by Kelly D.
My name is Kelly and I am in my teens. I’ve been told many times during my awkward confessions to friends and relatives that I am too young to be sure of my sexuality. I know some of you are probably thinking it as you read this. But I have known, since I kissed my best friend Madeleine in first grade, that girls were the only thing that I wanted.
It was two years ago when I was completely, totally sure. I wasn’t exactly out yet, but I didn’t try to hide it. I was sure my parents were fine with it, and would accept me perfectly when I did decide to come out to them. The hardest part was coming to terms with exactly what I was missing out on. I would never have a traditional wedding, maybe not even ever give birth. My preference could influence the jobs I’d hold, the friends I’d have, where I’d live. The life I’ve always expected to have didn’t add up anymore. I’ve never met a gay female couple, never understood how they could function in the real world. It was hard to believe, even though my body told me otherwise, that I wasn’t just a deluded teenager.
Three weeks ago, I went to church with my parents. I usually avoided going, because being in such a holy place made me feel like a walking, breathing sin. Nowhere did I seem more inferior and unnatural.
I sat in the folding chair (we had just moved to a new building) two rows behind a friend of my mothers. I was particularly aware of this because in a church our size where I so rarely attended, I was familiar with almost no one. She sang in the choir, was an active member in the church, and was a loving, sweet woman whose son was friends with my older brother. About halfway through the service, a woman I hadn’t seen before crept in the doors and sat down next to her. They seemed close, exchanging a hug and a whispered hello, so I assumed they were friends. Then my mind froze. The woman had put her arm around the newcomer’s waist, reached down, and grabbed her ass. They exchanged a blissful smile and I thought my eyes would pop out of my sockets. This woman… this member of the congregation, mother, and avid prayer, was like me.
Right there, in the middle of the crowd, I began to cry. For the first time I didn’t feel alone. I felt like whatever God was out there saw me, knew me, and loved me the way I was. It was the revelation I needed. I realized, then, that I wasn’t missing out on anything.
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