Well, figuring things out took me a long, long time. For years, decades really, I just went along with how things were supposed to be. You know, the whole script. Got married, had the kids, built a life. And it wasn’t awful, not always. But there was this little hum in the background, this feeling that something wasn’t quite… fitting right. Like wearing shoes that were almost the right size, but not quite.
Looking Back at Things
I started thinking back, way back. Friendships I had with women always felt deeper, more intense somehow. Not in a way I could name back then, of course. It was just… different. Easier. More me. With men, relationships always felt like I was performing a role I hadn’t quite memorized the lines for. I tried, really tried, to make it feel natural, but it often felt like hard work, like pushing uphill.
There were specific moments I brushed off:
- Feeling way more heartbroken over a female friend moving away than any breakup with a guy.
- Finding myself watching movies and really connecting with the female characters’ bonds, not the central romance with a man.
- Just generally feeling more comfortable, more myself, when I was just hanging out with my women friends.
The Slow Burn Realization
It wasn’t a lightning bolt moment. Not for me, anyway. It was more like a slow sunrise. It started creeping in during quiet moments, maybe after the kids were grown and gone, and the house was quieter. I had more time to just sit and think, or maybe just feel. I started noticing women differently. Noticing attraction. And that was scary, really scary at first. I pushed it down. Hard.
I thought, “This is ridiculous. I’m too old for this. What would people think? What does this even mean?” Lots of denial. Lots of trying to convince myself it was just a phase, or boredom, or missing companionship after my husband passed. But the feeling didn’t go away. It actually got stronger the more I tried to ignore it.
I started reading things, cautiously. Just articles online, stories from other women. And bits and pieces started clicking together. Hearing other people talk about similar feelings, especially women who realized it later in life… that made a huge difference. It made me feel less alone, less crazy.
Getting Comfortable With It
Eventually, I just had to stop fighting it. I remember one day just sitting on my porch, drinking coffee, and thinking, “Okay. This is it. This is who I am.” And honestly? It was terrifying, but also… a relief. A massive relief. Like putting down a heavy bag I didn’t even realize I’d been carrying for fifty years.
Telling people? That was another journey altogether. Started small, with one trusted friend. Her acceptance meant the world. Then slowly, carefully, told my kids. They were surprised, sure, but mostly okay with it, thankfully. There are still people I haven’t told, and maybe never will. That’s okay too. This was about me figuring out me.
So yeah, here I am. Late to the party, I guess you could say. But it feels right. It feels honest. Life looks different now, feels different. More authentic. It wasn’t easy getting here, lots of confusing paths and backtracking. But finally landing here? It feels like coming home.
