I was 36 and had three kids and a husband when a voice inside me said that something was very wrong. That’s when I noticed that one of my female friendships felt far more intimate than any other — and maybe even more emotionally fulfilling than my marriage.
My marriage of 11 years was nothing out of the ordinary, but perhaps that was the problem. We felt like friends, first and foremost, instead of two people drawn together by romantic love; my Catholic upbringing told me that was how marriage was supposed to feel. But I had been suppressing stirrings inside myself because of my own desire to please others — I yearned for a relationship with more passion, more pleasure. When I finally allowed myself to be honest about my feelings for women, and subsequently came out, I realized for the first time what intimate love was really supposed to feel like.
It wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine. By coming out, I broke my husband’s heart as well as my childrens’. Divorce ruptured our family in a way I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams. It’s difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t been through it, but I was holding both complete heartbreak and utter joy at the same time.
It’s hard to see the cage you’re living in until you break free of it. Now that six years have passed since my realization about my own sexuality (although it feels like many more), I have a few bits of wisdom to share about coming out in midlife. These ideas still guide my way when things feel gnarly — and if you need them, I hope they do the same for you.
You are still you
No matter what age you are when big life changes strike, it can leave you feeling around in the dark for who you are. I wondered how I was supposed to do any of the day-to-day parenting of my then 8, 5, and 3 year olds when my world — and theirs — was turning upside down. Even a simple trip to the grocery store put me in the position of lying to well-meaning acquaintances. My mom and sister, as well as close friends, were the supports that held me up on wobbly legs as I finally told the truth to those around me. I felt judged, like I had betrayed everyone, and was angry and lost.
When I was in the hardest parts of coming out, I read about a Hindu goddess named Akhilandeshwari, the goddess of resilience; she was said to ride on an crocodile. When she’s present in your life, her crocodile will grab you in its jaws and spin you around until you’re so confused, you don’t know which way is up. That’s how it feels to realize your true sexual identity in midlife: The crocodile’s jaws spin up a lot of grief, and plenty of unknowing.
The other day, I caught myself looking at a baby picture on the wall — a 6-month-old me with an impish smile and eyes that said “I’m ready for you, world.” I noticed tears creeping into my throat. That spirit has been with me all along: through puberty, college adventures, traveling across the world, birthing my babies and parenting, and most of all, coming out. There’s a part in all of us that doesn’t change and doesn’t leave, no matter how shitty our situation becomes.
When I was in the throes of coming out, wondering how in the hell I was going to survive the jaws of the crocodile, that core part of my character emerged. As I got deeper into exploring my sexuality, I finally saw that self even more clearly.
Finding self-forgiveness
Not listening to that small voice inside myself earlier on is what led me here in the first place. Since age 15, I’d had inklings that I was different from other girls in school — I was never head-over-heels for any members of the opposite sex. I was happy to focus solely on my friends, school, and athletics, picking up the occasional short-term boyfriend. But I told myself that if I were actually gay, I would know it. Wouldn’t it be obvious?
So I stuffed down my feelings, self-describing as a man-eater or ice queen — I was “above” all of the romantic hullabaloo that seemed to drive other girls into a frenzy. In college, I had the chance to experiment with women, but something in me shut it all out. The intensity of even opening up that Pandora’s box of emotions was terrifying, so I kept it safely locked on a mental shelf.
Whether I was driven by my Catholic Midwestern upbringing or an inability to face my deepest vulnerabilities, I’ll never know. But it meant that I met my husband in college, got married a year after graduation, and settled down outside of Chicago to raise a family — without ever questioning myself or what I wanted.
Perhaps if I hadn’t had children, I wouldn’t have felt so terribly ashamed at my belated liberation. All I could think, in my darker moments, was that I caused all of the agony my family was enduring. My daily meditation practice was what finally allowed my mind to slow down enough to see the truth. Lying in a guided Yoga Nidra, listening to someone else’s voice, I felt myself soften. I could feel the pain in my psyche and realized that dragging myself over hot coals wasn’t the answer. I would never do that to someone else. Why was I doing it to myself?
I began to try a more gentle approach, using mindfulness practices to catch myself when shame and guilt overwhelmed me. I envisioned pouring love over all the past versions of myself — from childhood to adulthood — that didn’t have the courage or the resources to come out before this moment in time.
Unfortunately, self-forgiveness can’t fully bloom until you make the choice to confront all of the stories, beliefs, and truths you previously believed about your situation. Only in total honesty could I forgive myself for not having the tools to be more self-aware as a young girl. I could also forgive myself for, after realizing the truth of who I was, not wanting to spend a single goddamn minute more living a life that wasn’t actually mine. And I could forgive myself for what I put my children through, because I could see the beauty that came from their resilience and acceptance.
Accept it all — a little at a time
These days, when I start to lose myself in stories about “what I did,” I sit still enough to allow myself to feel it all — bit by loving bit. I’ve come to realize that, for the majority of my life, I was afraid to feel the human emotions sloshing around in me, which is probably why I couldn’t recognize my true sexual identity. Coming out opened the floodgates, and I had no choice but to face all of it, head-on.
For a while after coming out, I struggled, hoping that if I did enough yoga I could somehow rise above my feelings. This only led to more suffering and anxiety. In the end, the simple practice of sitting still and tuning into the sensations in my own body has been the most effective medicine. For someone who has spent the majority of her life inside of her own head, this has been, quite literally, a revelation.
My life is split into two parts…the before and the after. Seemingly overnight, I went from being a normal suburban housewife to someone I barely recognized. But looking back, I wouldn’t trade that time of heartbreak, shame, or grief for anything. Being my true self in a world that so often demands we hide who we are is a gift and, no matter how much bravery or courage it takes, coming out is an act of true liberation.
Rose Campbell is a Chicago-based health coach, yoga instructor, and meditation teacher who empowers women to return to calm, restore their health, and reconnect with the vibrant lives they deserve. Ready to come home to yourself? Sign up for her monthly newsletter or reach out to join her coaching program.
