An essay by the author of Walking in the Deep End, a memoir
When I told my friend Grace that I hated my job, she asked me if I wanted to be happy--if I was willing to be happy. I was 39 years old, a busy working mother with no time to question my own happiness. I wasn't aware that I had that choice--bills and worries were piled high.
"Happy? I dunno, I get it that I'm supposed to act happy, but be happy? What would that look like?
For me, the day of reckoning called louder as the kids grew older, jobs were lost, a marriage was failing and friends moved on. My slumber was interrupted. It wasn't enough to tell myself how I SHOULD FEEL; now I had to face what I DID FEEL-or risk a deeper depression or an addiction as I tried to medicate, eat, or spend those feelings away.
As an Evangelical Christian and a married mother, my reckoning happened about the time I turned forty, but it really began years before then.
I'd been a tom-boy from day one-- or at least as far back as I could remember loving the sound of Hot Wheels whizzing around their orange plastic track or marching around the house in combat gear to the latest GI Joe commercial. GI Joe, GI Joe, empa, empa, empa so.
Only years later did I realize "empa empa so" was really "fighting man from head to toe."
No matter. I was too distracted by thoughts of conquest and adventure and I certainly couldn't be bothered with my sister's Barbie dolls. No, I was too busy saving the world as Batman or Zorro at Halloween; flipping baseball cards; or ruling as King of the Mountain atop mounds of plowed Cleveland snow.
The week I turned ten, my mother interrupted our neighborhood football game to show me the red and white polka-dotted dress her Aunt Mary had sent for my birthday. Made from a starched, coarse fabric and fashioned with a big bow, it was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen.
"Try it on" Mom coaxed.
Seriously? Five minutes earlier I'd made one of the best end-zone runs of my life. My teammates (all boys) congratulated me as if I were Jim Brown, our city's most famous sports hero.Polka dots? My tomboy-self would have preferred a lump of coal--or a dental appointment.
Wanting to please my mother, I put on the dress. It didn't fit, but Mom didn't see it that way. I knew I'd be sending a Thank You note and wearing that monstrosity to church with a counterfeit smile plastered to my face.
Like many women, as I grew older, I continued to be a people-pleaser. I found great joy in giving, and there were huge, undeniable benefits. Like you, I love my family and friends. I take pride in the way I created a sense of home and belonging for my loved ones-the way I'm so often the glue that keeps it all together.
By middle age though, old questions about my own quest for personal fulfillment resurfaced. I squinted through memories to see the little girl I once was. To remember her adventurous nature. I asked myself why I wasn't her anymore-why I wasn't happier.
The year I turned 40, I awakened to an undeniable fact-one that snuck-up on me over the course of many years. Surprising myself as much as anyone, I had to face the fact that I'd fallen in love with my best friend in our new home state of Texas. Oh, and yes, my friend is a woman.
Say, what? Being gay and Christian are mutually exclusive, aren't they? I bet you're also wondering why I didn't recognize my orientation sooner. I don't have an answer for you. I really had no idea. My late-in-life realization hit me like a sonic boom. I became an instant minority. An Abomination. My faith had always sustained me. Now what? The Bible in the wrong hands became the club that hit me.
I thought about suicide every day for months-wanting an escape and needing relief. I started to wonder if my kids would be better off without me. Thoughts of their well-being and something Maya Angelou wrote finally broke through my fog: "In order for our children to approve of themselves, they must see that we approve of ourselves."
After staring at those words for a long time, I told The Creator, "I love my kids more than anything, and I want them to like themselves-to BE themselves. I know I have to stay on this planet and figure this out. If it's true you hate me for it, so be it."
When lightning didn't strike, I set out on my journey of being and liking me. I went on long walks amongst tall Southern pines and splashed in the lake near my home. Wherever I traveled, I sought the serenity of a park, a river or the ocean. I wandered through art museums and paged through my father's old art books and found solace in the beauty and expression of Picasso, Van Gogh, Degas, Wyeth. I met local artists and musicians whose passion and dedication to truthful expression inspired me. I read memoirs and biographies of great women and men who didn't care what others thought --Helen Keller, Maya Angelou, Jung Chang and Viktor Frankl to name a few. They pushed beyond popular opinion or overcame stereotypes and trauma to achieve great things with courage and passion.
I traveled back home to Cleveland and as far away as Spain to laugh with friends about the absurdity reflected in the comedies all around us and in my own life. After all, when you're in the right frame of mind, especially in this political climate, there's something kind of funny about being gay AND Christian.
Amidst all that, I started to question the old notion that The One who created me didn't want me to be real-didn't care if I was happy. The diversity in all creation told the opposite story. Indeed, the real design was for me to do the one thing no one else could: Be myself.
Little by little, I started to re-connect with and believe in that little girl I'd left behind, to see her unique beauty, which gave me courage to be the real Susan, rather than a people-pleasing, watered-down version.
I also grew to understand that sometimes love calls for a different kind of sacrifice-the kind modeled after those airplane safety exercises when you put the safety mask on yourself before assisting the children traveling with you.
I began to realize that I wanted to help others-to give them "permission" to be honest about who they were and what they'd experienced. To help them find the courage to seek the faith they'd lost in themselves. To learn to laugh more and worry less. To stand without apology.
It's been nearly eight years since I considered taking my own life-nearly 3,000 days since I pondered the effects of a revolver in my mouth or a chance "accident" on a Texas highway.
Is life perfect? It never is, but now my children see that I approve of myself. They know I'm happy and free from the old ways that don't fit me anymore than that red and white polka-dotted dress.
Susan Parker is a Speaker and Diversity and Career Consultant based in Houston, Texas. She travels around the globe sharing her honesty and quick wit with student groups, businesses and associations. She is the author of Walking in the Deep End, her critically acclaimed memoir. For more information go to www.WalkingInTheDeepEnd.com or contact Susan at Susan@SusanParkerBooks.com
