Breaking My Parents’ Mold
Originally Published: February 18, 2011
Revised: July 1, 2016
I’ve never fit the mold my parents had for me. They have been Jehovah’s Witnesses for decades. They believe it is a woman’s destiny to get married to a man, have his children and follow his lead as the head of the household.
Though this is what I’ve been taught growing up in a home with Jehovah’s Witnesses, I am a lesbian and very proud of who I am. My parents don’t accept that I’m lesbian, and nobody else in my family knows. I couldn’t handle what my family would do to me if I ever tried to come out to them. They wouldn’t hear me out or try to understand me. They would probably send me to Mexico to live with my grandma.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve always had a liking for girls. I didn’t know what my feelings were back then. I didn’t know it was possible for two people of the same gender to be able to fall in love, so I grew up dating boys. It never felt right to me. No relationship was satisfying, so I always ended relationships with boys early or avoided being in one at all.
I just know that if a religion teaches that there’s something wrong with me being the way I am, then I just can’t believe in that.
In eighth grade, I met a girl named Hilary. I loved to be around her. I felt as if she knew who she was and wasn’t afraid to show it. We always hung out, and I soon realized I liked her more than a friend. But I never told anyone; I never told her. I would think about it all the time, but I was too afraid to even show that kind of affection toward her.
My freshman year in high school, I found myself. I met a girl named Morgan. She was a sister of one of my friends. She was a “futch”—a girl who looks really feminine but dresses somewhat like a boy. She was so pretty but had a boyish-type look with short hair. We got to talking online, and our friendship turned into something more. We eventually kissed, and everything felt right. Everything seemed to fall into place after that.
My parents found out about Morgan and me. They knew she was “one of them,” and my parents and I fought for weeks after that. They couldn’t accept that I was a lesbian. They wouldn’t accept it. They didn’t allow me to go to friends’ houses, and they would listen in on my phone calls without my knowledge. But they couldn’t stop me from seeing Morgan. I was with her all the time at school, and my feelings were so intense for her—so real. I had never felt like that before.
Little by little, I told my friends that I had strong feelings for Morgan. I told them I was a lesbian. I never went back to guys after that. I felt it was useless for me to do so. I had no feelings for them.
My parents always talk badly about gay and lesbian people, saying that it’s so wrong to be “like that” and that “those people” don’t deserve to live. That’s probably the thing I hate most about them. Why can’t my parents be accepting like some other parents out there? Why do I have to be stuck in a family that would choose what their religion says about same-sex relationships being bad over loving their own daughter just the way she is?
My faith in God has been nonexistent since middle school. I decided back then that God was something people made up to deal with death. Maybe if I would’ve been raised in another religion, I’d tolerate the idea of God. I don’t feel bad for not believing in God. I just know that if a religion teaches that there’s something wrong with me being the way I am, then I just can’t believe in that.
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