Telling Mum

Last week I came out to my mother. I’d been turning around in my mind for months if and when and how I should talk to my parents. Did they really need to know about my sexuality? What difference would it make to them? Why did I feel the need to tell them — for them or for me? Would it be selfish of me to burden them with something they would just agonize over? Would they want to know?

For some time it was obvious that Mum had sensed that something was up, and was worrying. But she was afraid to ask, even when I told her some time ago that I was seeing a psychologist. Recently a friend who had been talking with her mentioned how anxious she was, and I realized that at this point, not knowing might just be worse than knowing. So I asked her to have lunch with me.

It was a brilliantly sunny day — the sort of day that makes you feel optimistic even when you have no particular reason to feel that way. We walked through the park to the restaurant, in the shade of the massive horsechestnut trees with their clusters of white and pink flowers. We chatted about all sorts of things, and I began to realize that I really hadn’t talked with my mum like this for a very long time. I think unconsciously, I’ve been gradually drawing back, distancing myself, to protect both of us.

We finished our lunch and walked back to my parents’ house. By that time, Mum had asked if I was going to tell her what was wrong, and I’d suggested we sit out in their backyard. So we sat and drank tea and I came out to my mother.

Looking back afterwards, I was struck by how easy it was. It really felt as if I was gently breaking to her something I was perfectly comfortable with, but knew would be difficult for her. It also seems, looking back, as if we were speaking across a vast intellectual and cultural gulf. In fact, I think it was the very fact that I am becoming so comfortable with being gay that made it so difficult. If I had broken down, made a tearful confession and said how much I wanted to overcome this horrible flaw in my personality, it would have been so much easier for her. As it was, she had to come to grips not only with the fact of my homosexuality but also with my refusal to accept the church’s teachings about it.

My parents have had to deal with many crises and difficult issues with their children and grandchildren over the years. I expressed to my mum how sorry I was to add to those burdens, and she confessed that she had sometimes wondered if she was being punished for something. “Or,” she said, “maybe I have some things to learn.” She is trying to have an open mind. I told her about the film Trembling before G‑d and she said she would very much like to see it. I know it’s unreasonable for me to expect her to take all this in, and make an enormous leap in her thinking, from one day to the next.

At one point, her eyes teared and she assured me that I am her son and she loves me, no matter what. And for now, I think that’s all that matters.