A reader writes:
Ohh how true. I have to thank my therapist for getting me there: the moment I told my parents I was going to cut them off unless they accepted me for who I was, and my family for what it is, they started shifting. The arrival of kids sped things up, but the process had been put in motion by my refusal to compromise and my acceptance of maybe having to give up on them.
Another writes:
When I came out to my mother, the day after Christmas in 1993, the thing I remember most is she said that while she could accept me being gay, which she had suspected for awhile by then, she did not want me bringing a boyfriend home when I came to visit.
I told my mother I would respect her wishes. At the time my parents lived the Los Angeles and I lived up in Santa Cruz with my boyfriend. I generally made the trip down to visit four times a year for the major holidays – Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas – plus a summer visit. The following year I failed to make it down to LA to visit, saying I was too busy. At Christmas time my boyfriend and I spent the holiday visiting his family in New York.
Meanwhile, in LA at my parents’ house that Christmas, my sister talked to our mother and clued her into the fact that I had not been home to visit since she had issued her request that I not bring anyone with me. When it became clear to her that the choice was between having to confront the reality of her son being gay by actually seeing me with another man or not seeing me at all, she picked up the phone and pointedly invited the both of us to come down and visit when we had a chance. We made the trip down, and after a year in exile, I spent New Years visiting my family and introducing them to my boyfriend.
Ironically, now I think my family enjoys my boyfriend's (now husband's) company more than mine.
The Dish 