MY KID'S STORY

I was in college when I told my mom that I wasn’t straight. As I recall (though I won’t swear to the details as it was college and it can be tough to pull accurate memories from that particular fog), there was a classmate whom I really liked, and I told my mom that I thought she’d be happy that it was a nice Jewish girl.

It turned out to be a short-lived fling rather than the full-fledged relationship I’d hoped it might be, unremarkable but for its place in my ‘coming out’ story, as it was.

I often talk about how glad I am that social media didn’t exist during my teens. I’m fairly certain that I never would have had the career or the life that I did if I had had the ability to chronicle and broadcast the host of god-awful decisions that I made back then. My closet is full of skeletons, and I’m very grateful that none of them have Instagram.

But I’m also glad that I was a mom with two kids before Mark Zuckerberg stepped foot on the campus of Harvard because I can’t imagine how I might have felt had my mom, after hanging up the phone back in 1992, logged onto Facebook to say, “My daughter just told me she’s bisexual,” even if it were followed by “I’m so proud of her!"

Actually, I can imagine. I would have been horrified. And embarrassed. And I would have felt betrayed. Not because I was ashamed of who I am, but because the fact that I was ready to tell *her* didn’t mean I was ready for her to tell everyone she knew. And because even if I were ready to stand in the middle of Times Square shouting to the heavens (which, now that I type it, I’m pretty sure I did at some point in college), that didn’t mean I wanted my mom doing the same.

All these years later, even after writing very publicly about it many times over, my sexual orientation still feels like something personal, something sacred, something that is mine to share when and how and with whom *I* decide to share it.

A few years ago around this time, a friend wrote to me to tell me that her 14 year-old daughter had recently come out as gay and she wanted to know how she could best support her. She shared with me, privately, a post that her daughter had written detailing her decision to share the news publicly and talking about how proud she was to stand in her truth.

The post was beautiful and poignant and it made me cry. Hell, it was all I could do not to stand up and cheer. Her mom clearly felt the same way, and said that she would ‘obviously’ be sharing it on her own page to show her daughter how proud she was of her.

I urged her to ask her daughter first. To tell *her* how proud she was. To tell her that she wanted to shout that pride from the rooftops: to declare her solidarity, to stand with her as an ally, but .. BUT .. only if her daughter was ready for and comfortable with her doing so. The story was her daughter’s, and it was up to her daughter to decide how and when and where she was comfortable with it being told.

My personal Facebook page, like most, I imagine, is populated by a fascinating mix of people. There are close friends and family members alongside former colleagues, distant cousins, classmates from high school I haven’t seen in 35 years. While we’d all love to think that every one of those people is open and accepting and affirming, the reality is that not everyone is there yet. Ignorance and bigotry don’t always live somewhere else. And when we share the details of our kids’ lives in posts or comments, no matter how noble or loving our intentions, we might just be opening them up to a whole lot of real-world stuff that they aren't ready for yet.

During Pride Month particularly, it’s so tempting to talk about our kids’ burgeoning understanding of themselves and to share their stories of discovery and declaration. But it is VITAL that we remember that they are THEIR stories, not ours, and that they may, even if they’re already sharing them in their own circles, still feel intensely personal to them.

If they give their consent, fantastic, share away. But until they do, the great thing about true allyship is that it doesn’t demand proof of connection … the only ticket needed for entry is love.

(Note: Please remember that this applies to comments, too! Anything we write on a public page, such as this one, is visible to everyone with whom we are ‘friends’ as well as the general public. 💕)

Image is a graphic. On a brightly colored, sort of rainbow, abstract watercolor background, text reads, “t can be so tempting to prove our allyship by talking about our kids’ stories of self-discovery and declaration. But it’s imperative that we remember that they are THEIR stories, not ours, and that they may — even if they’re already sharing them in their own circles — still feel intensely personal to them.

Credit: Diary of a Mom