Guilt and fear are powerful motivators. They can impede meaningful progress and destroy ambition, creativity and authenticity, especially when combined with the influence of a gaslighting guardian.
Case in point: Growing up and into my 20s, I aspired to become a sitcom actor or writer. Although I'm not what others would call a "people person," I always felt I've been called to make people laugh. Having been through more than my fair share of emotional trauma, I know that one of the best coping mechanisms is through laughter.
In 2004, I started toying with the concept for a sitcom loosely structured around my life as part of a college creative writing course. It dealt with several difficult topics, as viewed through the lens of my limited world perspective at the time. The main character was a closeted, formerly home schooled young adult with an overactive imagination. His mother, who I envisioned would be played by the ever-hilarious Jane Curtin, was an obsessive-compulsive religious zealot with anger management issues. Meanwhile, his father was a rather one-dimensional Republican, not unlike my own dad.
The series began to take shape in 2005, after my toxic friendship with "Ben" had abruptly ended (and, as such, was something of a coping mechanism). I decided it would play out in two acts over the course of six seasons. The first three would deal with my fictional counterpart's early adulthood; beginning college and being forced to quickly learn to socialize and deal with rejection and trauma. Seasons four through six would introduce my love interest and see me navigating our new relationship and while attempting to maintain one with my homophobic parents.
By 2007, I had drafted several scripts. Internally, at least, I formed ambitious post-graduation plans to utilize a local public access station to film and air it as a web series. And then I pensively showed the Pilot script to my mom. Don't ask my why I thought that would have gone well.
Looking back on it, her reaction is exactly what I should have imagined it would be. She cried, and not tears of joy. She honed in to some of the mother character's exaggerated quirks and glossed over the positive side of her representation. What was one of the things that sent her over the edge? Her fictional persona would slam the door repeatedly when angry. While my mom has been known to theatrically slam doors, the quirk I attributed to her was really my own. During my teenage years, I would unleash my fury in a furious door slamming session.
My mom's reaction gutted me. Nobody ever wants to admit they made their mother cry. Following that, my dad pulled me aside and essentially asked me to abandon or rewrite my script. Extreme reactions stick with you, and this one lived in my head rent free for many years. I lost all motivation to write for TV, let alone pursue a career in the industry. Throughout the years, I outlined ideas for two or three other series, but could never find the focus to follow through with anything more.
Also in 2007, my husband Rich (then boyfriend) and I created a joint YouTube channel. There, we published regular Q&A segments talking about what it's like to be in a gay relationship. My intent was to show others that same-sex relationships are no different than their straight counterparts. In much the same approach I took with my parents, I had hoped that providing concrete visual examples would help people who were struggling with acceptance see the LGBTQ+ community in a new light.
Unfortunately, I was also under the influence of internalized homophobia (a byproduct of my parents' beliefs that had worked its way into my psyche) which led me to express several problematic opinions. In part, I was both terrified and acutely aware that my mom could, at some point, stumble upon our YouTube channel. I let this fear dictate what I said and how I presented myself. I avoided most any reference to my parents and their homophobia. Worse, I spoke out against so-called stereotypical gays and anything I thought would impede in my parents' journey to acceptance. Hint: Nothing I could say or do could or would reshape their opinion of the LGBTQ+ community. That is to say, they were beyond help.
My mom eventually did find our YouTube channel. One day, I was walking by her home office and saw one of our videos on her computer screen. Though I was mortified, I confronted her about it. Her initial reaction was anger over the fact that I was allegedly snooping on her. After that, she chastised me for broadcasting my "lifestyle" for the whole world to see (paraphrased, but close to what she said).
Between the scolding I received from my mom and the fact that I also worked in a homophobic environment where I had to remain closeted, I decided I would pause our YouTube until my life circumstances were more amenable. That "pause" lasted several years, during which time I focused on guiding my parents toward acceptance by working Rich into everyday conversation to get them used to the idea that our relationship is just as healthy and valid as that between two people of the same sex.
In 2016, 11 years into Rich's any my relationship (and a year following our wedding), I finally came to the realization that trying to change my parents was a fruitless effort, and that I was hurting not only myself, but Rich, by not taking a decisive stand against their homophobic ways. I had given them plenty of time to show any sign of progress, but, time and again, I found my hopes dashed.
Although I wasn't quite ready to go no contact, I decided the appropriate course of action would be to distance myself from my parents. Harsh though it may be, I hoped this would give them the push they needed to reevaluate their social mindset. To be honest, I had been contemplating this move since Rich and I moved in together in 2011, but I ultimately let fear and guilt win out.
I felt guilty for even considering such a bold action, since my parents raised me and paid for most of my college. I feared that my parents, both of whom are older, would die without reconciliation or resolution. In addition, I drew parallels to my dead maternal grandmother. My mom cut ties with her in the early 1990s because she was an emotionally abusive alcoholic, and they didn't speak until she was on her deathbed in 1996. I could very easily see myself facing a similar situation, especially since my mom was fast approaching the age her mother was when she passed.
It took a decade of hurt and pain to finally work up the courage to distance myself from my parents, and another five years of near-no contact and passive-aggressive behavior on my mother's behalf to cut ties altogether. I have regrets about the way I handled both situations, but any shame I feel stem from guilt, the ultimate form of control and manipulation, and fear, which has traditionally held me back from meaningful growth.
It was guilt and fear that kept me in the closet through my teenage years.
It was guilt and fear that allowed my parents to win out every time they enforced harmful restrictions on my relationship, such as not allowing me to wear my engagement/wedding band around their house or not allowing my "buddy"to come over, because they didn't want him in their presence.
It was guilt and fear (along with a misplaced sense of loyalty) that pushed me to make an effort to visit my parents weekly and help them with household tasks, even though they denied Rich's very existence and went so far as to avoid seeing my brother and their grandchildren, because, naturally, they invite him to family functions.
It was guilt and fear that kept me from setting an ultimatum earlier with my parents and holding steadfast to it.
It was guilt and fear that kept my mouse cursor hovering over the "send" button for days before I informed my parents I would be distancing myself from them.
It was guilt and fear that prevented me from going full no contact with my parents sooner than I did.
Don't get me wrong. These feelings still play a role in my life, but I am slowly getting better at recognizing and rejecting them. Rich and I created new joint social media accounts on YouTube and TikTok. In addition to creating comedic skits and sharing cute couple moments, I have also used these platforms to speak at length about growing up with homophobic parents. More recently, Rich and I shared our story on the Rainbow Pajamas Podcast, where I also detailed my experiences.
Though I feel guilt in opening up, I now realize the guilt isn't actually mine to own. It rests squarely upon my parents. Though I feel fear, what is there to be afraid of? My parents are the ones who should be ill at ease. They are they ones who choose to stubbornly cling to their old-world views. They are the ones who actively pushed their loved ones away by refusing to welcome any kind meaningful change. They are in the wrong. I have every right to speak out against their behavior, especially since sharing my trauma could potentially help many people who are stuck in similar family situations.
The message I'm trying to convey here is do not allow guilt and fear to run your life. Empower yourself to be who you are, free from the outside influence of others. You know what is right and wrong, and, deep down, you also realize and understand that negative emotions you feel are the product of your upbringing, religion, societal factors or a combination of all three.
Free yourself. Let go of guilt and fear and grow into the person you've always wanted to be and who the world deserves to see.
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