Exploring my sexual identity during puberty was as easy as swimming laps in a pool full of Jell-O. My stepdad moved back into our family home when I was 14 years old. I had just met the love of my life the year prior in eighth-grade social studies and I was excited for the adventure of high school. My best friend at the time, Kat was intent on hooking me up with my beloved. She got her chance one afternoon in Spanish class and sent Anthony a note asking if he thought I was pretty. She instructed him to check yes or no. My heart raced as we waited for the note to come back up the three rows in between us. When it did, with the “yes” option checked and a smiley face next to it, my heart leaped into my throat. This little fun fantasy just became real life, and I wasn’t ready for that. Boys were scary, evil, and gross, right?
As the days went on, I burrowed deep
into fantasy land as much as I could. I covered my bedroom walls with every
photo insert from every teen magazine I could get my hands on. Name a ’90s heartthrob
and I can almost guarantee you his face was scotch taped to my wall. I even had
a rotating monthly feature wall with a calendar featuring the Tiger Beat hottie
of the month. Whether he was my dreamboat or not, it didn’t matter. I was
dedicated to fantasy. It gave me something to focus on and it made my parents
annoyed beyond measure.
Inwardly, I was questioning my sexuality.
Did my fear and disgust of boys and men mean that I was a lesbian? Should I be
looking at breasts and trying to kiss girls? Or, should I keep plastering cute
boys on my wall? I was beyond confused. At the time, Clea Duvall was an out
lesbian who was appearing in nearly every show or movie I was interested in. She
was stunning. I remember thinking “Should I be attracted to her? Is this how I’m
supposed to dress?” I played with the options for a while, but it just never
felt quite right. Females never held my interest for too long. Meanwhile, there
was still Lance Bass (who wasn’t out yet!) and Tom Cruise (who hadn’t publicly
lost it yet), and Freddie Prinze Jr who, let’s face it – was not that great of
an actor, but had a million-dollar smile that could make me weak in the knees. And
Anthony who was by far the sweetest, kindest boy I had ever met. Never mind
that he was also the broodiest damn teenager I have ever met.
The closer Anthony and I became,
the more afraid I became of my sexuality. It was becoming clearer to me that as
his girlfriend, we were expected to do more than hold hands. The pressure felt
overwhelming. I wasn’t ready for that, but I didn’t know how to voice it. By
the time I figured out how afraid I was of moving forward, I stumbled through
my first awkward, heartbreaking breakup. I lied and said my parents didn’t approve
of him. The truth is that they loved him as much as I did. He was kind,
respectful, and thoughtful and he accepted my severely handicapped sister,
holding her hand in public when she reached for it. She loved him, too. Anthony
was always “the one” but he came before I knew what that meant – before I was
ready to have the kind of conversations that people dating needed to have. So,
instead of kissing him, I pretended I hated him. I broke both our hearts that
day. I never once found anyone else who captivated me the way he did.
The lies coming from the LGBTQ community
continued to hold my attention from about the age of 17 until I was in my early
twenties. I explored my sexuality once more, in-depth at age 21 with a very
out, very loud lesbian activist name Jammie. She was everything I had hoped to
be. She was a mother, a homeowner, loud and unashamed of who she was. She lived
life on her terms and was unapologetic about it. At the time, I thought I was
absolutely in love with her. But it was not meant to be, and we both went on to
marry other people. I sometimes wish I could erase that part of my history, but
I think I will always be grateful to Jammie for allowing me to be a part of her
life and figure things out for myself. We broke each other’s hearts when we
parted ways, but I know now that it was never meant to be. She was not part of
God’s plan for my life, and I was never going to be who she needed me to
become.
Three weeks after the implosion of
Jammie and me, Byron came into my life. He was everything I thought I ever
wanted. He was an older man, a smooth talker, successful in his line of business,
and best of all, he lived two states away. We became very close online and over
the telephone. He respected my boundaries (at first) and made me laugh harder
than anyone else had ever been able to. Our life goals were totally in line
with each other’s (or so I thought). Our budding romance was like something out
of a fairytale to my young mind. His entire family adored me, and I, them. Then,
I began sharing some of our private conversations with a friend of mine and Shelly
pulled my head out of my…*ahem*…behind and assertively explained all the red
flags to my naïve self. When I began questioning Byron on all these issues,
everything began to unravel to the point where he began asking my opinions on
other women – younger than me. Mind you, he was 9 years older than me, and I was
21 years old. But, oh my gosh…was he like a drug to me at the time. You see
where this is going, right? He’s now three times divorced, has had open heart surgery,
and lived with ex-wife number three before marrying wife number four. She doesn’t
look much older than me.
Right before the end of it all with
Byron, I was perusing Myspace with my friend, Shelly and we were sharing photos
of all our old schoolmates when suddenly we came upon Anthony’s profile. My
heart stopped and I gasped audibly. Shelly caught on quickly and slyly asked “And
who is this?” I could barely breathe. He had filled out so nicely and
was at least a thousand times more handsome than I remembered him to be. “Tony,”
I said breathlessly. “It’s my high school boyfriend, Tony.” And just as quickly
as I found his profile, I tried to click away, but Shelly wouldn’t let me. She
wanted details and she wanted them now. God bless Shelly. She was Kat 2.0 and
wasn’t going to drop this. I spent the next twenty to thirty minutes explaining
who he was, so she didn’t ask again. I figured that was the best way to handle
this situation. Shelly sat there patiently, with a smile on her face that was
growing wider by the minute. She clicked the button to send him a private message
and commanded me to “type”. Type what? It had been five years since we’d seen
each other. Surely a man this gorgeous had other prospects. “Type,” she
commanded again. “Ask him to dinner.” Two weeks later, we went on our first date
in five years. Eight days later, we were engaged. Two months following that, we
were married.
I have shared with you already that
our earliest days of marriage weren’t all sweet and perfect. There were hard
times, especially during sex. It was confusing for me to be so attracted to a
man and yet so put off by the act of sex. Was it dirty? Was it okay to enjoy
it? How should I enjoy it? What are the rules? Fortunately, in time, we were
able to have hard conversations, couples therapy, and pastoral counseling. We figured
it out. Together. He has always been “the one” and though the intimate moments
of our life together haven’t always been sunshine and roses, they have all been
ours to stumble through, together. There
has never been a person who has captivated my heart more than he. I thank God for
Anthony every day.
I belong to my beloved, and his desire is for me. – Song of Solomon 7:10
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| In 1999, our Sophomore year of High School |
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| September 2007 with our first child |
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| Us circa 2010, as I was visiting him on the ship during a duty day |
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| Renewal of vows in 2021, on our 15th wedding anniversary |
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| My beloved on a date night this summer, 2022 |
Love is a beautiful, scary, crazy roller coaster. It is made harder by recovering from past abuse and deceit, but it is always worth the effort. You are always worthy of love and no one has the right to lie to you and tell you otherwise. There is an "Anthony" out there for everyone. Trust in God to bring your lover to you, in His (God's) time.
Stay tuned for another episode. I aim to crank
out the blog posts three times a week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. See you
next time! And remember, if you or a loved one is in danger, get help right
away, and don't stop talking until someone acts on what you're saying.
National Domestic Abuse Hotline: 800-799-7233 Hours: 24/7.
Languages: English, Spanish, and 200+ through interpretation service. SMS: Text
START to 88788
National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 Hours:
Available 24 hours. https://www.rainn.org/
In Christ alone our hope is found
Run, don't walk for help! You're worth it.
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