock about in that soul of yours and look out at the ocean of life and smile.

So for all those who are not yet at that place, who have forgotten what hope feels like, I see you. I hope that you can find a little bit of hope in these words.

Like Patel says in one of my favorite movies, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel –

Everything will be all right in the end so if it is not all right, it is not yet the end.

Patel in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

Keep holding on. Bravely face yourself and all your baggage. Have the courage to keep digging. There is a treasure for you to find. And I, for one, am cheering you on!


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

The Loneliness of the Closet

A week after my husband came out to me, I was sitting alone in the Chang Mai airport. The pink glow slowly turned to sunrise over the mountains as I sipped a cup of black Thai coffee. My brain barely registered the beauty around me as I waited in the quiet terminal for my flight home. I had never felt so alone in my life. Not only was I physically alone, I was getting my first glimpse into the loneliness of the closet.

Austin decided to stay on for an extra week of counseling but I needed to get back to the boys. The week had done nothing to bring healing to my weary soul. Instead, I was returning home alone, lost in the deepest darkest grief I had ever experienced. The worst part was needing to keep it a secret. The pain was staggering and the effort to wear a mask was like wrestling a wolf into a lambs costume. Somehow I managed to hold it together while I picked up the boys. I squeezed them tight and explained to them that their dad was coming home a week later.

Keeping it together for the kids


Each morning I put on my brave face and made breakfast for them and got them out the door and onto the school van. The minute they were gone, however, I crumpled and cried my weight in tears. The shock turned to a mix of anger and overwhelming sadness. It felt as if all the years of building a life together, of traveling the world and raising our babies was all for nothing. I was angry that I had not had a chance to know any of this before I said “yes” to spending my life with him. It felt like I had given him everything but he had held something back from me.

I sat in my quiet empty apartment and I cried. I wrote in my journal, Islept, I prayed, I researched online and I cried some more.


Afternoon would come and I would wipe away the tears. After I put on my “mommy’s okay” face, I would set out a snack and hug my boys. It took all I had to keep it together until they were out the door again the next morning. I wanted desperately to keep their lives as normal and happy as possible.

Life continued like this after Austin returned. We would talk and cry together after the boys were in bed, trying to figure out how to take the next step forward. There was one counselor in the city that we knew of at the time but I struggled to connect with him, so Austin went by himself. While it was good for him, it only deepened my feeling of being alone.

Unexpected Safety

One day a friend and I were talking at the American Club, while the boys splashed and played in the pool. It was a hot spring day and the breeze that pushed through the palm trees was warm enough to melt butter in the shade. My friend suddenly blurted out that she had been married at one time but her husband turned out to be gay. She said she didn’t know why she was telling me this. Something just unplugged inside of me and I was an instant hot mess. It was a sacred moment, the holy surprise of finding a place where I could be real and vulnerable. She pulled me in her arms as the sun glittered and bounced off the water filled with laughing children. She just held me, let me cry and told me I was not alone.

Self-care in the grief

If you are carrying the weight of grief alone in order to protect another, treat yourself with utmost kindness and gentleness.


We were not meant to bear the weight of grief on our own. When grief comes because of a story that is not ours to tell, the grief is twice as heavy. Honoring yourself and your pain can seem impossible when you feel you must protect another person. It’s like using your body as a shield to keep someone you love from being shredded by a giant fan. Yet you feel your own grip loosening and wonder if you are the one that will be shredded first.

If you are carrying the weight of grief alone in order to protect another, treat yourself with utmost kindness and gentleness. Take time daily to care for yourself. Find at least one person you can trust or an online group where you can be anonymous yet can speak. Find a therapist to make sure you are not in over your head and to keep you on a healthy track emotionally. I cannot emphasize enough the importance of this. The idea that you have to do this completely on your own is bullshit. I understand if you can’t tell your story to the world just yet, but neither do you have to do it alone.

The loneliness of the closet

I just can’t end here. As hard as this time and place was, it wasn’t I who had spent my life in the closet. Just thinking about it makes the air feel heavy and hard to push through my lungs. People are in the closet because that small, dark, suffocating, lonely place is their safest place. Think about that for a minute.

People are in the closet because that small, dark, suffocating, lonely place is their safest place.

Right now I don’t care what your background is or what your beliefs are. All of that is arbitrary in the face of another human being. We have forgotten to see each other as human first. To my straight friends I ask, what kind of humans are we if other humans feel safer in a closet than sitting beside us, telling us their story? It’s as if the story books and childish nightmares had it wrong all along. The monsters were not the ones in the closet, hiding to scare us. Perhaps the monsters have been the ones outside, forcing others to remain where they are.

Being safe instead of right

I grew up in an extremely conservative home where things like being gay were seen as nonnegotiable, black and white wrong. So I had a heck of a lot of questions. Yet there was one thing I was certain of. Being a safe person was more important than being “right.” My husband’s honesty put a very real face to something I always thought was “out there”. It was now up close, in my life, every day. As the two of us walked through the daily nitty gritty and became more honest with each other regarding all the emotions we were feeling, the need for safety became nonnegotiable.

So please, as one who has had an inside view, forget about trying to figure out what is right or wrong for another person. Being safe is more important than being right.


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.