Uncomfortable

Oct 17, 2011 | Filed in Family, Gay | 8 Comments

10.17.11
12:45 AM

Dear Mom,

I’ve been thinking about my comfort level these past few days and I have some things I want to get off my chest. I don’t know if I’ll send this letter. I really don’t like to rock the boat. But I’m going to write it anyway, and then we’ll just see how I feel about sending it in the morning.

The reunion was this weekend for the relatives on your side of the family. I told you a few months ago that I really didn’t want to go because I felt like most of my relatives completely dismissed my wedding to Daniel this past April. Since they made it clear that they don’t want to be a part of our big moments as a couple, I figured there’s no point in sitting around making small talk with them.

I thought you’d protest my decision. You always used to encourage me to come to reunions. Sometimes I did so I’d make you happy. And when I didn’t come, I felt really bad about it.

But this year, you had different words. You seemed relieved and told me that was fine. “Really?” I asked in disbelief. I kept waiting for a story about how I should cherish the time we have left with our family. But instead, you confessed that you would have felt uncomfortable with introducing Daniel as my husband.

I brushed it off at first. I wouldn’t want to put you in a position that makes you uncomfortable. I sincerely mean that. I know you were uncomfortable with the wedding itself and I really am thankful that you came anyway. I know you don’t believe it, but you’ll be glad you did someday. I really know it.

This weekend, Daniel and I went to a wedding… A “gay” wedding, I guess. It was two women. One of the women lost her mother just recently. It was a very bittersweet ceremony. The emotion in the air was palpable. She didn’t get to have her mother there on her wedding day. It was such a sad emptiness right there in the middle of such a happy occasion.

And that’s why I needed you and Dad at our wedding. Even if you were uncomfortable, it still mattered for you to be there. If nothing else, I will always be able to look back at that day and say my parents were at our wedding. That’s something our friend who got married can’t say about her mom.

Okay, so 400 words in, I’m getting to the point. Comfort. You stepped out of your comfort zone, but where do we go from there? You took a giant leap forward, but you’re still uncomfortable with the whole marriage topic.

And this leads into a bigger issue — MY comfort. I walk on eggshells to make my family comfortable. I censor the things I say when I’m with the family so that I don’t make anyone uncomfortable with the fact that Daniel and I are married. I censor myself around my brothers, their kids. I go out of my way to be a watered down version of myself just to make everyone else comfortable.

But nobody ever asks me if I’m comfortable. If Daniel’s comfortable. And I’m sorry to sound ungrateful, because I know you’ve done a lot. But on the topic of comfort, I simply don’t feel like this is a relationship where we’re giving fairly.

And relationships are all about balance and fairness. This isn’t as balanced as I’d like it to be. I bet there’s never been a time in your life when you’ve hesitated to introduce Dad as your husband. I bet there’s never been a time in your life that you were relieved if my brother and his wife weren’t coming to a reunion because you were uncomfortable with saying they’re married.

I just want the same fairness that I feel entitled to. I’m not asking you to be the mascot for the next gay pride parade. I just want to be treated as an equal son, with an equal spouse, and get to have the life with my family, with my parents, that you would have given me if I married a woman. I’m not asking for anything “special,” I just want something fair. Something that makes me comfortable for a change.

I can think of half a dozen ways this letter will go awry if I send it. And the mere thought of bringing this up makes me uncomfortable… And will undoubtedly make you uncomfortable too… But hey, what’s the cost of comfort? I feel like I’m paying the price for everyone else’s comfort. When is someone going to give it back in return?

I love you,

Nathan

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About Nathan

I'm a happily married gay man, self employed as a website designer, writing about my life and the world as I see it.
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