Closets, revisited.
There is so much good in my life, there is so much happy, there is so much going well and so much promise for new friendships and continuing closeness with old.
But my heart got kicked in this morning, and I have to write about that.
Friday night, I went to a seder at Amanda's house. It's the same Amanda I spoke of about a year ago here, where I went to Shabbos at her house and had a generally good time with a few odd moments of body negativity and pressure to praise her children.
I hadn't been back to her house since, but I wrote an essay on refugees that caught her attention. She insisted I come to her seder, and she's a hard person to turn down. One of the options was Friday night, and what do I do on Friday nights these days anyway, but twiddle my thumbs and wish I had more nearby friends or a car or a Tiger on a different work schedule? (Friday nights are date nights for Coyote and his girlfriend- an excellent arrangement when Tiger was unemployed, far less fun now.)
I went, and it was the best seder I've ever been to. Not hard to beat, really, I've only been to seders at my parents', the Castle-owners', or Friday Group, long ago. My mom tried hard to make a big deal of Passover- maybe too hard. I did like the haggadah she made, which was pretty streamlined and clear, with lots of opportunities to draw Joseph's coat of many colors and such. But the ceremony itself was . . . exhausting. Everyone was supposed to recline, so there were pillows on every chair, and a lot of fussing if there were cancelled RSVPs or extra guests, because what if we used the last pillow in the entire house? Noone was allowed to fill their own cups of wine or juice- supposedly so we could feel like royalty, but in actuality just a lot of confusion and awkwardness as we filled the cups of those around us. Then we went around the table reading out the haggadah, section by section, and I just found it frustrating to hear the same damn words again and again. Maybe because it felt like forever until we could have our first little nibbles of food, and then forever again until we could eat the full meal. And the feast was tasty, but ultimately unsatisfying, there's just something about meat and veggies and starches together that make a happy tummy, and starches were usually skipped.
So, despite being held at an Orthodox family's home, this seder was a lot more relaxed. Amanda's husband read out the haggadah, but he skimmed the boring parts and went quickly. They served the salad course after the parsley-in-salt-water part. No harsh rules about pouring wine/juice, nobody cared if you sipped from your glass at the wrong time, and there were no pillows on chairs.
It felt warmer, more of a joyful celebration than forced cheer. I was really enjoying myself.
Only two things were off. One, we talked openly about how hermitlike Coyote was, and Amanda mentioned that she once went to his bookstore to see him in person and beg him to come to Shabbos dinner at her house- and he'd unexpectedly taken the day off! I chuckled at the time, but it's pretty unsettling in retrospect. I'm very glad he wasn't in, and hope she doesn't try that again. I think he'd be extremely offput by such a confrontation, and I'm sure the moment he reads about this, he won't want to ever meet her. I don't blame him. Boundaries are healthy things!
The second thing drove me away from the seder completely: a nasty-ass migraine. I think it had a few triggers: I was dressed too warmly to be in a spring room surrounded by so many humans, there was an awful lot I'd done that day and week, no nap, and the low pressure front of a coming rainstorm. I was so embarrassed that I had to go after only a few bites of the tasty dinner, but there was nothing for it. Standing outside didn't help, meds didn't help, and I was just feeling worse and worse and soon wouldn't be able to drive my borrowed car. The hosts were understanding, and Amanda's husband said to come make it up to them soon by joining them for Shabbos dinner again. I said I would.
I went right to bed and slept blissfully.
The next morning, I felt weary in that post-migraine haze, but so happy from the smiles and laughter of that seder table. So I put on my big girl pants and wrote Amanda a long Facebook message, thanking her for her food and hospitality, and, well . . . coming out as polyamorous! I asked if I could bring my friendly, extroverted boyfriend to Shabbos dinner instead of my introverted husband. My first time coming out to a conservative-ish person, someone whose ethics I feared would be at odds with the entire philosophy of polyamory. I was proud of myself, but not feeling nervous about her response- things had been so warm at the seder.
Well, my intuition was right. Behold the three FB messages she left in reply, in quiet and concise wording, so dissimilar to her usual flowing style:
I don't judge about polyamorous relationships, but I'm not sure how I would explain something like that to my kids
I don't think it's something that I'm ready for them to know about
I'd be ok if you brought your SO, as long as we just described him as a friend. Is that ok?
I answered cheerily that Tiger was known as my best friend in some social circles already, so sure, no big deal. She answered an even quieter "ok" to that, and I stared at the screen, a few tears flowing down my face.
I feel rejected, and dirty. I mean, I guess this is exactly how gay couples have to do things in front of senile old Great-Aunt Dot or whatever. Or parents telling their grown trans kids that they accept them, but could they please use dead names/pronouns/presentation styles in front of family and guests when they visit for the holiday?
It's true that I do refer to Tiger as my best friend to my parents, my brother, his family, church friends, Coyote's cow orkers and maybe a few others, but that's my choice to be closeted there. It feels altogether different when I gloriously come out, and the person politely asks me to step back inside, for the kids' sakes.
At the same time, I do understand Amanda's struggle. The ten commandments are a big thing to Jews, especially Orthodox ones. There's nothing in the Torah (Old Testament) that really supports being homophobic- even extremely Orthodox Jews in this age break half of the laws in Leviticus, because they've been argued out of existence. (Though many in the Orthodox community still condemn homosexuality, but they've got little ground to stand on now that it's legal to marry someone of your gender in most of the world.)
Amanda's proudly a queer ally, but I suppose she'd see me, as a married Polyamorous person, as breaking the Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery commandment. I'd argue that a relationship outside the marriage that both married people have agreed to is not adultery, but I am pretty sure Amanda would see that as splitting hairs.
It's not the reaction I wanted, but it's not the worst reaction possible. I still feel motivated to keep at it, come out to more folks and see if it feels lighter to get to be my authentic self everywhere. Maybe church folks next, my godmothers both know Tiger and find him charming, I highly doubt they'd find me . . . unsavory, for being polyamorous. Hell, maybe come out to the cool gay dude in church before my godmothers or anyone else. Maybe? I dunno. Tolerance is built into the Episcopalian philosophy, but what I do is still seen as weird and little known. Amanda knew what polyamory was, though, so maybe it's not as little known as I'm perceiving.
After church friends, my parents. Then maybe Tiger's. Coyote's hardly in touch with his parents at all, so maybe not them, and leave it to Coyote to decide when-or-if to come out to his cow orkers. Not everyone absolutely needs to know, of course. Distant acquaintences I won't bother with. But I'd rather have less friends who all know who I am than more, a significant fraction of who don't know such a basic part of my existence.
I suppose meeting a poly triad last Saturday brought this on. They seem so happy, and are engaged to their third and in the midst of planning a dinosaur-themed commitment ceremony to bring her into the fold. I can't help but envy them. If Oklahomans can live authentic, closet-free lives, why not me?
But my heart got kicked in this morning, and I have to write about that.
Friday night, I went to a seder at Amanda's house. It's the same Amanda I spoke of about a year ago here, where I went to Shabbos at her house and had a generally good time with a few odd moments of body negativity and pressure to praise her children.
I hadn't been back to her house since, but I wrote an essay on refugees that caught her attention. She insisted I come to her seder, and she's a hard person to turn down. One of the options was Friday night, and what do I do on Friday nights these days anyway, but twiddle my thumbs and wish I had more nearby friends or a car or a Tiger on a different work schedule? (Friday nights are date nights for Coyote and his girlfriend- an excellent arrangement when Tiger was unemployed, far less fun now.)
I went, and it was the best seder I've ever been to. Not hard to beat, really, I've only been to seders at my parents', the Castle-owners', or Friday Group, long ago. My mom tried hard to make a big deal of Passover- maybe too hard. I did like the haggadah she made, which was pretty streamlined and clear, with lots of opportunities to draw Joseph's coat of many colors and such. But the ceremony itself was . . . exhausting. Everyone was supposed to recline, so there were pillows on every chair, and a lot of fussing if there were cancelled RSVPs or extra guests, because what if we used the last pillow in the entire house? Noone was allowed to fill their own cups of wine or juice- supposedly so we could feel like royalty, but in actuality just a lot of confusion and awkwardness as we filled the cups of those around us. Then we went around the table reading out the haggadah, section by section, and I just found it frustrating to hear the same damn words again and again. Maybe because it felt like forever until we could have our first little nibbles of food, and then forever again until we could eat the full meal. And the feast was tasty, but ultimately unsatisfying, there's just something about meat and veggies and starches together that make a happy tummy, and starches were usually skipped.
So, despite being held at an Orthodox family's home, this seder was a lot more relaxed. Amanda's husband read out the haggadah, but he skimmed the boring parts and went quickly. They served the salad course after the parsley-in-salt-water part. No harsh rules about pouring wine/juice, nobody cared if you sipped from your glass at the wrong time, and there were no pillows on chairs.
It felt warmer, more of a joyful celebration than forced cheer. I was really enjoying myself.
Only two things were off. One, we talked openly about how hermitlike Coyote was, and Amanda mentioned that she once went to his bookstore to see him in person and beg him to come to Shabbos dinner at her house- and he'd unexpectedly taken the day off! I chuckled at the time, but it's pretty unsettling in retrospect. I'm very glad he wasn't in, and hope she doesn't try that again. I think he'd be extremely offput by such a confrontation, and I'm sure the moment he reads about this, he won't want to ever meet her. I don't blame him. Boundaries are healthy things!
The second thing drove me away from the seder completely: a nasty-ass migraine. I think it had a few triggers: I was dressed too warmly to be in a spring room surrounded by so many humans, there was an awful lot I'd done that day and week, no nap, and the low pressure front of a coming rainstorm. I was so embarrassed that I had to go after only a few bites of the tasty dinner, but there was nothing for it. Standing outside didn't help, meds didn't help, and I was just feeling worse and worse and soon wouldn't be able to drive my borrowed car. The hosts were understanding, and Amanda's husband said to come make it up to them soon by joining them for Shabbos dinner again. I said I would.
I went right to bed and slept blissfully.
The next morning, I felt weary in that post-migraine haze, but so happy from the smiles and laughter of that seder table. So I put on my big girl pants and wrote Amanda a long Facebook message, thanking her for her food and hospitality, and, well . . . coming out as polyamorous! I asked if I could bring my friendly, extroverted boyfriend to Shabbos dinner instead of my introverted husband. My first time coming out to a conservative-ish person, someone whose ethics I feared would be at odds with the entire philosophy of polyamory. I was proud of myself, but not feeling nervous about her response- things had been so warm at the seder.
Well, my intuition was right. Behold the three FB messages she left in reply, in quiet and concise wording, so dissimilar to her usual flowing style:
I don't judge about polyamorous relationships, but I'm not sure how I would explain something like that to my kids
I don't think it's something that I'm ready for them to know about
I'd be ok if you brought your SO, as long as we just described him as a friend. Is that ok?
I answered cheerily that Tiger was known as my best friend in some social circles already, so sure, no big deal. She answered an even quieter "ok" to that, and I stared at the screen, a few tears flowing down my face.
I feel rejected, and dirty. I mean, I guess this is exactly how gay couples have to do things in front of senile old Great-Aunt Dot or whatever. Or parents telling their grown trans kids that they accept them, but could they please use dead names/pronouns/presentation styles in front of family and guests when they visit for the holiday?
It's true that I do refer to Tiger as my best friend to my parents, my brother, his family, church friends, Coyote's cow orkers and maybe a few others, but that's my choice to be closeted there. It feels altogether different when I gloriously come out, and the person politely asks me to step back inside, for the kids' sakes.
At the same time, I do understand Amanda's struggle. The ten commandments are a big thing to Jews, especially Orthodox ones. There's nothing in the Torah (Old Testament) that really supports being homophobic- even extremely Orthodox Jews in this age break half of the laws in Leviticus, because they've been argued out of existence. (Though many in the Orthodox community still condemn homosexuality, but they've got little ground to stand on now that it's legal to marry someone of your gender in most of the world.)
Amanda's proudly a queer ally, but I suppose she'd see me, as a married Polyamorous person, as breaking the Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery commandment. I'd argue that a relationship outside the marriage that both married people have agreed to is not adultery, but I am pretty sure Amanda would see that as splitting hairs.
It's not the reaction I wanted, but it's not the worst reaction possible. I still feel motivated to keep at it, come out to more folks and see if it feels lighter to get to be my authentic self everywhere. Maybe church folks next, my godmothers both know Tiger and find him charming, I highly doubt they'd find me . . . unsavory, for being polyamorous. Hell, maybe come out to the cool gay dude in church before my godmothers or anyone else. Maybe? I dunno. Tolerance is built into the Episcopalian philosophy, but what I do is still seen as weird and little known. Amanda knew what polyamory was, though, so maybe it's not as little known as I'm perceiving.
After church friends, my parents. Then maybe Tiger's. Coyote's hardly in touch with his parents at all, so maybe not them, and leave it to Coyote to decide when-or-if to come out to his cow orkers. Not everyone absolutely needs to know, of course. Distant acquaintences I won't bother with. But I'd rather have less friends who all know who I am than more, a significant fraction of who don't know such a basic part of my existence.
I suppose meeting a poly triad last Saturday brought this on. They seem so happy, and are engaged to their third and in the midst of planning a dinosaur-themed commitment ceremony to bring her into the fold. I can't help but envy them. If Oklahomans can live authentic, closet-free lives, why not me?