Rachel (a nickname) is a religious mother to a lesbian. She is writing about her own experience in life and in Tehila's support group.
That time of year (August 2010)
So again, it's one of those concentrated times of the year that we as religious mothers of gay children dread. There are certain times that we're safe (sfirat haomer and the three weeks) but now's the time that we're invited to weddings and may there be many more
עוד ישמע בהרי יהודה ובחוצות ירושלים קול ששון וקול שמחה קול חתן וכל כלה
But what about our children? How do we deal with the pain?
The pain that we feel when we see the chatan at the chatan's table התוועדות or at the "bedeken" החתן מרים את ההינומה) or watching the chatan and kallah under the chuppah? or the inevitable bracha from well-wishing friends who extend the blessing " b"h by you and by the way is Merav dating" Can I fix her up?
So what do we do?
Do we cry inside? Do we avoid people? Do we come late in order to avoid the pain and just arrive for the dancing and the meal? How do we walk away from a wedding not depressed?
All of us have different ways of coping and I'd like to hear yours.
This brings us to a fundamental issue:
To us as religious families there's a big difference between joy and nachat. Joy you get from a child having talent or getting good grades or a good job. Nachat translates into marriage and grandchildren. From the time a child is born, we bless and pray that our children will give us nachat; as they say "may he/she grow to torah, chuppah and maasim tovim". Add to that- the baggage of our parents and grandparents, of bringing them nachat.
So how do we separate this pain from the love for our children? How do we find the nachat?
Please share your thoughts. Sharing is caring.
July 2010
It came as no surprise to me when my 24 year old daughter confessed that she was a lesbian. I had imagined the moment for many years.
Call it mother's intuition but from the time she was a teenager I knew. To be honest, I feared. All through her high school years I tried to prepare myself for the time she would tell me. Sure there were times where I lived in denial, she had a good boy friend and I fantasized that something would happen but deep in my deepest heart, I knew. And so, I went to a family therapist for two years to prepare myself for the day she would tell me.
As a religious woman, I faced challenges that the general society doesn't. To most religious families, this is a crisis, an embarrassment, a mark of shame. I shared my fears with my husband but to no one else. His reaction was that he would never accept our daughter bringing home a partner.
And so the day of reckoning came and my daughter told me. It was very hard for her, for she knew how hard it was for us to accept this. She herself had a hard time accepting herself and as so many people who have gone through this say... the minute she came out we went into the closet.
And that's where the support group comes in. In my own environment I feel isolated and alone. Every time I go to the group I'm amazed that only 10 women at most come. Ten religious women from all over the country. Where are the others? Why aren't they coming? It is a puzzle to me. To me, the group is the only place that I can be totally open, that I can share, that I can cry and sometimes even laugh. There's no pressure to speak, there's no pressure to change. I am comforted by the other mothers and I identify with their pain. Just knowing that the group exists helps me. Each of us is at a different stage and is facing different issues but somehow the group helps each person move forward.
There are challenges all of the time but our daughter knows that we love her and that we are trying our best. She is impatient and wants total acceptance.
We work on our challenges day to day and as a family. I have to thank to support group and our group leader for giving me the support and strength to help my family.
