It’s Difficult to be Gay in the South
As I write this, I learn from a respected Democratic Senator in the Northeast about a future master plan, entitled ‘Project 2025,’ conceived by loyalists of the Republican Presidential candidate to remove many of our current rights and liberties. Among the vicious dictates will be the stripping of rights for gay and transgender individuals concerning all rights gained under Federal rules and regulations. Marriage will be reinstated and defined in Biblical terms only. We will conceivably be back to the 1940s and shoved into the closet once again. If this occurs, I foresee tremendous backlash and irreparable damage to many citizens.
Too Busy to be Gay
I am sharing the framework and highlights of my personal story while exposing vulnerabilities. Why? I think it illustrates my masterful resilience for the millionth time. Additionally, if there is but one person I can help in the revealing, I have accomplished my purpose.
My story began when I was about 13 years old, recognizing that perhaps something was a bit different for me. Irrespective of the fact that I was born with a permanent disability and spent much of my childhood having surgeries for two separate and distinct problems, I pretty much ignored it, attending to other aspects of life. The timeline included dealing with surgeries, attending school, being the first college-bound person in my family, traveling 1400 miles for graduate school in Kansas for three years, striking out on my own renting apartments, and having roommates. Next came a very significant change in my life: coping with the murder of my father in 1981 and thereafter becoming a lifelong crime victim advocate.
It truly was a full life in many respects, but not quite socially. I was always the type of person who had a small circle of friends. I was involved in intellectual pursuits. I never really partied or ‘hugged the porcelain throne’ as a way of fitting in during college. I never smoked or had an affinity for alcohol. However, I was told that I did unknowingly consume some homemade brownies with weed thanks to one of my roommates!
You should know that a child who has grown up with a disability is more or less seen as having no physical or romantic desires. I’m sure most people, even today, think, “It’s just not possible!” This is a fallacy that is perpetuated over time. On the other hand, I suppose my disability served as a good cover when I was coming to the personal realization that I may, in fact, be a gay woman.
Ohhhhh, not in this family. Although we had a few gay men as family friends and neighbors, there was no one else I knew of in my family. So, there was a long closeted period on my part.
The Coming Out Process
At age 36, I knew I had to take the true path. It frightened me to death for the person I initially fell in love with was someone with whom you don’t ordinarily encounter as your first love. This person I saw frequently at work. It was exhilarating and oh so awkward at the same time! Did I act like a lovesick schoolgirl looking for any excuse? Probably. Suffice it to say, it was my indoctrination experience. The receiver knew of my feelings, and she handled it well. However, fortunately or unfortunately for me, although she was work family, she was otherwise unavailable.
I began exploring, looking for answers, attending counseling, joining PFLAG Hartford, and learning of the non-profit Our True Colors, geared for LGBTQ+ minority youth, specifically their amazing annual conference. I even began sponsoring my own monthly Sunday brunch for lesbians at a major hotel chain. I visited the Hartford Gay & Lesbian Health Collective, got involved with the Connecticut Gay & Lesbian Film Festival at Trinity College, joined Another Octave- Connecticut Women's Chorus, and attended gay-friendly restaurants in the Hartford and New Haven areas, etc. I did make friends in the community.
As far as coming out, I actually did it on National Coming Out Day with some family members. My siblings were neutral. I remember writing a heartfelt letter to my mother and receiving a loving response in return when I moved to Phoenix. Prior to that time, Another Octave was performing at a church in Hartford where my mom had attended 50 years earlier. She didn’t know it was a gay chorus. Yes, it was a risk. She saw that I was enjoying myself and later asked me, “Are you trying to tell me something?” “Yes, Mom, I am.”
There was one tragic chapter in which I was taken advantage of, not seeing the red flags, and manipulated by a young woman who ultimately had demons of substance abuse which she hid well. I had helped her; she stole my new car for drugs. I still supported the offender in rehab and kept her from going to prison. It didn’t matter! It didn’t end well in spite of my efforts.
I was embarrassed and mortified that as an intelligent person, I didn’t see the signs, with my mom, sister, and others helping me after the crime. Although I didn’t choose well that one time, I had two or three short-term relationships after that where I really cared. I met them at work and respected them for their dedication to their jobs before we ever dated. Each relationship ended too soon, with my partners moving on. It was the nature of lesbian relationships; you know the tired jokes about the U-Haul. Besides my first love, there was another woman, a nurse. I grieved over her loss for four years. It was much too long, and I had a hard time letting go. My mom saw my heartbreak, and she was empathetic. In her own way, Mom had walked the path a bit more with me, or as far as she could, for her generation.
But I got mixed signals, even years later at holiday gatherings, I would hear the ‘fag jokes’ in my presence. This behavior hurt and disappointed me in so many ways. And so… I guess you can say I went underground for later years, as I was making plans to move to South Carolina in the future. I kept my nose to the grindstone at work and was so very busy with my alter ego, ‘Ladyjustice,’ and those who supported my passions and talents.
Moving to South Carolina- Sexual Orientation Takes a Back Seat
I did extensive research before coming to South Carolina. I had visited friends and vacationed several times. Friends were very kind, and gracious, and taught me what I needed to know as best they could. During this life-changing event, I had no choice but to make my safety, given my disability, my number one priority, leaving my home with the snow and ice behind to fend for myself in the sunshine. My true sexual orientation would have to take a back seat.
AND, I was in the Bible Belt, Republicanland, lack of progressives, and the land of, in the majority, less educated and the more closed-minded.
There are a scant few activities. There is no SAGE Group for LGBTQ+ elders, no PFLAG, or other like-minded groups. There is a family art workshop including kids monthly. Pride Myrtle Beach was formed in 2020. Their mission is to unite and serve the LGBTQ+ community in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. We envision a community where everyone can live open and safe lives while having access to quality services and resources.
It is somewhat disconcerting and scary to read a huge waiver that includes the following: “I agree to assume all risks, dangers, and injuries associated with being involved in THE EVENTS and release and hold harmless PMB and its successors and assigns from any and all liability, claims, and demands of whatever kind or nature, either in law or in equity, which arise or may hereafter arise from my volunteer work with PMB. I understand that this waiver discharges PMB from any liability or claim that I may have against PMB with respect to bodily injury, personal injury, illness, death, or property damage that may result from my participation in THE EVENTS.”
I have to tread lightly where I live as well. It’s the same story with 80 and 90-year-olds. They just aren’t accepting. However, there is one lesbian couple who attends Sunday Brunch weekly to visit their parents. I have tried and succeeded in making friends. This is the South, after all… I have to make my choices and priorities. But whatever the future holds, I know I will survive and hopefully make the South better for my presence!
Donna R. Gore
