Married Lesbian

I'm a gay divorcee!

2009-08-23T22:20:00.002-04:00

My divorce came through in the first week of August 09 and I'm finally single. A bittersweet moment, but primarily a huge relief. Mr. Lesbian continues to live in hope that we will reunite, despite the fact that I've been living in my own apartment for a year come September 15th and have clearly moved on with my life. This is the longest I've ever been single - yep, in my life. And it's the first time I've lived alone for a very long time too, and I'm really enjoying it. I've discovered that I need way more solitude than I thought - and I spend a lot of time checking my caller ID and screening calls. My life has stabilized here, and I have good and solid friends, people who care about me and my practice is doing well. Mr Lesbian put the house on the market this summer and it has just sold - for exactly what we paid for it. So we lost a lot of money - but it's still a relief. If I cared too much about money I would be crying now. But I don't. I value my freedom, my serenity and sanity way more. Mr. Lesbian says that hir inheritance is close to coming through, and I don't care about that either. Financial ties to hir are dangerous, so I'm content to earn what I earn, and pay my rent regularly. Financially things were always a roller coaster living with hir, so to know that I can make my bills on time, and still save, feels like a good thing. One of the hardest things was the loss of my puppy. I left him with Mr. Lesbian when I left the marriage - I knew that if I took the dog with me there would be constant requests for doggy visitation, and excuses to drop in and see the dog. So I let my puppy go. I miss him. But it was worth the sacrifice.

I think I'm going to have to have a My Big Fat Gay Divorce Party someday soon.

Lava and Toshi Reagon

2008-12-14T10:35:00.004-05:00

Last night, I had two amazing experiences on two ends of the color spectrum: one involved warm, smooth brownness and the other cold, glittery whiteness.

I drove to North Adams to see Lava perform at MassMoCa. If you ever get a chance to see "Lava" perform, you should take it. Six female dancer/acrobats, performing feats of incredible strength and agility, while Toshi Reagon's amazing music throbs loudly.

The hottest woman on the planet is, without doubt, Toshi Reagon.

She's butch, smooth satiny brown skin, shaved head, a voice like an angel, soft sensuous lips and a beautiful thick body. Even her speaking voice is melodic - I could listen to her for hours. My two friends and I were sitting in the front row, so there were occasions when we lived in fear of our lives from the tumbling acrobatics, but even that added to the overall thrill. Plus afterward there were Q and A and I sat RIGHT OPPOSITE THE GODDESS HERSELF!! I had seen Toshi perform recently at the IMA in Goshen, MA with Staceyann Chin just a few weeks ago. After the performance, she was hanging out awkwardly next to the table where her CD was being sold. Even more awkwardly, I introduced myself to her and told her what a big fan I was. (My friend, MM, told me that the only reason I wore a scarf was to catch the drool from sitting in such close proximity to Toshi all night!) So, last night, trying to find a pretext to talk to her, I had to go and tell her that I loved her new CD...and she looked at me like I was a wild-eyed stalker. I suspect that she's actually quite shy when she's not on stage. At any rate, I think I'm done stalking Toshi. She's not taking too kindly to it and my usual comfort with talking to people completely disappears when I'm in her presence and I just look like a fat, drooling, crazy-eyed old white woman, with a lecherous lear and unattractive spittle running down my chin.

While it was an experience of a different kind, the drive there and back was spectacular. As those of you who don't live in New England may have heard, parts of Massachusetts were just hit with an amazing ice storm that has taken out power for thousands of people - apparently one million at least in Western Massachusetts - ...the devastation from the ice was incredible! I'm living in a relatively sheltered part of the valley and we didn't get hit too hard by the storm: but driving along the Route 2 corridor last night was just stunning. At higher altitudes the ice was 2 inches thick on slender tree branches. Huge maples bent over to meet the ground, weighed down by the weight of the ice. And, it was a full moon, so everything sparkled eerily by moonlight. We drove slowly because of downed tree limbs and wires, but also because we just couldn't NOT drink in the beauty of the darkly glittering ice. If you've ever driven down the Route 2 corridor down into North Adams you'll have some picture of what that might look like. When you're down in the valleys, the towering hills rise up sharply either side of the road..and last night they looked like one huge icicle. When you're up on top of the Florida mountain, it felt like you were on a huge iceberg...everything coated with thick ice as far as the eye could see. Not snow...ice. A vastly different experience than seeing a snow-scape.

Anyway, goodbye Toshi. I'm letting go of my crush and moving on.

I'm being pursued...

2008-11-07T09:31:00.002-05:00

...by a very wonderful woman (WW) who lives on Cape Cod. I'm also in the midst of a very, very messy separation and divorce after ten long years of struggle and, as I pointed out to the woman in question, I'm just not a good bet at the moment. Right now things are amicable, but sad between Mr. Lesbian and I. But s/he's in full-scale wooing-and-pursuit mode believing, erroneously, that s/he can lure me back. As soon as s/he realizes that I'm not returning, I believe things will get ugly. I'm gearing myself up for that. As I informed WW, I'm not a good bet at the moment. In the past, I've leaped from one relationship straight to another, so that I don't have to experience the feelings of leftover sadness from the previous one. I don't want to do that again. I AM sad. I AM disappointed. I DO feel bitter that it didn't work out for me and Mr. Lesbian. And I don't want to jump into something else romantic without having a chance to work through the complexity of those feelings and how they impact me. And as I don't do anything casual, let alone lover relationships and/or sex, this is where I'll be until I'm done with feeling it. Doesn't sound frightfully appealing to a new potential lover does it? I just don't want to sugar-coat the reality of where I am in my life at the moment.

So, even if I was interested in WW from Cape Cod, that's a very long way from where I live, folks. For somebody like me who tries to primarily eat local foods, is invested in local activism and community building and tries to make friendships in a 20 mile radius for community-building/sustainability reasons, I'm not sure whether a girlfriend on Cape Cod (no matter how wonderful she is) is in my future. I could be wrong.

Single

2008-10-27T14:48:00.003-04:00

I'm single. But still married, so I guess the name of the blog holds true. In the big scheme of things naming a blog hardly ranks as a top concern when the the horrors of same-sex divorce loom large. The specter of having the farm I co-own with Mr. Lesbian foreclosed upon is omnipresent. In what can only be described as horrible luck, s/he lost hir job the day after I told hir that I was moving out.

The moving vans came to the marital home five weeks ago, and I'm now living in the sweetest, coziest apartment in an even older antique farmhouse than the one I left (this one was built in 1763), twenty miles from the village I was living in previously. Access to my apartment is through a barn. Yes, this is how we roll in the countryside, people.

It's a huge relief to be away from Mr. Lesbian. I've cried. But not as much as I thought I would. I miss my former best friend much more than I miss Mr. Lesbian. The overwhelming sense of freedom has been fabulous, and I've been nesting, setting up house, putting up blinds and trying to find a space for everything. I moved from a 2,500 square foot Cape farmhouse, into a one bedroom apartment of about 700 square feet, so I don't have much room here. But there's a greenhouse here that I'm allowed to share, and I have as much space to plant vegetables in the very large existing garden as I could possibly wish. There are solar panels on the roof, which heat my hot water and there are brand new windows in the house, and the walls are well-insulated. It's nearly November and I haven't put the heat on yet. I wrap up warmly, with wool socks and slippers, and a few extra layers, smothered in a wool blanket and I'm quite toasty, thank-you-very-much.

The photograph above is the bovine line-up you see from my living room window, so I'm still living very rurally with woods on one side, and fields and a lake on the other. The sweet little calf was born a couple of weeks ago, much to my delight and that of my granddaughter. She visits him every time she comes to stay, spending hours sitting on the fence, chatting to the cows.

What I miss most is the village I was living in. The friendships I was starting to make, the land I own (where Mr. Lesbian is still living - ironically in a town s/he didn't want to live in in the first place), the church I was attending, the local lesbian-owned store where I shopped, dined and socialized....it's painful to go back there now. I searched and searched for a place to live in the village or somewhere close by to no avail. I'm still determined to make it back there some day, but for the time being I'm making my home here.

Ay to Zee

2008-03-30T16:49:00.002-04:00

A - Animals/Pets: A small pesky, but extremely cute, little dog and formerly a cute, but brain-damaged, cat that now lives with my best friend. (See below).
B - Best Friend: An ex-lover
C - Cohabitants: Mr. Lesbian, my dog and a new and unwanted puppy that Mr. Lesbian just bought yesterday in direct violation of our agreement about pets.
D - Desire(s): To be happy in do-able increments throughout the day.
E - Eye Color: Green, with grey rims
F - Favorite Food(s): I love huge hunks of steaming, locally-grown vegetables and pretty much anything that I cook. I make absolutely phenomenal soups of all kinds.
G - Games: Occasionally Scrabble, but hate and detest card games. I've played "The Ungame" with clients and my granddaughter, who thinks that it's hokey.
H - Habit(s): Looking for rogue chin hairs to pluck.
I - Interests: Reading (Psych books particularly, but occasionally novels), writing, playing the piano when I get anywhere near one, cooking, activism around sustainability issues, staring out of the window, bird watching.
J - Job: Sex Therapist
K - Kitchen (Wonder or Blunder?): Wonder! I'm a great cook, and folks are always dropping by at mealtimes "just in case."
L - Languages: French, German and English
M - Most Valued Possession(s) (an item, not people/pets): A 3-ring binder in which I keep all my credentials, such as CE's, immigration papers, etc. It's THE thing I would grab if there was a fire in my house.
N - Name (Named after?): I don't use my real name on this blog. Sapphique I picked because it seems fitting.
O - Outfit You Love: Pajamas - win hands down every time!
P - Pizza Toppings: Spinach, Bacon, Ricotta cheese, roasted red peppers.
Q - Question Asked To You the Most: "Did you lose weight?" followed by a compliment on how I look. No, I've not lost weight, and shut the fuck up for continually asking me about something so transparently manipulative and irrelevant!!
R - Relationship/Partner: Yes. But this is a doomed partnership.
S - Sport: (Playing) When my knees were good, I loved mountain biking. (Watching) Ice Skating.
T - Television Show(s): I've recently become very fond of "Eli Stone" thanks to my daughter. Otherwise, I don't watch network TV.
U - Unsavory characteristic(s): Procrastination vis a vis things financial (i.e. paying taxes), doubting own intelligence on occasion, occasional (but not unchecked) self-loathing.
V - Video (Favorites): Anything featuring Marilyn Monroe.
W - Webpage (Favorite--not your own): Kate Harding
X - Xylophone (or other Instrument?): Piano, violin, timpani drums, tenor and soprano recorders.
Y - Year Born: 1953
Z - Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

Oh Well, It's Ladies' Night and the feelings right !

2008-03-24T20:23:00.003-04:00

Daughter and I went out for cocktails on Saturday night, while Mr. Lesbian babysat our granddaughter. They had an exciting night planned while we were out - "Nancy Drew" was on Pay-Per-View. Meanwhile, daughter and I drove down to the nearest town - music blaring. Daughter had made a compilation CD and it had some oldies, but goodies on it. "Ladies' Night," for one...quickly followed by Ms. Jackson singing "Nasty Girl," some Beyonce, Chris Brown and a host of other folks, some of whom I'd never heard of. The roads were clear, the moon was unbelievably orange and luminous, hanging low in the sky in an end-of-the-world kind of way, and we chatted all the way in to town.

Sitting in a Mexican restaurant on Main Street, we had frozen Margaritas and split an entree and a dessert and talked and talked and talked. There's this fun game I used to play with an ex-lover (now closest confidante) called "Tell Me Three Things." It's what I'd call an intimacy game, because you have an opportunity to find out gobs of cool shit about people you love. The game goes like this. You take it in turns to pick a category, and then ask the person to tell you three things about the category. Last night, daughter went first and she said, "Mummy, tell me three things you regret." Okay, so here's a word of warning...there are some things that it's hard for people to hear. This for example is not the time to tell your dearly beloved daughter that being a single parent was incredibly hard and it would have been a lot easier not to have had to experience that. However, it is the time to tell daughter (or son if you have one) that you wish you'd worked harder in high school. Because we were baring our souls, I was trying to keep it real. The three things I'd regretted?

1. Not embarking on my career when I was younger, instead wasting my talent and intelligence in meaningless, low-paying, depressing jobs. (This was a little close to the bone, because partly why I didn't do that was because I got pregnant and raised a child instead of going to school.)
2. The way my relationship with Lynnie S.M. from Chelsea, NYC ended nearly 10 years ago. I'm not proud of that, even though I have worked on forgiving myself, and although she still won't speak to me, I wish she would.
3. I wish I had not succumbed to my mother's attempts to diet all three of her daughters, particularly me, leading to a higher bodily set point, years of disordered eating (only now getting under control) and a lifelong battle to see myself as valuable because of the body I'm in.

The regret I would have added if I had been allowed four regrets was my decision to remain with Mr. Lesbian as long as I have. (Yes, I know..we had a five month separation and I came back. I know that I haven't written about that yet and I will. Later.) Meanwhile, I realized while talking to my own therapist that if life hadn't been so chaotic at the time I got involved with Mr. Lesbian, it would have been a hot affair that lasted 6 months, and then I would have realized its shortcomings and moved on. However, at the time the loss of Mr. Lesbian's son meant that I just couldn't leave her alone like that. In addition, at the time there were numerous other distractions. I was struggling with bulimia, my daughter had serious substance abuse issues, and then revealed a "surprise" pregnancy and then subsequent premature birth of my granddaughter, while all this time I was trying to finish graduate school and was holding down a big-damn-job. It was not an easy time. And, it sounds pathetic, but the years just careened past and before I knew it, nearly ten years had gone by.

So, one of the other questions my daughter asked me? Tell me three things that give you joy.

My answers were as follows:

1. My daughter and granddaughter.
2. My work as a sex therapist
3. Reading books and writing ......and folks, that's all I could think of.

And that's when I realized something crucially important. This life is just too short to be putting "reading books" on the end of a list of that magnitude. I don't expect marriage to be easy - after all, I had my parents relationship as the template for marriage. But I expect more than I have, for the amount of work I've put in. It should be supplying some part of the joy in my life and it isn't, it just isn't.

Proof that Mr. Lesbian is a Guy

2008-03-24T13:00:00.001-04:00

Mr. Lesbian, as I've written elsewhere, passes for female. Born biologically female, hir gender identity is male. Trust me, s/he's right.

Here's the evidence:

1. Built first motorbike from the nuts up at the age of 14
2. Used to think it was weird when somebody would refer to hir as a girl when she was a small child.
3. Keeps clothes in a pile that have been worn so that s/he can wear them again over and over.
4. Drips coffee filter all the way to the trash can and doesn't think to wipe up the spills.
5. Doesn't notice dust.
6. Doesn't notice when I've dusted.
7. Doesn't remember when I ask hir to dust.
8. Doesn't know where the duster is kept.
9. Even when told, doesn't remember duster's location.
10. Doesn't clean teeth before coming to bed at night.
11. Thinks the only way to wash face properly is by scrubbing.
12. Doesn't turn clothes the right way out when dumping them in the laundry bin.
13. Doesn't separate dark colors from light colors.
14. Is possessive about the TV remote.
15. Falls asleep on the couch every night.
16. When I'm away for the night each week, s/he considers buttered popcorn a dinner entree.
17. Assumes that taking the trash to the Transfer station is h/ir job.
18. Thinks talking about what you feel is "sissy stuff."
19. H/ir study is a mess, but the tools in the barn are immaculately organized.
20. Doesn't get the point of vacuuming.

Breakfast Fight

2008-03-22T10:20:00.000-04:00

My daughter, granddaughter and pet bunny are staying for the weekend. It's Easter weekend which is a strange thing for an atheist like me to be celebrating, but hey, whatever! Granddaughter loves searching for eggs and then binging herself into an altered state of consciousness on the vast amounts of chocolate and candy she subsequently consumes. The responsible adults among us try to make her food choices really count leading up to Easter Sunday when that damned Easter bunny litters the farm with small plastic eggs, which granddaughter tries to scoop up before the squirrels beat her to it. (Last year it was a fight to the death.)

So this morning I, lesbian Matriarch that I am, stand ready at the kitchen counter, ready to do everybody's breakfast bidding. Daughter tells me that she would like two eggs, over easy, on Buttermilk toast (both eggs and bread locally "made"). Granddaughter says she would like Scottish oatmeal with brown sugar and butter. Mr. Lesbian comes out of the bathroom and the following conversation ensues:

Me: Mr. Lesbian, dear....what would you like me to make you for breakfast?
Mr. L: What is everybody else having?
Me: Daughter and granddaughter are having different things, I haven't decided what I'd like for breakfast yet, and I'll make anything you want.
Mr. L: Yes, but what are they having?
Me: Tell me what YOU want and I'll tell you what they're having.
Mr. L: I guess we're at a stalemate.
Me: (smoke beginning to pour from ears) If you can't tell me what you'd like for breakfast, how on earth do you think you're ever going to be able to communicate to me what you want from this relationship?

Mr. Lesbian disappears into the bathroom. I wait.

S/he comes out of the bathroom.

Mr. L: May I have scrambled eggs?
Me: (Big sigh). Yes, of course. And thank you.

Yeah, I know the answer to this one (I'm a sex therapist, remember, and couples are my "thing") but, nonetheless...why does everything have to be so goddamn hard?

Ten Cool Things About Living Near Lesbianville, USA

2008-03-20T00:13:00.003-04:00

1. The local (and one and only) store in my town of 800 residents is owned by a lesbian couple.
2. Every other car has a rainbow sticker on the bumper.
3. When I asked a local gay man where I could take my gay brother for a drink in a gay-friendly pub, he looked confused, stumbled over his words and said "But Sapphique, EVERY bar around here is gay friendly!"
4. You can have as many cats as you want and nobody will mock you and call you The Crazy Cat Lady.
5. The mayor of Lesbianville is...you guessed it.....a lesbian!
6. You're assumed to be a lesbian unless you "come out" heterosexual.
7. Clothes-wise, anything goes. (I'm SO thrilled that there's no dress code. I have cultivated what a former friend used to call "bed-to-day-wear.")
8. Gay-friendly cops! The local sheriff introduced himself to us in the parking lot of a nearby bank saying "We love same-sex couples around here, gals!"
9. Monthly lesbian potlucks for any lesbian in a 20 mile radius.
10. It's a huge relief to finally feel like you're no longer in an unwanted minority.

Yikes, that year went past REALLY fast....

2008-03-17T22:49:00.002-04:00

Yeah, I know..it's been more than a year since I posted. This year has pretty much sucked. I left Mr. Lesbian in March and moved in with my best friend and her husband for five months. Mr. Lesbian got masses of therapy for five months and dealt with some of hir shizzle. My dad died last summer, which sent my whole family spiraling into confusion and misery. I moved back in with Mr. Lesbian in August and for extremely complicated reasons that I don't fully understand, I lost my best friend as a result.

Mr. Lesbian and I got along much better for the first few months, but the strain of being the sole breadwinner, along with all the other pressures on us has been challenging to say the least. It was really too soon to move back in together, but it felt like the best decision at the time and we've done our best to pull through. Along with everything else, we have been learning how to live in a very rural environment, make new friends and contacts and, for Mr. Lesbian, search for a job in a very dead job market. Finally, last week s/he started work at a pretty cool technology company in Western Mass, at the same salary s/he was making in the big city. So, we don't have to worry about losing our farm and we can finally start to think about getting our goats and chickens.

So, while I'm aware that this has been the news in brief, I wanted to reassure whoever is still reading this blog, that I will be posting more frequently from now on. I'm still married, still a lesbian and ...I'm back!

List

2007-02-17T15:48:00.000-05:00

I borrowed this from Suburban Lesbian (who borrowed it from somebody else) and I swear she loves lists almost as much as I do.

1. The phone rings. Who are you hoping it is? Oh god, I'm so beyond sick of the telephone. I hope it's a wrong number.
2. When shopping at the grocery store, do you return your cart? If it's icy and slippery and I'm far from the "cart corral," then no. If my knees are hurting and I'm hobbling, no. Otherwise, yes.
3. In a social setting, are you more of a talker or a listener? When folks ask you what you do for a living, and you tell them you're a sex therapist, it's pretty much all over after that. I guess equal parts listener and talker. This usually involves listening to their current sexual beef and responding when I'm asked my opinion.
4. If abandoned alone in the wilderness, would you survive? It would depend on the kind of wilderness. It could be said that I live in a wilderness at the moment! I actually think I'd survive fine anywhere really cold. However, put me in a desert and I think I'd be a goner.
5. Do you like to ride horses? I'm a "big boned gal." I'm convinced that no horse would survive a gallop with me on its back, therefore I've never dared to mount one.
6. Did you ever go to camp as a kid? In Britain where I grew up, Camp was not commmon. Occasionally there would be a weekend girl scouts get-away, but otherwise you were home with Mum for the summer.
7. What was your favorite board game as a kid? I've always hated board games and still do. Occasionally, if she wines long enough, I'll play one with my grandbaby. But otherwise, I'm not a board game kind of gal.
8. If a sexy person was pursuing you, but you knew she was taken what would you do? Feel sad for her (and know that if I were to capitulate, the same behavior would come around in my direction sooner or later.)
9. Are you judgmental? Nope, not really.
10. Would you date someone with different religious beliefs? I wouldn't date a Christian fundamentalist. But I've dated atheists, practicing Catholics, Buddhists and Jews.
11. Are you continuing your education? Every minute of every day.
12. Do you know how to shoot a gun? No. And I never thought I'd ever say this, but I'm tempted to learn how since moving to such a rural location.
13. If your house was on fire, what's the first thing you'd grab? My binder full of passports, credentialing papers, etc.
14. How often do you read books? Whenever I can.
15. Do you think more about the past, present or future? I'm usually pretty good at living in the moment. However, I think about how my past affects my present and future, and I think more about the future than I ever have done before since I learned about Peak Oil.
16. What is your favorite children's book? Oh god, that's a hard one. The Secret Garden, Peter Pan, Little Women (and all the books that Louisa M. Alcott wrote after that), Treasure Island.
17. How tall are you? 5'3"
18. Where is your ideal house located? I'm living in it.
19. Last person you talked to? My best friend (I'm typing this from her house)
20. When was the last time you were at Olive Garden? I've never been. What's the deal with that place?
21. What are your keys on your key chain for? I have two key chains. One has my house key, my daughter's house key, my car key and the key to Mr. Lesbian's car. The second one has all my office keys on it, including my filing cabinet in the office.
22. What did you do last night? Had a divorce conversation with Mr. Lesbian (next blog, folks), folded laundry, washed dishes and went to bed early with the book "Emotional Blackmail."
23. Where is your current pain at [sic]? I'm with Suburban Lesbian on this one. Huh?
24. Do you like mustard? I like horseradish mustard, and Colman's English mustard. But my favorite mustard is Wasabi.
25. Do you like your mom or dad? I love my mom down to her every cell. My father is a narcissistic drunk. I love him but I don't like him much.
26. How long does it take you in the shower? About 15 minutes. I don't shave my legs (or any other part of my body come to that.)
27. What movie do you want to see right now? I want to see "Music and Lyrics". Yeah, I know it's a heterosexual date movie. But I'm a sucker for Hugh Grant.
28. Do you put lotion on your dog or cats? No, but I do put vaseline on my pup's paws when there's salt down on the ice outside.
29. What did you do for New Year's? I spent it watching "The Fastest Indian" with my sister and Mr. Lesbian.
30. Do you think The Grudge was scary? I've never seen it. But I had a client who did her entire session about the effect the movie had on her.
31. Do you own a camera phone? Yes. I don't use it much, but it's there just in case.
32. What's the last letter of your middle name? I don't have a middle name.
33. Who did you vote for on American Idol? I watch sporadically and have never voted. But if I did vote, it would never have been for that no-talent twit who won last time!

Small (and not so small) changes

2007-01-30T13:15:00.000-05:00

I realize that, in part, I am feeling more than a little daunted by the scale of change taking place in my life. In order to "small" things down, I thought I'd write a list of as many of the little ones as I can possibly think of. The theory is that doing this will help me work my way up to the biggees! Some of these are firsts, not just changes:

1. My dog had his testicles removed. It was a sad day and I believe both of us are still in mourning. In retrospect, I think it's an act of barbarism. I wish I hadn't inflicted this on him.

2. In the glare of my headlamps, as I pulled into my yard last night, stood two large stags, frozen like statues on my back pasture, huge, majestic and magical. This is as close as I've ever come to deer in my life. I didn't breathe for about 30 seconds after they bounded away.

3. I made my first ever sweet potato soup.

4. I'm learning to live with a septic tank. There are rules, folks, there are rules!

5. I'm surprised to find that I do not mind sharing my house with little brown fieldmice.

6. I have a new friend who is 85 years old and male.

7. I met him in the church I've begun attending. (Yeah, I know I'm an atheist, but when you live in a small community you go where the community is. Nearly everybody I know there, including my new 85 year old buddy, are atheists. My other new friend, a heterosexual married woman, is Jewish and Pagan. It's been an eye-opening experience.)

8. I'm not enjoying driving long distances into the Big Smoke and back each week. Commuting is the pits.(Normally I look for any reason to drive - anywhere!)

9. When I'm "home on the range" I often go three days without showering.

10. I'm spending long hours bird watching. I can now tell a Hairy Downy woodpecker from a Downy woodpecker (and even know which are males and which are females!)

11. Living rurally, I forget to check my telephone messages when I get home. I don't know why this is. My theory is that I feel more connected to my community, and look less externally for connection.

12. Nearly all the vegetables I buy are now locally grown.

13. My eggs now come straight from the chicken - often they are still warm.

14. I'm considering buying a goat. (These are not words I ever thought I'd type, unless they were part of a body of fiction.)

15. I can look contentedly at a field for hours.

16. I collect my mail from a mail box at the end of the long driveway, on the other side of the main road. Okay, I hear you all mocking me! But this is a big deal for a Brit. I feel like I'm in a movie every afternoon when I walk out to collect my mail! (And no, it's not "Deliverance.")

17. I never want to leave my farmhouse.

18. I own a barn.

19. I bought a huge satellite dish for my internet connection. (Again, "I own a 4 foot wide satellite dish" are not words I ever expected to write.)

20. I nearly ran over a turkey two weeks ago.

Living where even the boonies have boonies

2007-01-08T00:13:00.000-05:00

Oh boy, where do I start? It's been such a long time. Forgive me, readers. I'm on my way back, but it's been quite a journey. The nearest house is half a mile away, and after that it's two miles to the next one. Stores? What stores? Living here is serene and beautiful. I thought I'd feel more isolated, but I've been making friends hand-over-fist, and the small towns around here have active lesbian communities, monthly potlucks and friendly welcoming neighbors. Mr. Lesbian? That's a whole other story. I'm in the process of writing about it, but meanwhile thanks for sticking around. I'll be back to writing regularly in the very, VERY near future.

Moving

2006-10-24T16:00:00.000-04:00

Moving is one of the most stressful events in a person's life. So is buying a house. So is starting a new business. All these things are happening in my life currently, and yet in the midst of all this mayhem, the one thing that is not causing stress is my relationship with Mr. Lesbian. We are getting on like a house afire! There is something about having a shared vision for the future that unites couples, and I'm guessing that this is what is helping the two of us so much. We are surrounded by boxes (my mother calls and asks how life is in the "Cardboard City" when she calls me lately), the mortgage process has been difficult, fraught with problems and emotionally challenging and yet we are doing really well together. We are down to the wire with just a few more days before the closing and the move, and we are managing to stay closer and more connected than we've been in years. Hmm..I think I have to go into the real estate business - buying houses seems to be good for our poor, tortured romantic souls!

At the moment I'm stressed out from packing and plannig, so this is also by way of explaining the paucity of posts on my blog. I'll be back in the writer's seat in the next two weeks. In the meantime, send good moving thoughts my way.

Being a Lesbian Grandmother

2006-10-15T02:35:00.000-04:00

Being a mother was, and is, a wonderful experience. But as others more eloquent than I have written, there are often impediments to closeness and connection with one's own children that are miraculously by-passed with grandchildren. My daughter and I are very close, but it wasn't always that way. We had a long period of estrangement when drugs and alcohol claimed her allegiance, and I lost her for many years. Sobriety brought her back to me...at first mad as a tick, and occasionally still she is angry and withdraws defensively, but we always find a way back to each other, back to loving each other. And, over the years we have begun to find peace in the connection we have with each other, to value each other highly, to enjoy spending time together and delight in each other's company. We love each other and say so frequently. I apologize often for the mistakes I made as a parent. We pay our dues, in our own ways and for our own reasons.

With my granddaughter there is no such tortured history. The love bond between us is unhindered by the absence of a shared umbilical cord - we just love each other outright and unabashedly, with nothing in the way. I remembered this in a big way today, and especially this evening hanging out in Starbucks. I happened to be on the phone with my daughter who mentioned that she and granddaughter were thinking of walking up to Starbucks to get a cup of coffee for my daughter, and a hot chocolate for granddaughter. Would I like to go? Well, I normally avoid drinking coffee late at night, but as it's a Saturday and I can sleep in on Sunday, I decided to see if Mr. Lesbian was interested in going to the local Starbucks for coffee. Affirmative.

Arriving at Starbucks, my granddaughter selects a cookie (M&M cookie) and places her drink order (child's Frappuccino, no coffee, with whipped cream and caramel sauce), and my daughter and I order for the three adults. Settled in easy chairs, we watch as granddaughter gets out her large tin of crayons, and opens her art books. Tiring of that, she leaps onto my lap, and asks me to read the latest book we had bought for her. It's a Hallowe'en book, called "Trick or Treat, Smelly My Feet." Sounds inoccuous, right? Turns out to be the story of a boy and girl whose gender-appropriate Hallowe'en costumes get switched around accidentally and the boy is forced to dress in the pink ballerina costume (wearing a paperbag on his head so he can't be recognized) while his littler sister proudly wears his Captain Space Pilot costume (which she had coveted all along) to the Hallowe'en Parade. In an accidental tumble, her brother's paperbag falls off his head, and he is revealed to all his friends in the ballerina costume. Quelle horreur! However, the little boy bravely decides to make the most of it and proudly pirouettes across the floor, while his little (male) friends applaud him for his unique costume. Issues of gender identity fascinate my 7 year old granddaughter, who is still trying to make sense of Mr. Lesbian. (Oh, the funny stories I could tell you about THOSE discussions! Later, girls, later!) She lies snuggled in my arms as I read to her, and I breathe in the sweet smell of her hair realizing how she still smells like the tiny, preemie I held all these years ago. She is such a survivor.

Finished with the book, and energized by the powerful effect of sugar on a small child's adrenal system, she wants to play..and I mean PLAY! She bounces up and down on my rickety knees demanding more and more bumpy play. She loves, loves, loves to be squeezed hard and laughs till tears roll down her cheeks as I pantomine being disinterested in playing, and then suddenly grabbing her and squeezing her tight. "Tighter, Nana, tighter!" she shrieks, barely able to talk through her giggles and laughter. "Do the disco animal dances, Nana!" she demands. So, I perform the various disco dances in the manner of their animal namesakes, and all in time with the motown music playing over the speakers at Starbucks that moment. I'm not afraid of making a fool of myself. I've spent too much time working with children to be deterred by feeling a trifle foolish - it's fun to play. She copies my moves, the panting tongue and floppy paws for a begging dog, flapping fins and "fish faces" for swimming fish moves, the prancing disco horses reminiscent of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" dance routine - well, you get the picture.

In this way, two hours go past. I can think of few ways to pass two hours at the speed of light than to hang out playing with my granddaughter. I feel like I'm beaming love at her constantly, steadily and unabashedly for the whole two hours - she's easy to love, and shows her love back. Oh god, she will have her struggles. She will grow up, fall in love, and she will doubt herself on occasions, as we all do. But please let her remember how much her grandmother loved her, let her remember how loveable she is, not just at the age of seven, but when I'm dead and gone and she's fifty-seven. Let her please never doubt how easy she is to love.

Maine is beautiful

2006-10-12T22:36:00.000-04:00

I had forgotten that Maine is beautiful. The shoreline reminds me of Wales, with its majestic, tree-covered mountains crawling down to rocky shores - the combination of mountains and salt water is one that I love dearly. The weather was beautiful on our trip away. Cloudless, China blue skies were above us for the whole weekend . We admired them as we rode around in the convertible, hair-blowing, music humming. Remember that this was October - in Maine! Those last three words are not something that you would associate with riding around in a convertible with the top down.

The inn we stayed at is run by two older lesbians who are confirmed, almost obsessive, anglophiles. Their vacations are spent in England, and both of them collect china and pottery. As a result, the whole Inn was smothered in English china plates, cups and bowls. On top of this, I have never seen so much chintz fabric in one place - it looked like Liberty's in London had exploded in the house. The breakfasts were incredible - French toast with wild Maine blueberries, candied walnuts and Maine maple syrup, Dutch pancakes with fruit and yogurt, steaming pots of PG Tips tea, poured into porcelain cups and saucers. Just delectable.

I didn't want to enjoy myself, in part because I didn't want to let down my guard with Mr. Lesbian. I've learned to protect myself from hir and I'm horribly defended. This is not my normal relationship style - I'm open, candid, speak my mind and don't back off from a good debate. With Mr. Lesbian, I practically disappear myself into a small, dark hole. I didn't do this on our weekend away. For the first few hours, I felt like I was weaving and bobbing, avoiding potential angry outbursts in the way I've come to expect of our time together. Nothing. S/he didn't lose hir temper once and by the end of the first day, I was beginning to enjoy myself. This was more like the person I met and fell in love with all those years ago. And gals, we actually touched in bed that night - nothing sexual. But we cuddled and I can't tell you how major this is. Normally we lie on our own side of the bed, not even kissing goodnight. This was a change, a tentative attempt to connect. I wasn't ready for sex, sweet readers. But I felt myself having "willingness" to feel sexual, and this is a goddamn big f***ing deal, let me tell you.

We ate lobster and salad. We walked along arm in arm through the streets of Bar Harbor, looking in stores, admiring the local Tourmaline gem stones. We sat and had coffee in a wonderful internet cafe, and talked about our plans for our new house and what was likely to come next. I felt myself feeling emotionally generous for the first time in a long time, responding to hir good treatment of me, feeling myself open up towards hir.

Three days later, we are heading home. On the drive, despite the beautiful day, the almost painfully blue sky and soft, balmy breezes, my heart was heavy. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's four days since we returned, and while she has retreated a little, it's nowhere near the level of distance that s/he usually maintains between us. I don't know what changed. My normal style is optimistic, but I've been slapped back too much and am nearly out of hope. I'm waiting to see what happens. But it was a wonderful weekend.

Searsport, Maine - here I come!

2006-10-06T22:29:00.000-04:00

It's official. We're going to Searsport, Maine this weekend! (Go on..go look it up on Google..I'll wait here for you while you do!)

The weather is going to be gorgeous, and despite the hints that Mr. Lesbian is dropping about not needing to take clothes because we'll be in the luxury hotel room all weekend (over my dead, cold, un-aroused body!), I've packed my cutest duds.

So, do any other dyke girlfriends out there take on the responsibility for the packing? Hmmm. I never did this before when I had lesbian girlfriends. We always took responsibility for our own packing. Mr. Lesbian, trans soul that s/he is, looks crestfallen if I don't pack for h/ir. So, I have capitulated again. Plus, it's really the only way I can guarantee that h/ir clothes won't be covered in automotive droppings. There I am packing the hairdryer and socks that match my shirts, and s/he's making sure that the Pepcid is packed and has printed out the maps online, checked the oil levels in my convertible and has picked out h/ir one pair of shoes that are going with us. (I never travel with less than 3 pairs. Anybody else?) Very gendered travel responsibilities, wouldn't you say?

Squirming with embarrassment as I type this, I realize that I'm shocked to think what a bunch of queer folks whom I have never met (yes, that's you lot) will think about these superficial ramblings. It's hard to believe, but I'm a kick-ass dyke feminist, I really am! My poor dykely brain still hasn't figured out how to make sense of this partner who looks like a woman, and is a man. I can't quite orient myself and I'm shocked by this. I respond to h/ir obvious femaleness, and don't know what to make of the maleness. It's not like s/he's butch. As I've said elsewhere, nothing butch about Mr. Lesbian. Wimpy guy energy, yes. Butch, nope. I'm attracted and completely turned off with one fell swoop.

Anybody else out there been through this? Anyone?

Not Married in Maine

2006-10-05T22:21:00.000-04:00

As I mentioned in the previous post, Mr. Lesbian has arranged a weekend away for the two of us and we are going to stay at a classy hotel somewhere in Northern Maine. Okay, not that I wouldn't tell you if I knew, gals - I honestly don't know where or the name of the hotel. It's all very hush, hush. S/he did this as a treat for me because I don't take enough vacations and was complaining that I'm tired all the time. Yes, it is very generous. I should at this point mention that Mr. Lesbian is very good at buying gifts and spending money. S/he isn't good at being loving and thoughtful, and expects big expenditures of cash to take the place of affection, connection, intimacy and authentic bonding. S/he truly is a man. (I'm more than a little jaded, I guess.)

On top of this, I believe that Mr. Lesbian thinks that a weekend away will re-kindle flames that flickered out yeay these many months ago. If this had been 4 years ago even, I would be excited at the thought of a weekend away in a hotel. Now, I'm not looking forward to it. I feel as if I'm constantly raining on h/ir parade. But it really is too little too late. Sometimes when the flame flickers and dies, no amount of huffing and puffing can make that baby spark up again. I've just spent too long feeling first sad, then scared, then hopeless, then sad, then scared again, then angry - angry some more, and some more, and some more. And now, I don't care. (Okay, maybe I'm still a little angry, which means I'm still engaged.) Please don't think I'm heartless - I'm not. I have been so patient, too patient and for too long. Not only that, but I have been treated very badly and I don't trust that s/he will be able to sustain treating me well.

Anyway, here in Massachusetts we're legally married. In Maine, as far as they're concerned we're just a couple of gals with no civil rights to speak of. It's going to be strange to drive across the Massachusetts border and realize that we are no longer married. I'm expecting to feel like I ran out for the newspaper and forgot to put on my pajama bottoms.

Firing Our Therapist

2006-10-04T22:20:00.000-04:00

Mr. Lesbian and I fired our couples therapist this week. Or rather I should say that I fired our couples therapist. Mr. Lesbian wanted to tell him that we couldn't afford to keep seeing him. I couldn't allow a lie to be the basis for leaving therapy. I knew that it wasn't working. Working with couples is my specialty, so I know good couples therapy when I see it, and I wasn't seeing it. For $150 per 50 minute session, and for a couple in crisis (you could tell we're in crisis, right?) you expect something more to happen than the therapist colluding with your avoidant partner by discussing politics and health insurance woes. I've had to work much too hard to keep the therapeutic ball in the air during our sessions, and over the period of one year, not enough help has been provided for me to feel that continuing with him was worthwhile. Mr. Lesbian probably got more from it than I did. As we were leaving the therapist's office building, Mr. Lesbian turned to me and said, "God, you're so fearless! How come you're so brave?" I had to reply that I'm not fearless. I was very scared to tell the therapist that we were terminating with him because his therapy had been ineffectual. It's hard to tell another shrink that - but I feel strongly about my personal and professional integrity. Slinking out of there with my tail between my legs just wasn't an option. Plus, here's the thing, gals....I realize that if Mr. Lesbian can't even be straightforward and non-avoidant with a therapist, whose very job description is about making a safe place and encouraging dialogue, what hope for my relationship with h/ir?

While chatting online the other day, my best friend said to me "So when are you going to end this thing?" and I realize that it's almost inevitable that the end will come. I think I want to be with somebody who wouldn't lie their way out of a strong feeling.

100 Things

2006-10-03T14:22:00.000-04:00

I took this from Suburban Lesbian's blog site. I really love lists.

1. I don't know how tall I am. Sometimes I say 5'3". Sometimes 5'4".
2. I'm of a certain age, i.e. I'm forgetful. I have to write numbers down or I've forgotten them 3 seconds later.
3. I have had my height measured. But then I forget what it is.
4. I don't like chocolate.
5. I like home-made carrot cake best.
6. I had my first orgasm when I was 25 years old.
7. I did it myself.
8. My favorite food is Sushi.
9. There is no signficance to, or subliminal association with, the order of the above 3 "favorites."
10. My least favorite foods are squid and octopus.
11.Not all Sushi restaurants like to substitute the above least favorite foods from the menu.
12.I'm a true Sagittarian. I used to fire those damn arrows and follow them anywhere they landed.
13. I still fire those damn arrows. I just don't follow them as frequently.
14. I like expensive Italian men's leather shoes as long as they have square toes.
15. I bit my nails until I left home at 18 years of age.
16. I used to smoke 3 packs of Rothmans cigarettes a day until 18 years ago.
17. I had a brief stint as a vegetarian chef.
18. I make fat-free muffins that taste like full fat and are to die for! (Recipe supplied on request!)
19. I prefer Macs, but I work on PC's.
20. I had a stint working for AOL as a chat room facilitator.
21. I trained as a ballet dancer in my youth.
22. I used to do illegal acts when I belonged to "Women Against Violence Against Women." (Hint: We were not against acts of violence towards men.)
23. I'm a pacifist.
24. I am a lazy neatnik.
25. I love how clutter looks in other people's houses, but I hate living with it in my own.
26. I'm scared of spiders.
27. My brother is gay.
28. I love to knit with mohair wool.
29. I plucked my eyebrows a couple of times in my teenage years, and they never grew back.
30. I am doomed to a look of "constant surprise" ever since.
31. I love Brooke Shields' eyebrows.
32. I only wear cotton underwear.
33. I prefer cotton bras.
34 I didn't wear a bra until 8 years ago.
35. I didn't sweat until I was in my mid-twenties. My face would grow red, but no perspiration.
36. I use unscented Secret Deodorant.
37. I too am "Safe enough for a woman, strong enough for a man."
38. I believed in Peter Pan until I was 13 years old.
39. I still have the first ever Peter Pan book I bought as a small child.
40. I prefer to swim naked.
41. In the ocean, I swim out far enough and then take off my swim suit.
42. I'm scared of having too much water below me.
43. I'm scared of drowning.
44. I can't watch movies with people drowning, boats going down, or folks trapped in cars under water. It makes me sick to my stomach.
45. My favorite ice cream flavor is Ben and Jerry's Coffee Heathbar Crunch.
46. With Butterscotch and whipped cream.
47. I'm not supposed to eat it.
48. I recently dropped 60 lbs in weight.
49. Eating Ben and Jerry's Coffee Heathbar crunch was not on the menu.
50. This list is much harder to write than I thought, but ah, the joys of the half-way mark!
51. I'm not a practicing buddhist but I'm drawn to Kuan Yin (sometimes spelled Quan Yin or Kwan Yin), Goddess of Mercy and Compassion. I have many statues of her in my study at home.
52. Couples Therapy is my favorite thing to do as a psychotherapist.
53. The last non-fiction book I read was about Michael Jackson. (Yeah, I know!)
54. I love the idea of the mythology behind mermaids and "Silkies."
55. I think red-headed mermaids are hot.
56. When I was a little girl, I asked my grandfather to take me for a lollipop. He said the weather was too cold, so I asked him to take me for a hot one instead.
57. My paternal grandfather was the person I loved most in the world. He died when I was 6 years old.
58. My father is a drunk.
59. My parents are divorced. They separated when I was 28 years old.
60. I'm secretly fascinated (and also horrified) by "The Girls Next Door" on E! TV.
61. My father subscribed to Playboy when I was a child.
62. Playboy's "Little Annie Fannie" was my youngst sister's favorite cartoon character when she was a child.
63. My parents didn't see anything wrong with that.
64. I play the piano.
65. When I was young, I learned to play the piano, the Timpani drums, the violin, the descant and tenor recorders and the cello. The piano and recorders "took."
66. I speak French, German and English. I took 7 years of Latin in school.
67. I lived in (what was then West) Berlin for a number of years.
68. I worked in an Antique bookstore on the Rue St. Jacques in Paris, France, when I was in my late teens.
69. I was on the pill when I got pregnant.
70. I came out when my daughter was still a baby.
71. My favorite home goods catalog is "Ballard Designs."
72. Followed by Pottery Barn.
73. The walls of my study are painted sage green.
74. I play computer Scrabble for hours.
75. I frequently beat the computer.
76. I stay in relationships longer than I should.
77. I love my daughter so much that when I look at her my heart hurts in my chest.
78. And no, I don't have heart problems.
79. But I do have stretch marks.
80. I'm a Netflix addict.
81. The last DVD I watched was, "The Celluloid Closet." I cried all the way through.
82. Breast implants are mysogynistic.
83. My first lover had really, really small breasts. She called them her "two fried eggs."
84. I think I'm fixated on breasts today.
85. Easy to understand why.
86. The last two search terms for this blog were "lipstick wearing husband" and "lezzbe."
87. Mr. Lesbian plays soccer.
88. On a women's over 50 team.
89. S/he is not "out" as transgender.
90. I'm writing but should be packing.
91. Boxes for moving that is...not packing as in "PACKING!"
92. Mr. Lesbian calls hir dildo "Captain."
93. The last one was called "Esmerelda." I cut it in half and threw it away in a fit of pique after a big fight.
94. Appearances to the contrary, I am not subject to impulsive actions such as that.
95. I'm currently reading Sheila Jeffreys book, "Unpacking Queer Politics."
96. I'm disagreeing with it a lot. (Do I feel another Sheila Jeffreys blog coming on?)
97. The second half of this list has gone much faster than I expected.
98. I recently bought a big pile of silk camisoles for the first time in my life.
99. I wish I had time for a nap every day.
100. I'm going away to Maine for the weekend with Mr. Lesbian, to stay at a fancy hotel on the coast.

One Republican + One Socialist-Anarchist = ??

2006-10-02T00:18:00.000-04:00

Mr. Lesbian is a Republican. S/he actually worked to get Mitt Romney elected governor in Massachusetts. We don't talk about that though, and in this way we remain married.

However, I've recently realized that I'm more anarchist than I thought I was.

I worked hard to become a US citizen so that I could vote. But this year, for the first time, I didn't vote in local elections. And I don't believe I'll vote in the elections next year either. This photograph sums up why.

I used to think that at least my one democratic vote wiped out Mr. Lesbian's republican one.

Now I realize that it's pointless. The two-party political system is just a breeding ground for sociopathy. I think I'll just get increasingly more locally subversive.

Revolutionary Feminism, Sheila Jeffreys and a blast from the past...

2006-10-01T22:43:00.000-04:00

I have written elsewhere on this blog about my early coming out days. This particular posting is about my first-ever meeting with honest-to-goodness lesbian feminists (other than occasional sightings in "Spare Rib" that is.) What got me thinking about this was that I happened to stumble upon an article about Sheila Jeffreys . She was one of the formative influences on my feminist politics in the early days. As I read this description of her, I am reminded of how much I changed after meeting her.

Remember I said that it was my ex husband's fault that I came out when I did, because he brought home a copy of "Spare Rib" ? (It was the mouthpiece for the Women's Liberation Movement in the early 70's in the United Kingdom.) Well, one service that Spare Rib provided was a listing of consciousness-raising groups throughout the British Isles. And, sure enough they had one listed for Bradford, West Yorkshire, where I was living at the time. The group was held mid-week at the University of Bradford. I took especially good care with my make-up that day, put on my best heels, a nice frock and my flared trench coat and off I went!

Okay, so I think I might have been the only straight gal there. Okay, and I think I might have been the only one in the room wearing lipstick. Or heels. Definitely the only one in a dress. Not another tasteful, flared trenchcoat in sight. Who am I kidding? I stuck out like a priest at a Hell's Angels convention.

There were about 7-8 women in the room. They mostly had short hair. Very short. Almost buzzed. And everyone to a girl, oops woman, had Doc. Marten boots on. And big men's shirts. And combat pants. In fact, most people there looked like they had just been recruited to the armed forces.

This is where I met Sheila Jeffreys. She was scary, but impressive. I swear to god she sneered at me. I became a lesbian right that moment, I swear to the goddess! Girls, I had NO idea what they were talking about. Remember what it's like when you first join a new club and everybody's talking about all the great times they've had together and using cultural short-hand that means nothing to you? It was like that. I felt ashamed immediately that I didn't look like them. I felt embarrassed by my heels and dress and can't swear to this, but suspect that I surreptitiously rubbed off the lipstick. Sheila was very vocal. I don't remember exactly what she was talking about, but I know that the women there talked about political lesbianism, about the personal being political (okay, I knew about that from reading Spare Rib, but the other stuff was beyond me at the time) and about patriarchy. I left there all fired up. The women scared and fascinated me and it was a while before I saw Sheila Jeffreys again. She was adored and hated in the West Yorkshire Feminist community - lesbians couldn't decide whether they were for her or against her and heterosexual feminists were mostly affronted and offended by her views which were passionately revolutionary.

Photos taken shortly after this document my slow transition from lipstick-wearing-suburban-wife to Doc. Marten-wearing-dyke. There's one particularly poignant photograph, where I'm wearing green bib overalls, with a black tee shirt and "Docs" but I still have my frizzy "big hair" perm and eye shadow. I was kind of like a half-dyke.

I identified as a "Rev/Rad Lesbian Separatist Feminist" for many years. Now? Not so much. I think I'm pretty radical, but not in the way that I was. Reading the article linked to Sheila's name above, I realize how far I've come from my early coming out days. I'm wearing make-up again. I didn't for years, but I do now. I'm not even sure why, and I find that I'm not even sure I knew why I stopped. I know that I wanted to fit in and I wanted Sheila Jeffreys to like me, wanted to be part of the club and that was the ticket through the door. Sheila was kind of like the mean school teacher, wagging her finger at you because you haven't done your homework.

In retrospect, meeting Sheila Jeffreys was life-changing. I think it didn't hurt to be confronted and to have to think about where I stood on the patriarchal battlefield. And I actually have come to think that being a lesbian femnist, with or without lipstick, is all by itself challenging to The Patriarchy. (Just don't tell her I said, that will you?)

Lesbians in Dog Parks

2006-09-30T09:17:00.000-04:00

So a few months ago, I was out walking with Mr. Lesbian at our local dog park. Normally, this is something that s/he does solo - I'm more into manicures and Crate and Barrel than dirty dogs in dog parks. However, this was a family outing - me, our fouffy dog and Mr. Lesbian out for a canine jaunt.

As we round the curve in the path, up ahead we see a distinctive lesbian profile - the Braided-tailed Frosted Menopausal Dyke with puppy-sized golden retriever. Unmistakeable plumage (on both of them, I mean). I take a quick look at Mr. Lesbian and mutter under my breath, "Um, do ya think she's a sista?" Mr. Lesbian is oblivious. S/he wouldn't know a lesbian if one poked her in the eye with a smudge stick. Being truly and really a man, she has no gaydar. She has only "best guessing" which is, as we know, nowhere near as reliable as gaydar. Somebody should conduct a clinical trial on that, don't you think?

Anyway, it turns out this woman has a name that sounds like punctuation. (Oh no you don't! I'm not giving out names. The Lesbian Nation is too damn small!) Not only that, but she's cute and she lives and works right near my therapy office. Nobody says the word lesbian, but I for once am not wearing make-up, and the words "Provincetown" are emblazoned in white across the front of my lavender T shirt, worn over my orange cargo pants. I think she knows!

So, this was a fortuitous meeting. Ms. Punctuation and I have had coffee several times since then and get on like a house on fire. Hey, guess what! She's a shaman. Yep, I kid you not. However, all that groovy stuff aside, I like her a lot and have a little crush on her - just a little one because as the title of this blog confirms, I am, indeed, a married lesbian and take those vows seriously (even if I'm not getting enough sex and live with somebody who thinks they have a penis when they don't.)

Ms. Punctuation is funny, entertaining, intelligent and great company and we get along like a house on fire. It occurs to me fairly early on that she would be a great match for my friend, Ms. Acupuncturist, so I ask Ms. Punctuation (goddess, this is getting tedious to keep typing out, so I'll refer to them as Ms. P and Ms. A, okay?) if she's looking for a girlfriend. She is only slightly interested. She explains that the puppy and her business keep her busy, and she doesn't know how she'd fit in a girlfriend. I point out that we all think that and then somehow manage to make room when our genitals start acting up. She agrees and says she would consider it.

Later that week, I'm having a massage by Ms. Massage Therapist, also a lesbian and a friend of mine, and I ask her if by any chance she knows Ms. P. Affirmative. Well, ain't this a small world! I then say, "Don't you think Ms. P and Ms. A would get along great together?" Ms. MT grinds to a halt. "Shit, I already tried to set them up and it didn't work out," she says. She goes on to say that they never met, but had a series of disastrous phone calls. I'm crestfallen, gals. However, I am confirmed in my extremely good taste as Ms. MT agreed with the pairing too. I decide then and there that I intend to pursue this further.

So yesterday, despite a long and very tiring week with a host of new clients in my therapy office, and brain fog due to thinking about moving, I met with Ms. A (are you keeping up with these alphabetical designations?) and told her about the incredible coincidence of me knowing Ms. P and would she consider a second chance. She hummed and hawed and then agreed that yes, she would.

So, it's on folks. I'm off to email Ms. P. Watch this space!

People, people...

2006-09-30T01:38:00.000-04:00

I have Sitemeter on this blog, which means that I can sneak around and have a look at who is looking at my blog. It doesn't give me people's email addresses, but I can frequently get their domain, and get a sense of where in the world people are living who read my blog. And sometimes people are clearly web-crawling at work.

This got me to thinking. Don't most places now keep an eye on where employees are spending their time on the internet? And don't most of these companies red-flag certain keywords so that they can tell if employees are looking at sites they shouldn't be looking at?

If you work for a big company or a state-owned organization, say like...oh, I don't know....say the Texas State Comptrollers of Public Accounts at the State of Texas General Services Commission wouldn't you have to be careful about where you were looking online?

Just a question.

(Keep reading, wontcha?)

Important Hair Update

2006-09-28T19:45:00.000-04:00

I forgot to mention.

I was in a hurry and grabbed the hairspray.

Wrong.

It was Tinactin for athlete's foot.

Like I said...it's hard to be a lesbian. We can't even tell the hairspray from the foot fungus aerosol!

Upcoming Weekend Malaise

2006-09-28T19:36:00.000-04:00

When you aren't getting along with your partner, the weekends can be some kind of torture. On the other hand, the parts in between are wonderful. For example, this past weekend, Mr. Lesbian was called into the office over the weekend because hir project was going live. What this meant to me was uninterrupted time watching my latest Netflix DVD's, ("Wonderfalls"is my latest addiction!), hanging out with my daughter and granddaughter and shooting the shit with friends. No stress. Well, except for the times when Mr. Lesbian is at home. Her stress levels are through the roof at the moment, so she's even less of a joy to be around than usual. I'm hoping that a change of scenery (did I mention that we're moving?), a fresh start (no ghosts?), and fresh country mountain air (um, it's lots of land on top of a big hill) will help. Yes, for any possible therapists who are reading this, I GET that this is somewhat delusional thinking - geographic cures rarely work, despite our best intentions. But it will definitely make me feel better to move. My best friend lives two miles from our new house, as opposed to the 160 miles currently separating us, the nearest big town has a lesbian mayor and more lesbian families, couples and individuals than you can shake an Hitachi wand at and a gay male pastry chef and his boyfriend, both from NYC, are building a cabin just down the road from me. What more could a girl ask for?! A pastry chef, in rural Massachusetts, when the nearest bakery is 20 miles away? (I made sure to introduce myself when we were out signing the purchase and sale a little while ago.)

So the next four weeks worth of weekends will be full of, yes, you guessed it, packing. I'm about to enter that awful phase of moving when everything's in boxes, or should be, and you can't find anything, feel like you don't live one place or another. Welcome to my so-called life for the next few weeks.

Anybody got any packing tips?

Caught by the Short Hairs

2006-09-26T09:10:00.000-04:00

I took a big step. It won't seem that big to some of you, but for me it was enormous. I cut my hair short. Leastways I didn't cut it. Fiona at Vidal Sassoon's in Boston cut it. However, it was one small step for lesbiankind, and a step that Mr. Lesbian considered an insult to hir. S/he has a distinct preference for long hair on hir sexual partners. I've put up with my "crowning glory" of blonde curls for many years, until looking in the mirror the other day and suddenly realizing, "Hey, that's not me!" And with several swift swipes of the stylist's scissors, my curls lay on the floor.

Oh how liberating!

Oh how fabulous!

Oh how many products I'm now required to use to keep the aforementioned shorn locks looking spikey and pristine!

Oh how much harder it is to look after short hair, than it is to "wash and wear" long hair!

This is not your mother's short hair - no blue rinse for me, no sirree bob! And you won't see me climbing behind the steering wheel of a powder-blue Buick now (or ever for that matter). However, Paul Mitchell's "Dry Wax" keeps the sides slicked back, and the top poofy and spikey and Dove Flexible hairspray (isn't that an oxymoron?) keeps the hair in place when all faffing has been completed. I can now turn up at Michigan Wimmin's Music Festival and hold my head high! I can open my new "Sinister Wisdom" journal with pride!

My ears now show. This means an additional expense. The multitude of holes in my ears, left earringless for so long, look forelorn and empty of bling. So I had to load up on studs in my ears, which meant a trip to the bling store.

My face, unadorned by golden locks, now looks pale and round. So I've taken to wearing more make-up to compensate. Hey...hang on! This was supposed to make me look more like me, not like some slightly less trailer-trash Nancy Grace!

::::::: sigh:::::::::::

It's harder to be a lesbian than people realize.

Should I stay or should I go?

2006-09-10T21:36:00.000-04:00

The majority of my working life is spent working with couples, straight and queer, who are struggling to navigate the complexity of sharing a life with another person. Being part of a couple in my private life makes for interesting challenges professionally. When I'm working with couples who have a similar dynamic to the one between myself and my partner, I have to work extra-hard to see things from the perspective of that client. And, when I go home at night, I often can see things a little more clearly in my own relationship. But the toughest couples for me to work with are the ones in which one partner is undecided about whether to remain in the relationship or to leave. This is where I am in my own relationship. I can't tell whether I should stay or go.

I'm terribly unhappy in my relationship. My partner, Mr. Lesbian, has been very depressed for most of the 8 years we have been together. While she is somebody who normally struggles with high anxiety and is drawn to pessimism like a moth to the flame, she got knocked sideways in 1999 when her partner (henceforth known as The Evil One) of nearly 5 years prevented her from seeing their son - a son they had adopted together from outside the United States. Unfortunately, they had never done a second parent adoption - The Evil One had taken part in a marriage of convenience to allow a gay male friend of hers to bring his boyfriend into the country and she said that it would flag the IRS if they did a second-parent adoption too soon. Mr. Lesbian capitulated, one of several moves that would cost her her beloved son. A protracted legal battle ensued, which cost in excess of $200, 000 and brought both of us into bankruptcy, despite cashing in 401k's and savings accounts to pay for the lawyer's fees. Mr. Lesbian did not get de facto parent standing, and has not seen her son since 2000. And with that, abruptly, the world ground to a halt and our relationship went into a tail spin.

Her behavior has changed so drastically I barely see my wonderful partner from those early days. There are explosions out of the blue. She is continually crabby and withdrawn. She is angry and punitive, with an anxiety so pervasive it feels palpable, like a third person in the relationship with us. Her impatience and irritability, alongside critical judgmentalism are painfully hard to live with. And the painful and almost complete cessation of affectional, sensual, physical, sexual contact, even down to and including hugging, has been almost unbearable.

It wasn't like that in the beginning. She chased me fervently. I found this captivating. She was decisive, wouldn't take no for an answer, and wooed me in a gentlemanly way that I'd never before experienced. She bought me flowers, sent me cards, bought me thoughtful little gifts that made me laugh. She was flirtatious and relentless. I felt beautiful, desired, sexy and womanly. Unlike all the other relationships I had been in, I found her so entertaining, funny, intelligent, sexy and smart that I couldn't get enough of being with her. I spent all my free time with her. We had sex frequently and passionately. There were nights when we didn't get enough sleep, and I would drag myself around exhausted but very happy. The simplest things would be fun. Driving around in her beat-up old car. Sitting having coffee in Harvard Square. Walking around bookshops (she doesn't like to read), flirting constantly. At my house, we would slow dance to soulful music, sit talking for hours about our lives, getting to know each other. We couldn't wait to see each other. I would feel jangly with anticipation of her visits to my house. I would watch her leave from behind the curtains, entranced by her boyish walk, the way her hair would flash around in the wind, her coat flapping from side to side as she semi-swaggered towards her car.

Since 1999, her depression and grief has been deep and protracted. Sorrow is etched on her face with deep lines and grooves. She rarely smiles and is barely capable of performing normal tasks of daily living. Not a person at ease with strong feelings, her response to such grief has been to lock herself away, untouchable and unreachable. The loving, playful camaraderie and delightful, sexy eroticism which suffused our early relationship was gone. In its place was cold, dispassionate callousness and angry blaming vindictiveness. We only had 6 months under our belt when The Evil One stopped Mr Lesbian from seeing her son. And it was just 18 months later that she saw him for the last time. There have been several appeals, all to no avail.

For the first four and a half years I dealt with this change by trying to be reassuring, loving, extra patient and understanding. I supported her through the loss of her son, using up all my vacation time in court, at a time when I was working 50-55 hours per week as director of a big social service agency, was doing a 20 hour a week internship and full-time graduate school. I held her when she cried (which she hates to do.) I patiently waited while she ranted and raved and vented, using me as her whipping boy. I listened for hours to her talk about the case, about the lawyers, her complaints and impatience, her fears and anger. I talked to the guardian ad litem. I took the stand at the hearing and was publicly humiliated in front of our friends and family members. I got up extra early to cook and bake for the legal team on mornings when nobody had time for breakfast, and my home-made muffins and thermos flasks of home-made soups and coffee were the only things keeping us going. I moved to her apartment when I would rather have stayed in my apartment in my own town. I called her unsupportive, homophobic mother regularly to keep her off Mr. Lesbian's back. I visited her mother regularly to keep her sweet. I helped write court documents and opened letters that scared her, (Therapist bills, legal letters and other bills).I put my money into the pot when hers ran out. I cooked dinner every night, despite school work and exhaustion, and I kept the house clean, did the laundry and ironing and, above all else, I put up with days and days of being ignored, snapped at.

I did this for one reason. I hoped that one day my "prince" would come back to me. I have spent hours in therapy trying to decide what to do. My best friend has listened to me agonize for hours over what my next steps should be - and still I stay.

There's a ghost in my house. He is a small, brown skinned boy with glossy black hair and huge black eyes. He sits at the end of the bed and looks mournfully at her while she sleeps. He lies in between us at night, cold and sad. Perched in between us on the couch, on the edge of his seat, his presence is constant and overwhelming. We both know he is there. She will not talk about him, even if I ask. She may have locked him away, but he lives with us still.

Sinister Wisdom

2006-08-23T12:40:00.000-04:00

There was a time when I read every lesbian journal, lesbian newspaper, article about being a lesbian etc that came along. In my early lesbian world, the world of 1979 – 1989, which I still think of as my glory days, nothing got by me politically. I was at every march, clomping along in my Doc. Martens at every demonstration. I had an opinion on every single thing connected to being female that you could shake a stick at. I was out at meetings 6 nights a week, organizing, writing, and arguing with other lesbian feminists about the burning issues of the day. I went to every single Women’s conference in the United Kingdom, even the ones in London which, for a lesbian living in Leeds, West Yorkshire, was kind of like a lesbian living in Boston, going to San Francisco for the night.

I have felt very out of the loop in recent years, catching little bits of news online, keeping up with the main stories, renewing my HRC membership each year and supporting causes financially in whatever way I can. But I have not read much lesbian-specific writing for a long, long time. There’s some history to this, and I think in part it’s to do with being involved with a partner who is closeted and transgendered. My life has become increasingly bound up with being a psychotherapist, and with my family – particularly my responsibilities as an active grandmother of a small child. Mr. Lesbian also does not understand my particular brand of lesbian feminism, and can’t understand why I see being a lesbian (which if asked s/he would probably describe as “just what people do in bed”) as so central to who I am. Anyway, while being so family oriented is fulfilling in all kinds of ways, I greatly miss being in the thick of all-things-lesbian in the way that I used to be.

So if you remember, I’m from the United Kingdom. The UK is a small country (really – it’s only 600 miles long from tip to toe and 300 miles at the widest point!) and, back when I came out, the lesbian feminist community did not have much in the way of financial resources. We didn’t have glossy journals or magazines back then. So, when British lesbians would visit the US of A and return with (what seemed at the time like) the myriad journals and magazines that American lesbians had access to, they were passed around the community until they had to be scotch taped back together.

I remember well the first edition of “Sinister Wisdom” that I ever saw. It was in 1981 and my friend, Saffron, had just returned home from an extended visit to the USA. (She had changed her name from “Pat” to “Saffron” after spending 3 months living with dykes in the mid-west USA and then complained that the American pronunciation with its long lazy “a” and drawn out drawl had sounded so much more romantic than the Yorkshire pronunciation, with its abrupt, short “a” sound and truncated busy-sounding, hasty ending – and if you don’t know what I mean, ask a Brit to say the word for you!) She brought with her numerous journals, one of which was Sinister Wisdom. It was the first time I had ever seen any of Tee Corinne’s magical photographs, and to read a journal that was dedicated to lesbian art and writing was so exciting it was almost a religious experience. After moving to the US in 1984, I had more access to lesbian journals, and for a while subscribed to Sinister Wisdom, but when I fell on hard times for a while, my subscription was one of the first things to lapse.

I assumed that Sinister Wisdom, like so many other journals and magazines and lesbian presses, had gone out of business. Wrong assumption! Imagine my delight when, cruising around the internet, I came across the Sinister Wisdom website. I immediately filled out a request for a subscription, expecting to be notified that the website was old and that the journal was no longer in print. But no! I receive a prompt response telling me that they received my request and asking me which issue I would like to begin my subscription with. I can’t wait for my first issue. I have all kinds of expectations, but one of the things that I am beginning to realize is that being involved in the politics of being a lesbian and a feminist shaped me in ways that I do not yet fully understand, but have come to realize that the absence of this involvement leaves a large hole. It is my hope that Sinister Wisdom will fill some of that void and will be a way for me to travel back to the lesbian I was from the lesbian I became.

Born a Lesbian or born-again-Lesbian?

2006-08-16T21:05:00.000-04:00

So, do you think you were born a lesbian?
I never know the answer to this question, but I understand that it's supposed to matter - that it's some kind of proof that I'm a "real" lesbian to people who need that kind of proof. Moreover, my preference would be to swear on a stack of S.C.U.M. Manifestos that I was born this way, (and I've probably lied before now and said that I was) but honestly? I just can't give a definitive answer. The closest I can come is to say, yes, I was probably born this way. When I think back through all the intense friendships I had with girls, beginning when I was 5 years old, there has to have been something there. I'm sure there are many heterosexual women who can recount close, intense friendships with girls, but I would pine if I couldn't see my little girlfriends when i was young. The crushes I had were intense, painful and prolonged.

Did you know that you were a lesbian when you were a teenager?
Okay, girlies, I was born in the wilds of South Wales, UK, in 1953. This means that my teenage years started in 1966 at which point the word "lesbian" was not part of teenage vernacular. This was Pre-Stonewall, folks! It was still illegal in the UK and woe betide anybody who was suspected of being gay or lesbian. Even linking arms with your best friend at the all-girls school that I attended (schools went co-ed in 1972 in Britain) meant that you were hounded by other kids chanting "Lezzbe Friends!" everywhere you went.

As I believed I've written elsewhere, my father was a porno hound and so pornography fell out of every cupboard and draw in the house. By the time my teen years came, I was sick and tired of thinking about sexuality. I started having sex with boys (and then men) when I was 14 years old, and only because I didn't know I had a right not to. I got crushes on boys who looked girly, and crushes on my girlfriends who looked boyish. And now I'm attracted to butches or bois. (I am SO not up on current young dyke vernacular, so help me out folks if I make mistakes with spelling.) I find men, gay and straight, so much harder to connect with in a way that is as meaningful as my female friends and lovers. I would often date boys if they were in the same friendship circle as my best girlfriends, so that I could 'double date' and not lose time with my girls! I didn't have the word "lesbian" to apply to that preference. The only stereotype of lesbians that I had heard or seen were of manly creatures, who wore big boots and tweed skirt suits, with slicked back hair and no make-up. This was so far away from who I was or felt myself to be it didn't occur to me to identify with this steotype.

Who was the last man you slept with?
The last man I slept with was my ex-husband and it was probably in 1978. He was less than stellar in bed too. Of all the men I had sex with (over one hundred of them) I don't think a single one of them ever touched my clitoris. I truly thought there was something wrong with me sexually, until I started to read Betty Dodson's books, and discovered that I did indeed have a clitoris and I most definitely wasn't asexual.Once I had started relationships with women, there was just no comparison. Even with all the bullshit that accompanies any relationship, at least being with women lovers felt like the whole package. Plus, I have never found men's bodies particularly attractive.

Was it hard to "come out"?
The older I become the harder it is to connect with the feeling of those early days. Discovering the word "feminism" and being able to apply the theories to the way I saw the world was a mind-blowing event. While I had always known that life was unfair for girls and women, the realization that Patriarchy was an intentional and oppressive system designed to curtail the freedoms of women, changed my life forever. I am, and always have been, an insatiable reader. Reading is one of the few ways I've ever found to make sense of the world. So I went hunting for women writers who could explain patriarchy to me. Shulamith Firestone, Adrienne Rich, Simone De Beauvoir, Robin Morgan, Germaine Greer...the words of these women fired me up, gave me righteous anger and emboldened me to do everything in my power to change the way the world operated. I became involved with feminist politics and activist groups and it was at this time that the last shred of sexual connection between me and men was severed. Having a sexual relationship with a man was unthinkable after this point. In retrospect, coming out as a lesbian was like joining the dots for me. All the things that had been true about me for all these years converged in the moment when I kissed Janet on the dance floor.

Once I had taken that step, it wasn't hard at all.

Lesbian Poem

2006-08-16T03:31:00.000-04:00

When you say you miss me on the phone:

When you say you miss me
That’s in theory, right?
Not in the way that keeps me
Warm at night
Not in the way I’m known
Through the fascia to the bone
When you say you miss me
Words sound slight.

When you say you miss me
You can’t feel it, true?
Well, maybe in the moment
Then you do
But when I’m there for real
You run away and squeal
When you say you miss me
You must hide.

When you say you miss me
It’s just words you say
To keep that empty feeling
Held at bay
That ache connects with me
Like a lion on a flea
When you say you miss me
Go away.

(c) The blogger known as "Sapphique"

20 Things I'd Like To Do

2006-08-15T02:56:00.000-04:00

In no particular order:

1. I'd like to spend four weeks on a Greek island - one of the ones where nude sunbathing is strongly encouraged.

2. If it didn't hurt so gosh-darned much, I'd like to have colorful, unusual tattoos all over my body (and not just in places that don't show!)

3. I'd like to have enough time to read my favorite bloggers' sites from beginning to end and make erudite, intelligent comments.

4. I'd like to win the lottery and then I'd use it ALL to fund radical feminist organizations to provide women-only think tanks. These would train women to develop increasingly cogent arguments and put more and more lesbian feminist women in SERIOUS positions of power.

5. If it didn't come with serious jail time, I'd like to kick George W. in the nuts.

6. And Dick Cheney as well, while I'm at it.

7. And Bill O'Riley.

8. And then start over.

9. I'd like to do a road trip across the US, before our fossil fuel supply hits bottom, visiting all the places I've heard about and hoped to visit when I moved to the US of A but just haven't had time for.

10. I know this is definitely something that can't be actualized, given that she died fairly recently, but I would have liked to have met Andrea Dworkin. I attended a talk she gave in Leeds, UK, back in my baby dyke days. I felt too intimidated to talk to her.

11. I would like to be as well-known a sex therapist as Dr. Susan Block (only without the whips and chains, not because I disapprove but because it's just not my sexual style.)

12. And maybe without the corsets.

13. And with more clothes on.

14. I'd like to have the power to make Mr. Lesbian jump my bones whenever I batted my eyelashes.

15. I'd like to wake up tomorrow morning with really, really, long eyelashes.

16. I'd like to have the experience of multiple orgasms just once before I die.

17. Okay, maybe once a week.

18. Or so.

19. I'd like to have the power to enact civil rights for queer folks internationally.

20. I'd like to take K.D. Lang to that Greek island with me.

How I Met Mr. Lesbian

2006-08-14T00:05:00.000-04:00

It was a wild and stormy night.

Nope.

It was a warm and breezy weekday afternoon in late fall.

Yes. That's more like it.

I had just been promoted to agency director of the faith-based social services agency where I worked. They head-hunted me for the position despite knowing that I was both an atheist and a lesbian which, given that this organization is operated by the Catholic Archdiocese, was no mean feat. My boss was a former nun, who had married a former priest, who had married, divorced and then married my boss. Complicated enough for you? Still, I digress.

Back to my story.

I was visiting a friend, who had gone to work at a childcare center just a few miles from my agency. I spent many years working with children and families, and was well known in the early childhood community at that time. Put a baby or small child in my field of vision and I'm a goner and don't notice adults. I am great with kids and I love playing. With no fears about making a complete fool of myself, I can make messes with food, contort my face into strange shapes at the drop of a hat, roll around on the floor with no fear of dirt, cat hair or baby goop, and I'm no stranger to smelly, poopy nappies, a.k.a. diapers. Parents were coming and going, and I took no notice, other than a cursory hello.

Two days later my friend from the childcare center turned up at my house with an envelope. She said that one of the parents, " a lesbian mom", had given her the envelope and asked her to pass it on to me. Inside the envelope? The anonymous mom's business card, and a request for a networking meeting - she had given up her directorial job at a prestigious hospital and was looking for another position. Would I be willing to meet with her? I was baffled. Her focus was health care. Mine mental health and families. I didn't think I would be much help, plus I had started my own job as a director and was swamped. I put off returning the call for a couple of weeks, and finally guilt got the better of me.

On the phone was a woman with a delightful voice (I'm a sucker for American accents, particularly if the women are soft spoken), we arranged to have a quick business lunch together. S/he showed up at my agency at the appointed time. Here are some relevant points of information (and some red flags - you figure out which):

* Yes, s/he was cute, and dressed in a business suit.
* S/he referred to hirself as "gay" and only used the word "lesbian" on one occasion, and it was not in reference to hirself.
* I asked for hir resume. S/he didn't have one with hir. I suggested that s/he send me one. S/he never did/
* That was the ONLY conversation we had that lunchtime about hir job search.

We had a 45 minute lunch, and on the way back to my office s/he mentioned that there was a big lesbian party happening that weekend. S/he described it as a "who's who of lesbians on the East Coast." And yes, oh shit, I took the bait. My eyebrows must have gone up. S/he knew I was hooked. Casually, s/he said, "I was thinking of going, but ...I'm not sure. Hey...would you be interested?" "Is the pope a guy in a dress?" I thought to myself.

"I'm not sure," I responded. "I'm pretty busy at the moment."

"You don't have to stay long," s/he replied. "I'll pick you up and drop you back home after an hour or so."

I capitulated.

Folks, the lesbians were all Republicans. The kind who are fully paid up members and get embossed invitations to inaugurations. There wasn't a single car in the driveway worth under $30 grand. There was even a vintage Rolls Royce. One of the women came on a brand new Harley. The party was catered (I kid you not) and there was an entire roast lamb laid out, with all the fixings. The next table was all desserts. There was enough alcohol to completely sink the entire membership of AA, and I would hazard a guess that most of the women considered themselves "gay" and not "lesbians."

But, did I run?

No.

Did I want to?

No. I enjoyed being a cat among the pigeons. I talked loudly about class politics, poverty and socialism. I think my presence went over like a fart in church.

Not realizing that the Future Mr Lesbian had a crush on me, I busily tried fixing hir up with somebody at the party. S/he told me to stop - s/he wasn't interested in being fixed up with anybody and, by the way, what kind of women was I attracted to? "Butch ones," I responded haughtily. "I can wire and plumb houses," s/he responded sheepishly. I may have snorted. S/he looked like a straight girl and didn't have an ounce of butch in hir. SO not my type!

Not only was s/he a Republican, s/he actually worked to elect Republican politicians. How can you be gay or lesbian and be a Republican? It just didn't make any sense. S/he told me a story about attending political events in her town, and how s/he would always invite a guy s/he knew for "cover." I was aghast. "Why don't you just come out?" I asked. "I can work better under cover to change things from the inside," s/he replied.

I believe I snorted again, only this time louder.

"Last time I was at an event, the same guy who usually accompanies me said loudly, 'So, I hear you're gay. What gives?' and I didn't know what to say, so I just denied it," s/he said. The look of horror on my face stopped hir in hir tracks. "Does he have the hots for you?" I asked. "Yes, I think so," s/he replied shamefacedly. "Well, what else could I have done?"

I grinned and said, "Well, I would have said...if you're asking if I'll fuck you the answer's no...and put it back on him," I replied. "It makes him defend his manhood in front of his buddies. He just got turned down flat and you come out smelling like roses," I grinned.

The music came on, so we started to dance, but then within two tracks the speakers blew out. I'd had enough republicanism, fatty meat and bullshit to last me quite a while, so I asked if we could leave.

We stopped at a deli for coffee and sat opposite each other grinning like fools. When we arrived back at my house, I was practically jumping out of the car before it came to a halt. S/he was so NOT my type.

The following weeks s/he pursued me like a sonovabitch. Flowers arrived at my office. Soon after that, my favorite roses would be sitting on my doorstep in the evening when I arrived home. S/he sent me cards and turned up to drive me to school. Finally I gave in and met hir for coffee. And then I met hir again, and again, and again. Before I knew it, I had fallen for hir.

Please bear in mind that I didn't know that Mr Lesbian was trans. In point of fact, neither did s/he. S/he didn't have the language yet to describe how s/he had felt all her life. I'm femme. But not THAT femme. I can't wear skirts, because I get "femme poisoning" after an hour of my legs showing. In retrospect if I had realized that Mr Lesbian was actually transgendered and not a dyke, I don't think I would have continued. Yes, I can hear you booing. Let me just say that I have no political or personal prejudices against trans folks. I just prefer to be in relationships with women who like their breasts and aren't spending all their time pretending they don't have them.

So, here we are. It's 8 years later and we're still together. S/he has a language to talk about being trans, but hir republicanism silences hir. S/he is more "out" than s/he used to be, but let's people assume that s/he's a lesbian and doesn't talk about being trans. People, trust me. It's damn hard to be a sex therapist from inside a sexual relationship, particularly with somebody who doesn't want to talk about their sexuality.

Not all of us lesbians worship Melissa Etheridge!!

2006-08-09T02:09:00.000-04:00

Okay, enough already with the Melissa Etheridge idolatry! We don't all have Melissa on our turntables. In point of fact, I don't own a CD of hers (or a cassette come to that.)

Can I truly be thought of as a real lesbian?

Let's survey and assess the facts.

* I don't TiVO and neither do I (perish the thought of anything so retro) "tape" the Ellen DeGeneres Show.

* I don't watch the L Word religiously (and neither do I read the fan boards.)

* I don't like "women's" music. (Hang on, does this include Sarah McLachlan?)

* I have never seen a single episode of "Queer as Folk" (but I do love "Six Feet Under," so maybe that cancels out?)

* I've never had group sex. (Yeah, and me a sex therapist!)

* I don't subscribe to "Curve" magazine.

* I don't have a rainbow decal on my car.

* I don't drive a pick-up truck or a small SUV.

* I don't know how to swagger.

* I wear underwear.

* I've never been to San Francisco.

* I don't vacation in Provincetown.

* I've never been on an Olivia Cruise.

Hmm...pretty damming evidence, right?

However, I still :

* Have the hots for K.D. Lang.

* Think longingly of the teeny, tiny, anorexic braid affected by any self-respecting dyke back in the day!

* Daydream with nostalgia of the time I attended a Michigan Womyn's Music Festival back in 1982 when I was young and impressionable.

* Keep my finger nails short and my toe nails too, although I suspect that doesn't count. (Unless the rules have changed??)

* Have a crush on Rosie O'Donnell.

and, last but not least, I write a lesbian blog.

Surely, this must all count for something?

Ten Things I Hate About Being A Lesbian

2006-08-08T16:36:00.000-04:00

1. Having to deal with homophobic twits.

2. People's assumption that I'm handy with a power drill. (I suck)

3. People's assumption that I hate men. (I don't - well, some men but not as a gender.)

4. The quandry over whether to shave armpits and legs, or not to shave. (Um, I err on the side of not shaving, blessed as I am with light body hair and next to no leg hair to speak of.)

5. The bra-less years, as a result of which my breasts hang slightly lower than they might of if I hadn't let 'em swing free for so long before restoring them to their rightful place inside relatively constraining (and gratefully uplifting) spandex/cotton.

6. Infrequent attacks of internalized homophobia, rarer and rarer as the years go by, but occasional and vitriolic when they hit. One example of this is the "internalized homophobe", who is embarrassed and even, occasionally, scared when I show physical and loving affection towards children in the presence of folks whose queer-friendliness may be in question. I never felt this way before I came out, and was instantly aware of the prohibition against loving relationships with children when I came out.

7. Answering well-meaning, but idiotic, questions from people who are "interested in lesbian lifestyles." Huh????

8. I hate it that I even have to consider whether it's safe to come out or not to come out. I try to live my life as out as possible, as I consider there to be a symbiosis between high self-esteem and living an "out" life. But there are times when self-protection wins out, and I don't.

9. The fact that I live next door to a couple who signed the Anti-marriage petition in Massachusetts. (I checked on the KnowThyNeighbor.org site for the location of homophobes in my town).

10. The fact that two years after it became legal for same-sex couples to marry in Massachusetts, when hearing that I am married, people still assume my partner is a man.

Ten Things I Love About Being A Lesbian

2006-07-31T18:30:00.000-04:00

1. It's not as hard to measure up to Ellen DeGeneres as it is to Marilyn Monroe.

2. You can be old, somewhat overweight and have silver hair and still be considered a babe.

3. It's easier to be friends with heterosexual men.

4. DykeDar. (Yep, it never fails.)

5. The freedom to combine lipstick and power tools. (Now THAT's sexy!)

6. Straight friends assume competence in all arenas (good for those with fragile egos - not moi, of course!)

7. 100 things to do with Tofu at the drop of a hat (and not all of them culinary!)

8. Northampton, MA.

9. Sensible shoes some days, not so sensible on others.

10. Practicing cunnilingus techniques on ice-cream cones.

My Best Friend

2006-07-25T09:30:00.000-04:00

My best friend's name is K. She’s a clinical psychologist, and the first and only doctorate in her big, working class, Irish family. I call her "Doc" whenever I remember. It makes her smile and giggle and is therefore rewarding to me, and fun for her, and when she’s smiling it’s a thing of beauty. Despite her multitude of academic credentials, she has spent the last few years hidden away on top of a mountain with her husband, leaving only for occasional forays into academia. She teaches human sexuality to graduate and doctorate level students, and is a brilliant professor.

How do I start to write about K? To begin, just saying her name quietly in my mind, I imagine the words “My Best Friend,” with caps a-blazing following behind her name. I thrive on the intimacy that having a truly "best" friend provides, and K is without doubt the finest friend one could ever imagine. She’s a keeper and I hope she will keep me.

One of the things that is so fantastic about the good doctor is you can have a self in relation to her, in fact she demands it. Not suffering fools gladly, she wouldn’t tolerate a wimpy presence and I thank my lucky stars that I’m not a wimpy person, otherwise I would be so screwed. Being friends with K would be a living hell if I were a wimp (if I even made it through the, “Uh, hello, my name is…um… :::blush::: ”). As the saying goes, she doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and like many therapists, myself included, she isn't comfortable with small talk. K likes to go deep, even if it’s a conversation in a local breakfast joint with the biker, red-neck owner. She wants the dirt on you, and she wants it now – no waiting.

“The Bluest Eye” describes K’s eyes. She has crisp, clear, blue eyes like the Mediterranean after a rain storm. They stand out like tidal pools in the poodle-peachy pink of her skin. When her hair isn’t dyed, her true hair color is pure silver and the combination of silvery hair and turquoise eyes is, well, breath-taking. In my mind’s eye, K stands tall. But I’ve just asked her how tall she really is and she thinks for a second, and replies, “Five-three-and-three-quarters.” This surprises me. When I think of K, I think of height, of a person who occupies vertical space, somebody who towers over me. To learn that she is taller than me by a mere three-quarters of an inch comes as something of a shock.

K curves her shoulders protectively when she stands. Her arms, legs and upper body are averagely plumptious. However, her torso is pear-shaped and round and looking at K sideways, I am reminded of an over-large and precocious toddler. Once described as a “saucy wench,” it fits her perfectly. She comes across as having a hearty, healthy and delightfully lascivious sexual persona. Watching the toddler turn front-on and morph into a 17th century serving wench is a thing of beauty.

K occupies her space proudly. She doesn’t drag her feet and she appears to be constantly in motion. If she isn’t singing and dancing, she’s dancing and humming. If she isn’t humming, she’s striking a pose, with eyes flashing, head turned coquettishly as she flirts with whoever is in the room at the time. Karaoke is to K as guitars are to rock music. I’m dumbfounded by her recall of lyrics going back years and years, whether it’s Oklahoma! or Outkast.

K is dramatic, in the way of 30’s screen goddesses. She strikes poses like others pick noses. Frequently and with gusto. K announces impending feelings. “I’m getting angry now. I’m getting pissed off now. I’m beginning to feel sad right now.” She shows all these feelings strongly on her face. Between her eyes, two deep furrows appear when anger, irritation or deep concentration occupy her, and when she is slack-jawed two lines curve downwards either side of her mouth. When K smiles, her face is beautifully illuminated and expressive, eyebrows dance above her Lucky Charms eyes. K has a tendency to imbue emotional content with more complicated angst than necessary, but she does it so charmingly and with such earnestness that you hardly care. In fact, there’s hardly anything that K does that isn’t charming. She IS charm.

I love K in a straight-forward, uncomplicated way. Whenever I’m spending time with K, I feel like I’m in first grade, hanging out with my best friend in the school playground. I want to link arms with her, skip, leap and sing loudly. In fact, we frequently do all these things together. We say, to anybody who is interested, that we are twins separated at birth.

K has had sexual experiences with other women, and would do so again if her husband felt okay about it, but he mostly doesn’t, so she won’t. She describes herself as "probably bisexual" but I think she's probably more likely "pan sexual." Even if K had sex with another woman while still married to D, it wouldn’t be with me. We love each other down to the bone, but have no sexual interest in each other. Not that we don’t talk about it. We’re both sex therapists, so talk freely about sex and being sexual. “If we were lovers, we’d run out naked in the rain and roll in the mud, right K?” I say to her. “Right,” says K. “And if we were lovers, we’d lie around for hours reading to each other," she replies. Hmmm. Actually, we realize, we already do that. And there's no reason why we shouldn't run out in the rain naked together either. Wouldn't first graders do that given half a chance?

Forty Things About Me

2006-07-24T03:37:00.000-04:00

Yep, it's not original. I got the idea from Suburban Lesbian to whom I offer my sincerest thanks. It was really fun answering the questions.

1. My uncle once: got blackmailed for many years by a former officer in the British Military, because the blackmailer found out that my uncle was gay, and he would have lost his officer's commission unless he'd paid the money.
2. Never in my life: have I ever played with a tarantula (and it never will happen, so don't let's hold our breath!)
3. When I was five: I went to my first day in First Grade and forgot to wear underpants. It was only discovered when I peed myself and my teacher found out that my undies were a no-show.
4. High School was: torture.
5. I will never forget: the night I came out, on the dance floor of the "women's dance" in Bradford, West Yorkshire, with my then best friend, Janet.
6. I once met: Elana Dykewoman.
7. There's this girl I know who: snapped my heart in two.
8. Once, at a bar: I watched my mother get hit on by a lesbian, giggle, and confess to me that she'd enjoyed the attention.
9. By noon, I'm usually: heading into work. (Most therapists work afternoons and evenings.)
10. Last night: I went out to dinner at "Not Your Average Joe's" with my best friend, her daughter, my daughter and my granddaughter. I was in a foul mood, which is highly unusual. I'm glad I went.
11. If I only had: more years to live.
12. Next time I go to church: it will be an absolute miracle (or else the Boston Gay Men's Chorus will be singing!)
13. Terry Shiavo: terribly, terribly sad.
14. What worries me most: is that my daughter won't learn how to manage her money better, will end up passing bad checks, do a stint in the big house and get deported.
15. When I turn my head left, I see: a beautiful torchiere Tiffany Lamp.
16. When I turn my head right, I see: a framed photograph, which I bought in Provincetown twenty years ago, of Marian Roth's "Underwater" vision of two naked women, with erect nipples, hanging out underwater.
17. You know I'm lying when: I can't look you in the eyes.
18. What I miss most about the eighties: is not having wrinkles.
19. If I was a character in Shakespeare, I'd be: daintily flitting from tree to tree in Midsummer Nights Dream.
20. By this time next year: I'll be picking lettuces from my organic vegetable garden in the farm Mr. Lesbian and I are in the process of buying in Western Mass.(The vegetable garden is already established!)
21. A better name for me would be: impossible to imagine.
22. I have a hard time understanding: cruelty.
23. If I ever go back to school I'll : slit my wrists.
24. You know I like you if: I tell you.(Nobody ever has to guess!)
25. If I ever won an award, the first person I'd thank would be: my best friend.
26. Darwin, Mozart, Slim Pickens & Geraldine Ferraro: three winners and a loser (although it wasn't her fault).
27. Take my advice, never: take my advice.
28. My ideal breakfast is: a New York Bagel, with hand sliced Lox, low fat cream cheese, thinly sliced red onions, capers and lemon wedges with a huge pot of very strong coffee and light cream.
29. A song I love, but do not own is:Bolero, by Ravel.
30. If you visit my hometown, I suggest: taking an umbrella and making sure you get a chance to eat Lava Bread with Cockles and Bacon. (It's Swansea, South Wales, UK).
31. Tulips, character flaws, microchips & track stars: are flowers that I really like, things that I'm impatient with, tiny things I don't understand and people I'll never hang out with.
32. Why won't people: clamor to have sex with me.
33. If you spend the night at my house: you will be able to sleep in my beautiful study, and be fussed over so much you won't want to leave.
34. I'd stop my wedding for: Lynnie S.M. from Chelsea, NYC, if she showed up.
35. The world could do without: more republicans.
36. I'd rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: give another blow job.
37. My favorite blonde is: Cristina Aquilera
38. Paper clips are more useful than: having no paper clips.
39. If I do anything well, it's: hoard paper clips.
40. And by the way: I'm still in lust with my previous girlfriend.

A Lesbian? Moi? How can you tell?

2006-07-23T12:02:00.000-04:00

Oh, how I long for those halcyon-early-coming-out days - when girls were women, women were wimmin, and those wimmin were probably dykes and dykes were ..... well, you get my drift. I came out in the late 70's/early 80's in Britain. I don't know what it was like for US dykes, but in the UK when you came out and it was 1979-84, you HAD to be a man-hating lesbian separatist. I went from a lipstick-wearing, bra-sporting, high-heeled teetering, straight married gal, to a buzz-cut, flick-knife-wielding, no-make-up, hip-flask-toting, Doc. Marten-stomping dyke separatist living in collective households, churning out feminist, dyke-separatist polemic on mimeographed sheets. We were dykes and there was a revolution to be fought, demos to march in and wimmin to save!

In Britain, if you were a lesbian and a feminist you HAD to have short hair - it was the rule! I had short, spikey, punked out hair with a slew of holes punctured up and down my ear-lobes. Every available wall in our houses sported feminist posters, we were festooned in Sterling Silver labyris and double-women symbols. I was newly vegetarian, could result Adrienne Rich's treaty on "Compulsory Heterosexuality" by heart, was 26 years old, or thereabouts, and felt like I finally belonged somewhere. Even then, I was a flambuoyant separatist. I wore painters' overalls, dyed in bright colors. I bought my earrings at the local Indian grocery store...they jangled, dangled, spun and shimmered and were bright and colorful. I took some flack for being so femmey, so wore bigger boots than anybody else and was "Ms. Ultra-Separatist" to make up for the earrings and bright attire.

Cut to 2006, and I no longer know if I'm allowed to call myself a lesbian. The rules got away from me, and I can't tell - does it matter anymore? What happened to my fervent, young dyke feminist politics? My partner was born biologically female, always felt hirself to be male, isn't a feminist, and doesn't understand why it's so hard for me to be a lesbian in a relationship with somebody who doesn't like their female body. How the fuck did I end up here? (That's going to be a later blog, I promise!) It felt much easier when I was 26 years old, than it does in my early 50's. I look in the mirror at this woman, the woman I have become, with my traditional hairstyle, my tastefully applied make-up (not too much, not too little) and my conservative clothing and I barely recognize myself anymore. I long for a short spikey hair cut. I don't own a pair of Doc. Martens, but sure wish I did. I don't have a community around me now, leastways not a lesbian community, although I have lesbian friends and I go to an open discussion group that picks topics to talk about each month. There was a time when another lesbian could see me out the corner of her eye and her gaydar would go off. Now I have to come out on purpose, because people can't tell. Is that important? Can we afford to relax more now that we're older? I don't know the answer to the questions, but I sure wish I did.

Reluctantly Married

2006-07-22T10:27:00.000-04:00

Okay, I admit it. We married for the health insurance. Mr. Lesbian (my transgender lesbian husband) and I had been together, reasonably unhappily, for 8 years when hir work (with the State) told hir that there would be no more domestic partners health insurance benefits. We now had the Commonwealth of Massachusetts behind us legally, and we had better use those civil rights otherwise we'd be shit out of luck, insurance-wise!

So, dear reader, we married.

Would I do it again if I knew now what I knew then?

Nope. (Although the wedding party was a lot of fun.)

Sitting with a queer client the other day, I was asked my opinion on marriage. Was there really a reason to do it if you were queer? Not a unique question, but still a good question to ponder. I thought about my own marriage and realized that I really did primarily do it for the security that having health insurance gives, and also because there didn't seem to be a good reason not to. On the other hand, Mr. Lesbian is about to come into a fabulous amount of inheritance and being legally married meant that I was also protected given the terms of the inheritance trust, which stipulates that only "spouses" may inherit through the trust beneficiaries in the event of death. We both wanted to make sure that our relationship was somewhat financially protected and getting married would take care of that.

I don't particularly think of marriage as a sanctity, and this is primarily more to do with my atheistic/anarcho/commie-pinko-queer leanings than from anything else. I don't have a huge amount of respect for the institution of marriage, but as a lesbian I know that being able to be married offers me some legal protections that I wouldn't otherwise have. On the whole, I think of marriage as a romantic crock. While it feels emotionally meaningful at the time of the ceremony, and it sure is wonderful to have friends and family ooohing and aahing over you, one day later you're wondering what the big fuss is all about.

I don't love hir any more than before. We are both as fucked up now as we were before the ceremony, and our relationship has all the same glitches and messes that we had six months into this juggernaut. But, the good news is that if either of us is in a car accident, they can't turn us away at the hospital bed. There are some legal protections in terms of inheritance and, minutely, in terms of state taxes that benefit us.

So, I think that as long as you don't expect legal marriage to sort out the relational/emotional fault-lines in your relationship then by all means take advantage of the legal privilege to marry. Otherwise, really.....what's the point?

Coming Out as a Lesbian to Straight Clients

2006-07-14T22:32:00.000-04:00

When you are a lesbian therapist, the decision about whether to come out or not in the context of a therapeutic relationship is a complicated one, not just in terms of sexual and political orientation, but also because of the larger processing of the ins and outs of when, how and if a therapist should self-disclose personal information.

Coming out happens in the space between me and another person. Coming out is a psychosocial practice. But coming out is also an intra-psychic process, a process that is often fraught with ambivalence. Coming out to new friends and acquaintances involves the pondering of many questions and complicated ideas. Each time I say that I am a lesbian I want to show myself to a person and I want to hide from them simultaneously. It’s not just about telling somebody that I make love with women. It’s about making one decision that creates the possibility for a thousand others. Shall I tell you that I’m a lesbian or shall I not? If I tell you, what will the consequences of that decision be? How much of my time and energy will be taken up by the ramifications of that decision? If I don’t tell you, what will I do with the questions about my personal life? How do I explain my relationship with my partner, the fact that we have the same last name? I wear wedding rings, but I’m not married to a man. What questions will I have to field? Is it worse if there are no questions and my identity just disappears into a black hole? And what do I do with the invisibility of my essential self? How can I simultaneously hide from you, but not lie to myself?

Furthermore, if this number of questions surface in a relationship between friends and acquaintances, just how many more questions are there to ponder when I consider telling my client of nine months, after her repeated questioning, that I am a lesbian?

I came out as a lesbian in 1978 and I sometimes still fall into the trap of thinking that my coming out is over and done with. Cocooned obliviously in the eye of the storm, I have often allowed myself to believe that there is nothing more to think, feel or process about it. My coming out days are over. Not so. Each time I sit down with a new client, the potential for coming out exists. I have avoided this potential on more than one occasion, and each time I have left the therapy room with a sinking feeling of betrayal, both of myself and of the client.

My presence in the therapy room is critical, not just as a warm body, but as a thinking, breathing human being. As a therapist, my primary focus is to be present for my client. I have to think about what effect my self-disclosure will have on my client – who will benefit from the information about my lesbianism? My wish to connect with clients means doing everything in my power to be “with” them therapeutically in all that this suggests. Integrity and authenticity are central concepts for me as a clinician and it feels hard to be these things while hiding myself.

My client’s willingness to share extremely personal, vulnerable details about his or her struggles deserves an honest response from me. Not a response that claims the therapeutic space as mine, but one that involves inviting the client to swell into the space our joint vulnerability creates in the room. Therapy should not be a mystery. A mysterious therapist, silent, benign and enigmatic, is not a role model for a client.

There are as many theories on therapist self-disclosure as there are therapists. So far, what feels true for me is to reveal whatever, in my estimation, is in the service of the client’s move towards growth. There have been times when showing the soft, white underbelly of a particular vulnerability I have worked through in my life has been useful for a client struggling with a relevant issue. At all times, I am conscious that my client may be looking to me for guidance, so my answers should never hinder the process of emergence that my client is going through. I have direct personal experience, from the other side of the couch, as to how powerful personal stories of transformation can be, and I hope that some of my clients will draw strength from knowing that I have been able to overcome obstacles in my life similar to their own struggles, be this an eating disorder (that I struggle with), coming to terms with a shifting lesbian identity (that I have been through), or a or a struggle through depression and out the other side (that I managed to survive). At the point where my experiences touch on their present-day struggle, the possibility of a transformative connection exists. Needless to say, self-disclosure, as a therapist has to contain some measure of self-awareness. If you have never revealed to another person that you are bulimic, it is not timely to share this for the first time with a client who is struggling with the desperation born of a binge and purge cycle.

In working with heterosexual clients, I am stymied thus far by the whole idea of coming out. Do I come out or not come out? I have had sexual relationships and strong affectional relationships with men, despite the fact that I have spent most of my adult life in committed relationships with women. Is it dishonest to speak from this experience, without acknowledging my present identity? As a very “out” lesbian, one of my concerns is that a client will learn that I am a lesbian from another source. Will this information impact clients as a “betrayal?” On the other hand, the fact of my lesbian feminist roots constitute a knowledge base and strength for heterosexual men and women, in that I have an understanding of gender dynamics and inequities, not just for women but also for men.

I have often considered starting to include the word "lesbian" in between "licensed" and "psychotherapist" - but now have to consider the impact this will have on my existing clients, 50% of whom are oblivious to my sexual orientation and just assume that I am heterosexual.

As a lesbian clinician the issues are different with queer clients. But not all lesbians will be comfortable with a lesbian clinician. For example, I cannot assume that somebody struggling with coming out issues would want to be seen in the waiting room of a known and “out” lesbian therapist. On the other hand, I have experientially much to offer as a role-model of a woman’s ability to tackle coming out issues. In working within the gay, lesbian, bisexual community, I have to consider the fact that my community is small, the “who-do-we-know-in-common” conversations could easily impact on trust building in a relationship.

Well, this is a start. I’m relieved to have a place to write about these things and welcome feedback.

I would have wanted to sleep with you by now...

2006-07-14T15:10:00.000-04:00

“I would have wanted to sleep with you by now, other than for the fact that you’re fat.”

It was the spring of 1980 and I was at the tail end of my 26th year and in the first flush of coming out as a lesbian. Ah, the 1980’s. The Second Wave of feminism was in full force, nary a weekend went past when some exciting demonstration, gathering, conference or meeting wasn’t taking place. And in 1978 I learned about it all through “Spare Rib,” the British Women’s Liberation mouthpiece, published monthly and devoured from cover to cover by feminists, neophyte and jaded alike. It was my foolish husband who introduced me to these holy pages – embarrassed, as I imagined then, by his non-University wife who was home raising his small baby girl, he brought the magazine home to educate me. He wasn’t to know how hungry I was for the information, and how the planets had aligned in my sexuality Zodiac at exactly the moment he said, “Here, read this if you want.”

I was a long-time women’s “libber” and words can’t describe how much I loathe and detest that diminishing epithet. Used by men and women alike to disparage and minimize a struggle for civil rights and equality, it stung to admit that I was one. I was a feisty gal from adolescence and was known for giving men a hard time, which in retrospect I believe to mean that I was a woman who had strong opinions and was not easily pushed around. I oozed out of my family by the skin of my teeth, surviving with some of my self-respect and self-love intact, but definitely bearing the scars of 18 years in a house with my father, arch misogynist. With no sexuality to speak of other than that dictated by years of reading Penthouse, Playboy and White House, I was hardened against the idea of sex, the notion of feeling sexual and sick to death of the idea that anybody else was having sex. The only piece missing was my inability to say no to sex, which I didn’t know was my goddess-given right.

So now, here it is, years later and I’m married to my childhood sweetheart. Well, leastways number 4 of the over 100 men I had had sex with, and decided to sustain a relationship with. Inequality bristled between my bones like demented fascia, and I was ripe for plucking. Soft Cell sang of “Tainted Love,” the Yorkshire Ripper was claiming victim after victim with no end in sight, I hadn’t had sex in years, was too smart for my own good and lived with a man who was an emotional illiterate. So when I peeled back those pages and saw photos of honest-to-goodness real live lesbians, holding placards and marching in Gay Rights demos, my heart skipped a beat and I felt a throb in a clitoris I’d never realized I had up till then. I ran right out and joined a newly-formed Consciousness Raising Group. Those were exciting times. I read everything I could about feminism. I cried and raged my way through Susan Brownmiller’s books, devoured Andrea Dworkin’s books on Pornography and read anything on lesbians and relationships between women that I could get my hands on. I hadn’t realized just how furious I was with men until then. Anything male was a nail, and I was the hammer.

Six months later I had had my first relationship with a woman I wasn’t in love with, but loved me and desired my round, soft body in a way that I’d never been loved before. I only wish the feelings were reciprocated, but she left me cold. But the revolution marched on! I left my husband, and took off with my child to begin the life of a single lesbian. I am woman hear me whore!

I met M. at the Rape Crisis Center where I worked, a hotbed of lesbian feminist activism. She was small, dark haired, dark eyed and intense. It is she I credit with introducing me to the joy of smoking roll-up cigarettes, and I felt my DQ (Dyke Quotient) rising each time I rolled my own. She also introduced me to Adrienne Rich, Marge Piercy, lesbian collective households, home-made whole wheat bread that took the tartar of your teeth, political vegetarianism and her own particular brand of fierce and fighting lesbian separatism. We were friends, friends who spent a lot of time together as collaborators in the struggle against male domination, giving talks to Young Conservative groups about rape and sexual assault, sitting next to each in meetings giggling like the bad girls in the back of the class and sharing a pint and a smoke at the bar around the corner from the Crisis Center. I invited her to my flat for dinner. The anticipation of seeing her jangled every nerve end in my body. I had butterflies in my stomach, felt agitated and aroused and if I could have figured out how, would have crawled out of my skin and hidden in my sock drawer. I met M. at the door, and she was grinning as widely as I was. She was entranced by my politically-correct dark-skinned daughter, salivated over admired and devoured my fabulous gourmet vegetarian meal, and plunked herself down on the tapestry-covered couch to roll a spliff. She got high, very high. The mild buzz I felt from the weed only served to intensify my overall feeling of well-being. Ah, but it was grand to be a lesbian. Gone were the days of having to dress right, wearing make-up to be considered desirable, or worry about the number on the scales. The Revolution was coming and all women were equal.

Unfortunately, the weed made M paranoid.

And that’s when she said those words, which she introduced by saying, “I’m feeling very paranoid, and so I have to say something to get it out of the way so that it’s not in the room anymore. I would have wanted to sleep with you by now, other than for the fact that you’re fat and I don’t like your body.”

I think the revolution ground to a juddering halt right about then. And right behind it, the lesbian juggernaut slowed, skidded sideways with screaming breaks and slammed into my brain which has struggled ever since to integrate what M said to me into the framework of my life. I’m still working on it, but I know that the words are yet with me, and I cringe and get tears in my eyes if I let myself remember them.

The thoughts and ideas flowed freely until I put those words down on paper. And now I find myself wanting to stop writing, to be done. I realize that I had conceived of the impending revolution as a social and political evolution that was completely accepting of me in every way. M’s words drilled down into my consciousness, seeped into the fabric of my identity and puffed out the flickering flame of passion. For a while, I came to believe that there are no glory days. There is no walking into the sunlight with rosy cheeks, arm in arm with your lesbian lover, unencumbered by patriarchal prejudices and misogynistic mishegass.

So, dear reader, we did end up having sex. Yep, awful, emotionally painful sex that kept me hidden under the covers, hiding my body from M’s horrified gaze until our relationship ended 2 years later. For the first ten years after the break up, whenever I remembered and felt those words, I would find myself cringing and squinting, my shoulders would involuntarily squeeze up under my ears. I felt the pain of them as a physical assault. I felt no heartbeat. My head became a solid lump of metal, my torso leaden and heavy, my breathing would slow and threaten to stop. I would feel a choking sensation in my throat, as if I were slowly suffocating on my own saliva. Even now, as I write this, if I close my eyes, those physical sensations come back to me, distantly and softer, but still with bite, as if it were yesterday.

Finally anonymous...

2006-07-13T09:30:00.000-04:00

I already have an established psychotherapy blog elsewhere, but as a married lesbian, working as a sex therapist/psychotherapist, I'm stymied by the constant need for editing and caution that is required in the upkeep of a Psychotherapy blog where I can't "come out." Okay, before everybody leaps all over me for that, let me just say that despite the fact that I am, and always have been, a very "out" lesbian feminist activist, there are many good, sound clinical reasons for being careful how, when and where you come out. And as I fully intend to blog about that at some point, so you'll have to check back here to read my ideas on that topic sometime soon.

I keep a running list of things I would like to blog about, but most of them cannot easily be written about without coming out, and given that many of my patients read my other blog, I figured that anonymity was the only way to do this.

As I sit in front of the blinking cursor, every entertaining, heart-felt word that was previously buzzing around my brain has disappeared and I feel overcome with possibility, overwhelmed by the plethora of topics now available to me to blog about and stumped by where to start.

Okay, some background information.

I'm a middle-aged European lesbian. I moved to the US many years ago. I live on the Eastern seaboard of the US, in a town that shall be nameless. I have been with my partner for nearly 8 years, and we got married in 2004 when the laws changed in Massachusetts to permit that. I'm not saying I live in Massachusetts. I'm not saying that I don't. I'm just saying that we took advantage of the change in marriage laws. How's about that for anonymity? You'll be hearing a lot more about the challenge of being married, and in particular the challenge of being married to somebody transgendered. Has your curiosity been piqued? So, stick around!