Steve’s Journey to Gayhood

“When I’m 64.” Yes, it was only at that age that I became convinced that I am gay. That was in 2012, though my suspicions had first surfaced five years earlier, in 2007. Prior to that I had been in a conventional marriage for 25 years until it broke down in 2004. Neither during my married life nor in my younger days had I had any cause to think at all about my sexuality, let alone question that I was other than conventional in that respect. No reason, in other words, to doubt that I was straight.

So what happened?

Ironically, the story begins way back in 1972, several years prior to my marriage (or courting my wife-to-be). Of my co-workers at that time, Adrian* was closest to me professionally, but I knew little about him in personal terms: only that he was married and had two young sons. When my three-year tenure of that post expired, I moved to other employment and lost touch with him.

Some twenty years later, in the mid-1990s, I came across Adrian again as he advised one of my then-colleagues. Adrian and I started what turned out to be a long tradition of pie-and-pint lunches every few weeks. Not constrained to professional matters, our conversation was wide-ranging. Our musical, societal and political interests were similar, as was (so poignant now) our commitment to the underlying principles of the European Union.

In particular, however, I soon learned that Adrian – by then a close friend more than just a colleague of re-acquaintance – had realised that he was gay from an early age – which meant, of course, that he had successfully concealed it through the years I had previously worked with him. He had suppressed his homosexuality because his Methodist upbringing in the 1950s had made clear how abhorrent it was, and he had endeavoured to be “normal” by marrying and raising a family. But then, unable to maintain the subterfuge any longer, he had all but jumped in front of a train. Only the quick-thinking of a fellow-commuter restrained him; now very much “out”, he became a stalwart of the Campaign for Homosexual Equality (CHE).

With my feeling for the “underdog” in any situation, I was pleased to empathise with Adrian’s personal history and the need for gay rights. In a sense he reciprocated by being a mentor and confidant after my marriage breakdown in mid-2004. (His marriage, by the way, had weathered his coming-out and remained one of the most beautiful relationships I have ever known.)

At one of our pie-and-pint lunches, Adrian burst into the pub rejoicing that ‘the Evangelicals are moving!’ Indeed, an article written by a senior Evangelical Christian did seek to re-interpret more favourably the Biblical passages that are held to condemn homosexual activity. However, in spite of wanting to share Adrian’s reaction, I felt the article to be intellectually lax, and I wrote my own critique of it. But in so doing, I recognised that – by then not just separated but also divorced – I could not predict whether any new relationship would be straight or gay.

That was in November 2007, and it took me another five years to become persuaded that I am indeed gay. During that time I didn’t feel particularly closeted; while I didn’t divulge my suspicions to anyone, nor did I feel that I was being secretive since, as yet, there was “nothing to see here”. In fact, I was more fascinated than fearful about what was happening, and if I had any anxiety it was that I would wake up one morning to find that I was actually still straight! All that said, however, I suspect that Adrian had become convinced that I was gay from rather earlier in our pie-and-pint friendship but wanted to allow me my own realisation at my own pace.

In July 2012 I first met Richard,* then in his mid-twenties and a recent arrival at the church I attended. I welcomed him and found that our professional disciplines were similar, albeit nearly 40 years apart. I also remarked upon his discreetly-visible rainbow tag and felt able to say that he had a fellow traveller in me; that was the first time that I had been explicit about being gay.

But my main “coming-out” three months later, in October 2012, was wholly spontaneous and thus inflicted equally without warning upon about 40 fellow church-goers at a weekend retreat. We were there to figure out, as a congregation, “Going forward, where should we be directing our energies in the church’s life?”

Come Sunday morning of that weekend, however, we were making no headway on that front, and in plenary discussion we decided that more progress seemed possible if we thought how – individually – we might advance the church’s work, primarily in the field of the “social gospel”.

A seemingly trivial detail was that I arrived last – that is, late! – for that discussion, and the only available seat in the circle happened to be alongside Richard. Perhaps that wasn’t coincidence; he had injured his leg, and I had been assisting him over the weekend as he hobbled about on a crutch, and now he was immobilised with the damaged leg propped on a stool. Had he kept that one chair free for me? Had others already divined that having Richard beside me was going to be important?

Anyways, over the imminent coffee-break we were to list three personal goals and seal them in envelopes that would be returned to us the following Easter, six months hence, so that we could – privately! – check how we had done in achieving those goals.

My mind was as blank as the blank sheet of paper put before me; I had no ideas. Terror wouldn’t be too strong a word to describe my feelings, reminded as I was of a task set to my (former) wife and me by our marriage-guidance counsellor: a plain sheet of paper on which to record what the other appreciated of oneself, and which for me remained empty until, far into the night, I was prepared to concede… But that’s another story: suffice to say with a happier result than you might expect, since our relationship improved dramatically for several months, maybe a full year.

To resume my narrative. At the retreat I still had that blank sheet of paper. Yet only a few minutes later, in the bathroom, I had my Damascene moment. I would… And returning to my place I scribbled my goals, folded the paper, and stuffed my envelope.

As we re-convened in our plenary assembly, there was an invitation – no pressure, mind! – to make known our goals. I don’t recall whether anyone else volunteered – but then, my own willingness to share may have pre-empted them. It was precipitate and wholly without premeditation, as if propelled by a wave of unspoken energy from Richard sitting there beside me (not that he was privy to what I had written). I read from my no-longer blank sheet of paper:

‘For a few years now, I have wondered about my sexuality. I’m still not sure but more-or-less confident to move from “prefer not to say” to “gay”.

‘So to share that more openly, and if that helps anyone else to realise who they are or to know they are not unique, that’s great too.

‘And that could be outside the church as well as within.’

Shocked silence as the news sank in… But that was momentary before I was overwhelmed with hand-shakes, hugs, kisses: no one holding back in the genuine warmth of their greeting. From some – I suppose the gay couples in the gathering – there were the sort of smiles that hinted ‘about time, it’s been obvious for long enough!’; for others it was a surprise to be celebrated; while there were those, I’m sure, for whom it came as a barely-comprehensible turn-of-events; after all, I had been significant in that congregation – not least in former times with wife and children – for forty years.

Meanwhile, Richard still sat quietly alongside, still – so it felt to me – radiating his supportive energy.

No going back; a new life had begun.

 

* Names anonymised