Coming Out.

by Dori Nicole

The last time I came out to my Mother was when I was 19 years old. I sent an email to her letting her know I was bisexual. In her reply, I ignored the words of “choice” and “phase” and completely zeroed in on “I’ll love and accept you no matter what.” And moved on with my life.

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That was 7 years ago and it’s likely that she has forgotten all about it or truly believed it was indeed just a phase. My relationships with women never lasted long enough for me to even think to mention them to my Mother. It’s just bad luck.

Anyway, this isn’t what this post is about so I suck.

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yeah. I know.

I kept this solo trip a secret because I believe in the power of words. Once my family says I will be raped, killed, or sold into the sex trade I get on the plane and enter my destination completely paranoid that the world is specifically out to get ME. This once resulted  in a very public panic attack and brain fog to add to the already overwhelming culture shock and jet lag.

Yesterday after realizing the printer was out of ink, I forwarded my e-ticket to my mother’s email so she could print it for me while she was at work. She sent a text that said, “I thought you were supposed to be going home 🙂 “

Smiley faces usually indicate something good or a psychotic break.

I replied with “SIKE! I’m taking my birthday trip. I’ll be home that Saturday.” 

My birthday was in September, and as I probably mentioned before I spent it alone in a dark room, crippled and crying while my mom and her friends went on the trip to Puerto Rico we planned together from the year’s beginning (we share the same birthday).

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She went on to make sure I had all of my tickets and accommodations booked and did not mention anything negative. She ended up telling all of her coworkers what I was doing because she’s a mom that likes to brag. This makes things awkward when I meet people I never met before who seem to know my whole life story before I can even introduce myself.

It could have been all of the complaining I’ve done over the years of how negative my family has been about my inclination to do things alone, or it could have been last year’s car wreck that made her see that no matter if I am close to home, or on the other side of the world, life will always be fragile. For all of us.

This may be her finally coming around to the idea of letting go so I can live my own life peacefully.

I’m glad it happened before I turned 30.

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