You’re gay – get over it. These are the words [of wisdom?] from my Mother after a recent conversation (a couple of years ago – that’s my kinda recent) that I can’t even remember what I said to prompt such a statement.

So, I’m stuck. How exactly am I supposed to “get over” being gay? What exactly does that mean? How do I get over the ongoing discussion I’ve had in my head since I recognised that I was gay. How do I respond to my questioning of why am I gay? Was I born this way? Is it a lifestyle choice? Is it a consequence of my upbringing?

How do I “get over” the classic lines from my mother’s book of wisdom… [It’s a book of wisdom, as my parent’s liked their books. They didn’t read books, no. My Father had his “book of lost opportunities” – being a child is lazy, get something useful done. He’s dead now, but the book lives on. My Mother has her “book of wisdom” – stop worrying about yourself and start considering how difficult life is on her.]

Let me set the scene. It’s 1995, I’m living in Nuremberg, Germany, having just completed a year out from my Engineering degree with Siemens. I’ve had a wonderful time being 1000 miles away from England, met some new people, playing around with being different. I’ve gotten my ear pierced (not the right-hand side though – that’s a step too far). Gone to a German gay bar on my own {terrifying}, bought pornography [nothing hardcore – just some nice chests] from the newsagents at the railway station. I’ve lived a sample of what life could be like out from the clutches of my ever-expecting parents.

My parents were on a European trip with the caravan, with the final stop being Nuremberg, to pick me up and bring me back to England. They were staying at a campsite at Dutzendteich. (you’ll know this from the Nazi rally images from WWII [link]). It’s a nice area, popular with the locals, even with its difficult history.

I’ve packed all my stuff into a box or two – including the above-mentioned pornography (first mistake) and dropped off the boxes with them. My Mother, in her wisdom (the second mistake – forgot about her “wisdom”) decides to unpack the boxes to distribute the weight of the stuff around the caravan.

I’m meeting them before meeting friends at the beer festival taking place that week on the same site. This tale begins in a caravan, with two parents on one bench, and I on another:

Mother: tell us it’s not true.

I can’t.

Mother: There’s something wrong with you. You need a psychiatrist. Who did you talk to about this? You should have talked to us.

Chris, Julie.

Mother: It’s these people you told who have done this to you. You have a year to straighten yourself out. NO ONE in the family must know.

My father is silent with his “feeling sorry for himself” eyes on his face. My mother is raging, swearing in a way I’ve never heard before. I can tell she had brothers in the Navy. She flees the caravan, off into the woods. My father tells me:

Father: go find your mother.

The journey back to the UK. Silent and difficult. I’m due to go back to University in a month. I say to my Mother before I leave:

I’m no different, you just know a bit more about me.

I don’t straighten out in a year. How would I do that anyway? No psychiatrist was involved in this case. I’m also not suicidal, I’m more likely to disappear than die. I’m too stubborn. I do make some vows and prepare myself with a potential new identity ^[1]https://thathiddenguy.talkingspace.co.uk/2021/05/09/aaron-conrad/. Naive? Perhaps – I am only 20 though…

Vow 1: I will never trust them again, with anything about me.

Vow 2: I will never rely on them for anything. I will never owe them anything.

Vow 3: I will never speak of this to anyone in the family.

Vow 4: I will never lie about who I am. I will not cause intentional harm [as I feel] to another (aka wife or children).

It’s 1998 and I’m now living between Coventry and Colchester. I’ve got a graduate job as a Software Engineer. I also have a boyfriend – well, a wild two-week fling. He is handsome, encouraging, and supportive when talking about my parents. I think to myself:

it’s been a couple of years and the gay stuff hasn’t come up again. Perhaps my parents have changed their stance.

I phone her up. I say:

If I came to visit you with a boyfriend, would you let me in?

Mother: No. We would shut the door in your face.

Things have not changed.

My memory is now a little hazy, but it’s around 2000 (new millennium – new start) that I write to my parents to break contact. “Other than being related, we have nothing in common”. That sort of thing. I hear nothing in response and just get on with my life.

2004 comes along and I’m now living in Nottingham, working as an Engineer with Marconi. I take a random phone call at work. Out of the blue, it’s my Mother wanting to meet up. I’m thinking:

Who has cancer?

We meet at the pub around the corner from work. No one has cancer, my parents are moving to Japan with my dad’s job. They got my letter.

Mother: If you came home one day to find your father and me sacrificing children in the back garden, that’s what we think of you being gay.

oh.

It’s 2007 and I’ve started my therapy training. I’m learning all sorts of things about myself and my relationship with my family. Some good and some painful. My sister is now in a long-term relationship with her then-girlfriend, and they are buying a house together. I am fed up with lying for her to our parents, who had been in relationships or living with her girlfriends since around 1997. I’m on the phone with her. I suggest:

Perhaps now it was time for me to be honest with our parents?

Sister: What do I get out of that?

I do what we are good at doing in our family, I distance myself from her – ceasing contact.

It’s around 2010 and my parents have now returned from Japan. I did visit but spent as little time as I could with them, enjoying a trip around an amazing country.

My Mother now decides that my Father is an abuser, and I’m just like him [Yes – she called me an abuser]. She disappears without telling anyone where she’s gone. That’s not quite right. My sister had bungled our Mother’s stuff into a van and helped her flee from her bastard husband and it would seem her [bastard] son too. I ally myself with my Father. It’s difficult for him, but I offer him tough love:

grieve for her and move on.

My Mother returns having found out what real abused women experience. Don’t get me wrong, my Father wasn’t great at times, but she wasn’t afraid of protecting herself. My parents took turns to show me the bruises they had inflicted on each other. It’s not a memory I will forget easily. I also do not condone violence towards another – male or female.

My Mother is now clinically depressed, had suicidal thoughts, and any mention of why she had left was met with the response:

Mother: I can feel myself slipping (back into her depression and suicidal thoughts).

Here endeth that conversation.

It’s 2012 and [as if by magic] being gay is okay now. My sister was in a crisis with her then-girlfriend. She called on our parents to help her, came out to them at the same time, and they went along to help her move out of where she was living. I talk to my parents about how difficult it has been for me over the years, having to lie for my sister:

Mother: we would have rather you had lied about being gay as your sister had done.

oh.

It’s 2014 and I’m getting married, because I can now without disclosing my sexuality (civil partnerships were only for gay/lesbian people then and the use of the term would have forced me to out myself – err, no). I invite both parents along, but my sister is still out of the picture. Although during the time of the wedding she’s in the next county, visiting friends. [She lives in the South West, but chose to be in the neighbouring county that weekend.]

It’s the day after the ceremony, our friends have celebrated our union over two days in surroundings that reflect who we are as people.

I’m invited to walk with my parents:

Mother: after this, we now know that marriage is now not about having children. It’s about love.

fuck me.

At some point here, my sister is back in the picture – probably when my Father receives his diagnosis of prostate cancer. We don’t talk about what’s happened in the past, that’s not the sort of family we are. We pretend all is okay. I put aside all my family difficulties for the remaining years of his life. [Haven’t I been doing this anyway?]

It’s now 2018 and my father dies of prostate cancer on my birthday. My husband plays his Flugelhorn at the funeral. It’s now not only okay to be gay, but it’s also okay for the family to know. [I have honoured my end of the vow. I never spoke to anyone in the family about being gay.] I protected my parents from their shame. I try and bring this up with my Mother:

Mother: you’re gay, get over it.

{shocked out of words}

In 2020 my mother announces to me that all she’s ever wanted is to have a relationship with her daughter. She didn’t have a relationship with her mother, who was “cold and withholding”. It’s around this time I always say to her, through many tears:

I don’t want you to go to your grave without me and you having a relationship.

I wasn’t clear enough:

Mother: what do you want to know about me?

I’m still crying inside.

It’s the end of 2021, and I’m trying something new. I’ve got my Father’s Book of Lost Opportunities to hand and I’m seeing whether my mother is there to support me. I’m feeling nervous and I call her for a bit of support. It’s nothing major, the singing group I’m part of are doing a recording for local radio. Of course, I don’t tell her this during the call, I check she is doing okay. It’s afterwards, I tell her the real reason for calling:

Mother: I can’t read your mind. Well, you weren’t alone, were you. You were fine, weren’t you.

I am fine, I am always fine.

Every day, I wonder why I am gay. I do this alone and in silence.

I can’t get over being gay – I don’t know how to.

I want to get over my Mother.