Hollis Profit, Arkansas

I had never really felt out of place in straight society. I had a series of (rather effeminate) boyfriends throughout high school, and I was comfortable with this. However, I had always experienced an undeniable attraction to women, and as soon as I got to college, I decided to act on it. I came out to my friends the minute I got to college.

I returned home one weekend soon after, unsure of whether I was going to tell my mother. I was telling her about my two gay friends in college who wanted to go to seminary, easing her in to the fact that I had gay friends in college, and you can be gay and Christian at the same time.

She cut right to the chase: "Hollis, would you ever consider dating a girl?"

"I sort of...am."

She started crying. I remember sitting on the couch for what seemed like an eternity, just wanting the moment to be over. I went somewhere else in my head because the situation was too difficult to bear. I started smiling to myself, from wherever I was. I was suddenly snapped back into reality by her voice. 

"Do you think this is FUNNY?"

I will never forgive myself for disrespecting my mother like that. She made it clear that she still loved me unconditionally. She left the note that she had read at my high school graduation on my pillow that night; it was about all the things she had learned from me as her daughter. I do appreciate that she still wants to be a part of my life, and loves me as a person rather than who she wants me to be. But the whole "love the sinner, hate the sin" thing has been so painful and confusing for us. I know that she could reconcile my sexuality with her faith if she just tried.

She told me later that my coming out had hurt her more than anything else in the world. This was saying a lot, considering my father had died when I was nine. I tried so hard to get her to see reason. I gave her every pamphlet ever written by Soulforce, a gay-Christian organization, which contained evidence that the bible says nothing against homosexuality. She would not listen. I decided that I had to stop blaming myself for my mother's reaction if she refused to listen to reason.

My senior year of college, my mother did something unforgiveable. She voted for Amendment One, the amendment in Arkansas that prevented unmarried cohabiting couples and homosexuals from fostering or adopting children. It was decided, I could not live in a state where I could not foster or adopt children. I would move half-way across the country, and she would have as little contact with my family as possible. This brings me to my second coming out story.

Last July, my mother helped me move to Arizona. At this point, I had been dating Larkin, my most serious partner, for about six months. My mother knew that Larkin was male. I failed to mention that he was born biologically female. That seemed irrelevant and not at all appropriate in polite conversation. And it didn't matter at all to me.

We were eating dinner one night, and she finally asked me: "Hollis, is Larkin really a boy?"

I hesitated for too long. "Yes." I finally replied.

She was suspicious, and kept goading me until I told her that he was transgendered.

"Hollis, you are heading down a path of destruction."

I started having a panic attack. I could not breathe. I could not speak. I could not believe that she was disrespecting my partner, the person who had provided me with more support than anyone else in my life, simply because he had a vagina.

I finally managed to choke out the words "have-to-go." But she refused to excuse me from the table. I was gasping for breath, shaking uncontrollably and sobbing. The waiters came to see what was happening. She still would not let me go outside. I finally ran out of the restaurant and sat outside until I could compose myself. After that, the trip was very tense and we did not talk much.

Six months later Larkin and I broke up, and I went through an emotional breakdown that I am still recovering from. I sacrificed the intimacy of family for the intimacy of my partner, and now have ended up with neither. I am so lucky to have good friends and a supportive community, but I still long for the intimacy that comes with commitment.