Happy Mother's Day, Mrs. Bechdel

Days and days and days

That's how it happens 

Days and days and days

Made of lunches

And car rides 

And shirts and socks

And grades 

And piano 

And no one clocks 

the day you disappear

Days and days and days 

That's how it happens
Days and days and days
Made of posing, and bragging, and fits of rage
And boys – my God, some of them underage!
And, oh, how did it all happen here?

That's how it happens
Days
Made of bargains I made because I thought
As a wife I was meant to,
And now my life is shattered and made bare.
Days and days and days and days
And days and days and days.

Welcome to our house on Maple Avenue. See how we polish and we shine.
We rearrange and realign.
Everything is balanced and serene.
Like chaos never happens if it's never seen.
               - "Days and Days" from Fun Home: The Musical (sung by Helen)

Fun Home is a musical based on Alison Bechdel's graphic memoir of the same name. The musical tells the tale of Alison's sexual awakening as a lesbian woman and her conflicted relationship with her closeted gay father, Bruce, who took his own life four months after she came out. Fun Home was nominated for twelve Tony Awards in 2015 and won five, including Best Musical.

When Amie Shea of the Gay Dad Project asked me to contribute a Mother's Day blog post, I wanted to speak about the "straight spouse" experience from a different perspective, with a fresh voice. As a psychotherapist, I've seen any number of mothers whose husbands either came out as -- or were discovered to be -- gay. And as a member/facilitator of multiple private online groups, I've read hundreds of stories, and have shared my own. All different...and all the same. And too often only heard by other straight spouses. Heartbreak in an echo chamber.

But then, as I was contemplating writing this blog post, I saw Fun Home twice in the same week. (Yes, it's that good!)  Alison Bechdel's book came to life on stage, giving voice to not only Alison and her gay father, but also her mother Helen. It's one of the few times that the straight spouse has been an important part of the narrative.

Jesse Green, the theater critic for New York magazine, described Helen's song "Days and Days" (partial lyrics above) as "murmurously devastating." 

Helen, like most straight spouses, quietly implodes behind the scenes. The closeted gay husband/father and the lesbian daughter are the main characters, and therefore their struggles are front and center. This particular story is, after all, written from the daughter's perspective about her own sexuality and her father's turmoil about his.

Oh, but Helen. My eyes were on Helen throughout the show. At one point in the song she appears physically broken, as if she finally gives in to the weight of the secret and the betrayal and the deceit. Gives in to the devastating realization that all the years spent over-functioning and holding the family together were for naught. Gives in to the agonizing possibility that her best years are gone, offered up to someone who may or may not have ever truly loved her. 

I want to know what's true
Dig deep into who
And what and why and when
Until now gives way to then...
               - "Helen's Etude" from Fun Home: The Musical (sung by Alison)

Alison Bechdel says of her mother, "Like Odysseus' faithful Penelope, my mother kept the household going for twenty years with a more or less absent husband." Helen was a devout Catholic who not only worked and pursued a Master's degree, but also raised three children while coping with a husband who had sexual affairs with multiple men, both before and during their marriage. He was given to fits of unprovoked rage. He also brought young men around to the house and was arrested for plying an underage male with alcohol. On one occasion he brought home body lice. (None of these are uncommon events in the straight spouse experience, by the way. The trauma is about so much more than just a husband coming out.)

In her memoir, Alison describes a photograph of her mother as of a woman whose "luminous face has gone dull." In another photograph, her mother is curled up in a chair, "literally holding herself together." Murmurous devastation.

Another straight spouse story. All different. All the same.

Except for this unexpected twist.

While doing research for this blog, I came across the real Helen Bechdel's obituary from 2013. I was struck by the photo of this beautiful woman, with compassionate dark eyes and a Mona Lisa smile. Here are a few lines from her obituary:

"Helen was a devoted mother, a gracious hostess, a superb cook, and a consummate housekeeper. And she managed all these things with apparent effortlessness while working full time and pursuing her creative interests with both passion and discipline."

While living in New York City, Helen "attended as many plays, operas, poetry readings, concerts, and jazz performances as was humanly possible."

She was "a gifted pianist" and had "a passion for opera."

"For many summers, Helen was involved with the Millbrook Playhouse in Mill Hall, either performing or working on costumes— often both."

"She delighted in her grandchildren."

In other words, Helen was so much more than a woman bowed by her husband's closeted homosexuality, infidelity, and suicide. She both survived and thrived. She was actively engaged with the world. She didn't curl up and die, as much as she may have wanted to.

This is the part of the straight spouse story that doesn't get told nearly enough. Stories like Helen Bechdel's. Straight spouses are brave, out of necessity if nothing else. We are resilient. We keep functioning when NOT functioning would be so much easier. We come through the fire that much stronger. Murmurous devastation gives way to intrepid determination. 

So Happy Mother's Day, Mrs. Bechdel. And to all the rest of you incredible women who are not defined simply by being a straight spouse. You know who you are...and what you're made of.  

I know you.
I know you. 
I know you.
               - "Ring of Keys" from Fun Home: The Musical (sung by Alison)

Related links

https://youtu.be/wMJvLTZOhpE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcAqCMCohto&t=25s

https://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/31/theater/in-fun-home-a-wifes-late-desperate-outcry.html?_r=0

http://wetzlerfuneralhome.com/book-of-memories/1585010/bechdel-helen/obituary.php

                                                                                   

To schedule a face-to-face or FaceTime session with Kimberly Brooks Mazella, LPC, please go to my website at www.kimberlybrooksmazella.com.

A picture is worth a thousand hurts

We have a little members-only virtual clubhouse where fellow str8s meet to swap stories; vent frustrations; share the devastating pain of an unwanted, unplanned divorce; tell the occasional off-color joke; give and receive virtual hugs; commiserate about learning to date again; and generally just hang out and talk about the shared experience of having unknowingly married a closeted LGBT person. With a membership of over 450 people, it's certain that most of us will never meet face to face. But the bond isn't any less strong simply because of the electronic venue; in fact, our common str8 experience makes for an immediate sense of "knowing", like running into another American in Greece and suddenly that person is your new best friend. No backstory needed; I know you.

Today people posted pictures of themselves and their spouses, pre-divorce. I'm not sure who started it, but by the end of the evening there were over fifty pictures posted, including one of my favorite photos from my own wedding day. Lots of happy, smiling faces. Wedding photos, recommitment ceremonies, vacations, new babies, father-daughter dances...they could be pictures of any family, anywhere. Except for the accompanying captions:

"This was taken one week before she left me for another woman."

"At a friend's wedding. Found out later he hooked up with one of the waiters at the reception."                       

"He liked to take pictures with everyone; I was just another casual person to take a picture with."

"This was on our honeymoon. I thought I was the luckiest guy in the world."

"With our daughter before a dance. He had been dating his boyfriend for three months at that point, unbeknownst to me."

"Holding our baby. I found out right before I gave birth that he had been soliciting sex from men online."

"This was during a short-lived happy period. He lost a damn good woman."

"This was on my graduation day. He came out less than a month later."

"This is the picture he used to meet men online."

"I took this picture on a romantic lunch date. He used it on a gay dating site less than three weeks later."

And my own description of that favorite photo: "It's interesting...I'm kissing HIM, while his hands are not touching me at all."

I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was exactly about the photo-sharing that got to me. It's not about TGT (that's "the gay thing" in str8 shorthand). I understand the closet, I feel deep compassion for the struggle, I appreciate the desire to live the "acceptable" life and have the husband/wife, the 2.3 kids and the golden retriever. I really do get that, and work hard in both my personal and professional lives to promote equality. No one should have to pretend to be someone or something that they aren't.

That said, I found myself feeling emotionally triggered as I scrolled through the pictures again and again. As I sat here struggling to find just the right words to describe what I was feeling, another club member beat me to it with her very honest and to-the-point post:

"It is really interesting to see all the photos, but it is also sad because not one of you in those pics thought that the person you fell in love with would one day end up gay. Right now I am angry at him and all of them for the hurt and the pain that they have put us through. I am angry that so many of us are struggling financially because of their [behavior]. I am angry because so many of us are on meds because of the sh*t we have gone through. I am angry because many of us were made to feel sexually inadequate because of their inability to be honest with themselves. Lastly, I am angry because so many children have been hurt by this. We also deserve happiness and peace in our lives."

And that, for far too many members of our not-so-little club, is a pretty clear snapshot of the other side of this unhappy closet.

To schedule a face-to-face or FaceTime session with Kimberly Brooks Mazella, LPC, please go to my website at www.kimberlybrooksmazella.com.

Piece by peace

by guest blogger Ken Rinehart

Last weekend I bought a mandolin. For about two months I have been coveting this beautiful work of art. Saturday the guy in the combo department at the local music store decided he wanted to deal.

The significance it represents in my life is daunting. This August it will be two years since my wife walked out of my life and started her new life with another woman. At one point I had $15 to my name, so I sold my prized possession    my mandolin    for $75.

Since August of 2011 I have experienced the death of my father and the death of my sheepdog. I lost faith in my church and beliefs I held strongly about my purpose on this earth. I lost some of my dear friends, lost close contact with much of my extended family. The world and my understanding of it was squarely upside-down. I sold most of my possessions, or at least the ones I could get some quick cash for.

I had no choice but to just look up. Looking down took me to an even more crippling place. In some strange way it was learning to totally reconstruct my life in ways I had never imagined or even knew existed or knew how to start.

Ironic as it may seem, I am grateful for that experience. Truly grateful.

The trial of forgiveness is something that has never been challenged in my life. No one has ever taken everything I have given and piled it up in my room and said "no thanks" so briskly and rapidly as they exited my life without explanation or seeming concern about my well-being. I would like to say I understand. I would like to say "all is forgiven."

Phrases have come with this journey:

   Everything happens for a reason.

   You got a lot on your plate.

   God doesn't give us anything we can't handle.

Those are from people that don't know or understand what this felt like. Just as I will never know the grief of losing a child. What it's like to suffer some traumatic loss. To truly know you have to experience it, heart and mind.

I asked someone early on how is it possible to be a victim in this without adopting a victim mentality. She said, "Being a victim is a state of mind you put yourself in." "Being a victim of circumstance is just a fact in this scenario."

Many things have happened. Numerous things have unfolded. Unconditional love from strangers that I never had experienced before nor thought was possible. Development of inner strength that to this day is surprising and disarming. Falling in love again, only this time feeling more like an adolescent with higher stakes.

All of these things and more only started to unfold when I lost the story of "someone did something to me." Life changed. I am not entitled to know the story that someone doesn't want to honestly and openly tell me. It's silly to expect someone to act the same toward you who is preoccupied with their new truths unfolding, truths that go deep into the recesses of denying their sexuality. I have found it is true of only a few of extraordinary people. The honesty, the openness of moving through and out of a marriage with kindness and compassion toward one another. It's hard enough with two people without the twist of same sex attraction.

Weeks ago my new love was having a heart procedure. Side by side her gay husband and I stood  in the hospital waiting room, waiting to get an update. Our mutual love for her and our deep friendship is something that is hard to not share with those that don't understand anything outside of a "traditional family." What was and is true is that we don’t need to. We know what this is.

I bought the mandolin. I walked out of the hospital with my new family. I am surrounded by so much love from friends I can hug daily, and those I have never met.

For this, too, I am grateful. Truly grateful. 

To those that reflected back to me who I really am. To those who have graced the path with their stories, their experiences, guidance, and wisdom. To those who allowed me into their lives when they were at their weakest points. To my true love who appeared and blindsided me when I wasn't looking, and embraced me in that parking lot in Chicago where life changed on its axis. To the god within and without that never abandoned me even when I thought I lost faith in the ever-present light and goodness.

Although I never thought I would say or write these words, I am grateful to my ex-wife for loving me the best way she knew how, and starting me on this journey as she started hers. I hope and pray that one day we will be able to talk about both of our journeys with each other, in peace.

To schedule a face-to-face or FaceTime session with Kimberly Brooks Mazella, LPC, please go to my website at www.kimberlybrooksmazella.com.

A letter to my gay husband

Recently, I was inspired to include voices of other straight spouses on my blog. I became aware that sharing our stories with each other, while helpful, just isn't enough. We already know all too well the pain and devastation of a spouse coming out. My hope is that you, the reader, will share this with others. Believe me, whether you know it or not, you have a straight spouse in your life. 

                                                                   Letter to my Gay Husband

The moment is both crystal clear and a haze of emotions. That moment. That moment at 8 am on an August morning when you hesitated and took a breath for a millisecond after telling me what bills you had paid and how D’s college tuition was being covered. The moment that is the bridge between the safe and comfortable world that I knew and the one that I live in now.  The moment that preceded the 9 words that shattered my dreams for the future and my memories of the past.  “And, I need to tell you that I’m gay.” 

Those words were the gateway to the many months I spent walking through fog in an upside down world, holding all known emotions side by side in my heart - anger, compassion, sadness, love, devastation, strength, resolve, darkness, self-love, self-loathing, fury, and peace. At the time, of course, I believed that had you been more thoughtful in your disclosure, or had you better anticipated what I might need and want, it would have “felt” better. In hindsight, I know that nothing could have diminished the pain and disorientation I have come to embrace as my own as a result of your truth.

We have talked more intimately in the past 6 months than we had during our 28 years of marriage; hundreds of hours by my estimation.  Almost certainly it is because of my need to know the watershed of thoughts, feelings and experiences that you kept hidden for all of these years. I wanted to know that part of you too. I have heard all of the things you have shared. Some of them have helped me believe that you truly love me, in your way. Some of them have helped me understand the myriad of forces that enable men like you to live a life-time trying to suppress or manage their same-sex attractions for the sake of normalcy. But when all is said and done, while you transition to living your life authentically, I still have a broken heart.  You focus on happy years we had together. I focus on this less; I didn't want a marriage that was going to end. I am trying to forgive you. I am trying to let go of the anger.   I am trying to give primacy to the love we still share. It is hard.

In Senegal’s Maison des Esclaves (The House of Slaves) the door to the quarters of captured slaves is known as “Goree”, The Door of No Return.  That is our door. Every possible path to the relationship we knew is blocked. Although we have tried and tried to navigate around this, to see what we can work out, in reality there’s no way back.  

I can’t imagine having survived the past 6 months without the support of other str8 spouses that are ahead of me in this journey. Sadly, there are hundreds of us.  We, collectively, can validate the feelings of pain, betrayal, deceit, loss that each of us experience as we let go of the person we loved so deeply but could not keep.

I know that you are sorry. I thank you for having been so present for me as I process where we are.  You have stayed with me and with our 4 boys.  But in the end, none of it matters.  I love you. I always will.  I only wish that you had loved me enough to have been more careful with my heart.   ~ Anonymous

To schedule a face-to-face or FaceTime session with Kimberly Brooks Mazella, LPC, please go to my website at www.straightforwardcounseling.com. 

Distance

Here are some wise words, posted by a fellow straight spouse. 

Some of these suggestions are the exact opposite of what we want to do, what we're drawn to do.

Remaining engaged can feel comforting in the short-term, but ultimately it just prolongs the pain, especially if our partners have already moved on.

Distancing is especially important in an emotional relationship gone wrong. 

Stop asking new personal things of your partner about him/herself.

Don't give out personal things about yourself to them.  

Don't bend over backward to help them more than is necessary.

Don't help them if they or someone else can.

Don't bend over backward to celebrate any occasions that involve them. 

Avoid discussions that involve their lives, re: old topics.

Start to develop new activities that don't involve them.

Try to make new friends, acquaintances, anything.

Make small changes in your life: rearrange furniture, change decorations, try new soaps, ride your bike in a different route, eat at a different restaurant, eat different foods, cook them a different way, shop at different stores, rearrange the landscaping, change some of your habits, change the style of clothing you wear, etc.

If they ask favors of you, tell them you want time to think about it.

                                                                                                   ~ Author unknown                                                                    

To schedule a face-to-face or FaceTime session with Kimberly Brooks Mazella, LPC, please go to my website at www.kimberlybrooksmazella.com.

Playing catch-up

This memory, as with most memories that evoke strong emotion, is a visual, visceral snapshot. We are sitting on a bench along Lake Eola near his law office, watching swans glide across the water. I am wearing my pretty white Liz Claiborne dress. He is impeccably attired, as always, with the faint scent of Calvin Klein's "Obsession" cologne. We have been separated for maybe two months, three at most.  He is once again indulging my endless need for contact and conversation, my latest attempt to relieve this incessant grief-ache that plagues me.

He is light years ahead of me on this road we're going down. He got the map way before I even knew we needed one. New home, new love, new life. He makes a joke, the last word of which is "underSTAN?".

Stan is his lover's name.

He is not an unkind person by nature, this soon-to-be-ex-husband of mine. Rather, he is a prisoner just set free from a 30-year sentence. The guards came, with their clanking keys and heavy footsteps, and opened his cell door forever. And he left that prison with hesitant, uncertain steps at first, a newborn squinting in the sunlight of liberation, then began trotting, finally breaking into a full-bore sprint towards happiness. He has traveled so far and with such speed that I can barely see him anymore. And he clearly cannot see me. Because this joke, this light-hearted emphasis of his lover's name, is profoundly unkind and breathtakingly insensitive.

But he has no idea of the pain just inflicted. He is free. He is finally able to live as he is. And he is happy. How that joke lands on me doesn't even register.  He has found the heart salve that I am so desperately trying to extract from him.

And on the peaceful noonday waters of Lake Eola, the swans, mated for life, glide away.

To schedule a face-to-face or FaceTime session with Kimberly Brooks Mazella, LPC, please go to my website at www.kimberlybrooksmazella.com.

Grrratitude

This dinosaur recently discovered the joy that is satellite radio. All those years spent driving around without it...who knew the treasure trove of music and wisdom that awaited me?

Take, for example, Oprah's Lifeclass, Oprah's Soulclass, Oprah's anything. Oprah is my new addiction, my "Must Hear Radio."  Every single episode contains some gem, some piece of wisdom that knocks on my brain and says, "Hello? Anyone in there? Because this one's for you."  Between Oprah, Deepak Chopra, Wayne Dyer, Ram Dass, Iyanla Vansant et al., I am veritable fountain of spiritual and emotional growth. Of course, my aging brain forgets 50% of it an hour later, but in the moment, I am e-volved.

I can't recall with certainty the title of the particular program that really got my attention, but it may have been something like "Gratitude...Really?" or "Transcendence for Dummies." It was all about living in a place of gratitude, being thankful for the gifts received as a result of whatever #!*%! experiences we've been through.

I have actually preached about the idea of gratitude many times when wearing my therapist hat, and intellectually it makes perfect sense. But I am more than a little amused at how the person behind the therapist (me) was resistant to actually embracing and applying the concept to myself. The words "practice what you preach" and "therapist, heal thyself" come to mind...

So, here goes:

Rob, thank you for giving me the experience of having married you, and having shared your journey of coming to terms with your homosexuality. Because of it, I have learned or gained the following:

1. I discovered a depth of compassion within myself that I didn't know was there, because I felt your deep pain and distress even as I was going through my own.

2. I am a wiser person and a better therapist for having experienced such a profound loss...and even more so for coming out on the other side relatively intact. (You only get credit for the first part; the second part was all me).

3. Your description of your attraction to men as being "as fundamental as hunger" helped me not only understand you, but lets me now share my understanding with others that homosexuality is not in any way, shape or form a "choice" -- it's a hard-wiring over which you had no control, no matter how much you wanted it to be different.

4. Because of my own battle with grief, depression and loss following the end of our marriage, I bring authenticity to my work, and am not afraid to share who I am with my clients, warts and all.

5. I gained a credible voice in the straight spouse struggle, and am in a unique position to be of assistance to both straight spouses and those coming out of the closet.

Would I want to go through it all again? No. But am I a better person for having had that experience? Absolutely. And so, in the end, I am grateful. Seriously.

So -- thank you, Rob.

(And thanks, Oprah!)

To schedule a face-to-face or FaceTime session with Kimberly Brooks Mazella, LPC, please go to my website at www.kimberlybrooksmazella.com.

Beyond heartbreak

“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”    ~ Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

I have been so moved by the straight spouses who have been willing to share their stories, both via my blog and in my office. The quote above was posted by a gay friend on Facebook recently, and it just articulated so perfectly the healing that can and does take place in our lives. 

Even 25 years later it takes very little effort to recall, both cognitively and viscerally, those dark days and nights after my marriage ended. I saw clients all day, then came home to my empty apartment and cried all evening. To this day, there are songs I can't bear to hear -- "Somewhere Out There," "Lady in Red," and anything by Bob James and Earl Klugh. That music provided the score to my grief and can call it back in a flash. Red wine and Mint Milano cookies were a weak attempt to stanch its flow. Every pillowcase was stained with mascara. I felt discarded. Foolish. Sad. And profoundly alone. Believe me, there are no special grief exemptions for therapists. No tricks of the trade or inside information. 

So I know heartbreak. And, to the extent possible, I know your heartbreak. And while it never goes away completely, there will come a time when it no longer defines you. A time when it is no longer your first awareness in the morning nor your last thought at night. And you can love again, love someone who will treasure and protect and deserve your trust. A secure net for your leap of faith.

Wishing us all peaceful hearts.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice ‑
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible. 

It was already late                                                                                  
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do ‑
determined to save
the only life you could save.

                      ~ Mary Oliver

To schedule a face-to-face or FaceTime session with Kimberly Brooks Mazella, LPC, please go to my website at www.kimberlybrooksmazella.com.

Collateral damage

When my husband came out all those years ago, I didn't know, or even know of, any other spouse who'd had this type of experience. As a therapist, I felt like a fraud. As a woman, I felt like a fool. I was embarrassed, devastated, and utterly alone with my grief.

"Didn't you know?!"

"Just pretend he died."

Or the most hurtful, from a fellow mental health professional --- "Well, that wasn't a marriage!"

Well, it was, actually. It was my marriage. My dream. My love. My trust. All shattered by a lie. A completely avoidable lie.

In a 2009 Washington Post article I referred to straight spouses as "collateral damage" (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/11/06/AR2009110602953.html). The Department of Defense defines collateral damage as "unintentional or incidental injury or damage to [a] person..." as the result of combat. The 19 children who died in the Oklahoma City bombing? Also "collateral damage." Dramatic comparisons, perhaps, but those of us whose spouses come out feel just that incidental.

C'est la guerre.

In war, the total collateral damage can't be precisely counted. The same is true of straight spouses. We don't "come out" for any number of reasons -- embarrassment; trying to maintain a certain image; protecting our spouses and families; and on and on.

It's time to come out and be counted. We are not incidental. We are not collateral damage.

There are a surprisingly large number of us who have not made public our situation. We are loving, trusting people who, every day, work to overcome pain, embarrassment and the ultimate betrayal to piece together new, authentic lives.

And, we count.

...and so it began.

Laura to Kim: "Kim, this is Rob."

Kim' inner voice: ("He's GAY!")

Kim to Rob, extending hand: "Nice to meet you."

Why did I not listen to my Wise Mind, my knowing Self, my spot-on intuition? Standing before me -- a ridiculously tall (at least to my 5'2" mind), very handsome man, an attorney. Nice smile, salt & pepper hair styled just so, plaid Ralph Lauren shirt over a maroon sleeveless tee, just a wee bit snug. A blind date arranged by mutual friends.

And my gut says he's gay. Screams, really. That should have been the end of it.

It was, of course, not.

That moment, that simple introduction, that immediate and involuntary tamping down of the knowing voices would come to shape and define the rest of my adult life.

In my clinical work with other straight spouses, this aspect of my story seems less commonplace than other pieces. There are so many experiences, feelings, and thoughts that we all share, but similar instances of my electrical shock moment -- "he's gay!"-- aren't revealed very often at all. Vague suspicions or a niggling feeling that something's just not right are more the norm, and those often don't poke through the soil until after many years of marriage.

But we all wind up in the same place -- heartbroken and confused.

How did we get here? Shared denial? Naivete? Blind faith? Con? Only in retrospect can I see that my own marriage to a gay man was the blending together of many complicated ingredients, not the least of which were two large dollops of wishful thinking, one on each of our parts, that our marriage was what it seemed to be...and that he was not.

To schedule a face-to-face or FaceTime session with Kimberly Brooks Mazella, LPC, please go to my website at www.kimberlybrooksmazella.com.