As October came and went this year I was struck by the new importance it has in my life. Never before has October been particularly noteworthy. Early in my adulthood I heard a recording of someone who had allegedly been part of a satanic cult speak about their experience with Halloween. Not being someone who enjoys being afraid, the fearful thoughts that my anxiety generates is enough for me, I was more than eager to shun the holiday. Earnest to a fault in my rigid faith I let October come and go with little fanfare. Until October 29, 2022.
My personal and faith evolution has been slow. I have changed little by little over the years, and I have been truer to my myself little by little over the years. For a long time straddling who I was and who others believed me to be. That uncomfortable place where authenticity feels too scary but being inauthentic feels suffocating. If there is precise moment of my shift toward embracing my true self it would be October 29, 2022. I chose my kids on this day one year ago, and by choosing them I chose myself as well.
If you got a chance to listen to my guest appearance on the Here It From Me podcast, you know that my own family (Kurt, me and our adult children) have grown individually and collectively as we have navigated the challenges that come when your beloveds come out. As they bravely became the truest expressions of themselves, we all expanded to envelope them with our acceptance and love. It wasn’t easy. I will be the first to admit that I did not always handle this with grace. I did the work, I read books, I joined an online group for parents of trans children. I asked questions of these gracious and seasoned veterans. I sought out voices that affirmed, particularly Christian voices that offered a view of God’s love that was expansive and open to all. An all that means ALL.
Voices like Glennon Doyle, Abby Wambach, Rachel Held Evans, Brian D McLaren, Alicia Crosby, Nadia Bolz-Weber, Sarah Bessey, Jen Hatmaker, Richard Rohr, and Diana Butler Bass. These prophets of our time gave me permission to love my children as they are without the need to change them. I did the work. I found my footing. I evolved. I grew. I am continuing to grow. I hope that if I read through these posts in 5 years, I drop my jaw in amazement of my continued progress. I hope I have moved forward in ways I can’t yet fathom.
Glennon Doyle became my guide in ways few authors have. Her book, “Untamed,” helped me connect with the many ways I have been “tamed.” In her creative, vulnerable, beautiful way she unlocked in me a permission to be myself. I read her book shortly after it came out and it didn’t know that a few short years later it would help me do the hardest thing I have ever done. One chapter remained with me long after I read it. It was the chapter entitled, “Islands.” Glennon is charting unknown waters as she frees herself from what is expected and discovers herself in love with Abby Wambach. Still concerned about her parents and their acceptance of her new life, Abby reminds her that they are on an island. That they get to decide who joins them and Glennon’s children on that island. She describes the island as being surrounded by a moat with alligators. Reminding them all that they are safe on the island because they control the drawbridge. Glennon explains it this way:
“A woman becomes a responsible parent when she stops being an obedient daughter. When she finally understands that she is creating something different from what her parents created. When she begins to build her island not to their specifications but to hers. When she finally understands that it is not her duty to convince everyone on her island to accept and respect her and her children. It is her duty to allow on to her island only those who already do and who will walk across the drawbridge as the beloved, respectful guests they are. (Untamed,p.194)”
In October of 2022, one year ago, I set into motion something that I fully grasp until much later.. One year ago, described in the gentlest of terms, opened the flood gates and all hell broke loose. One year ago, that marks beginning of the end and an end to the holds that have kept me from beginning my authentic life.
My relationship with my mother has been a difficult one for many years. It was hard as a child and adolescent, but it was also normal and familiar in the way dysfunction feels when you have little to compare it to. It is hard to quantify our relationship in terms of one traumatic event. My relationship with my mother spans a half a century and is dotted with harsh words, criticism, subtle manipulation, belittling, and flowery words of love and praise. It has been a relationship that I have wanted so badly that I have allowed myself to shrink into the person that she could manage. As long as I was the only one suffering from her cutting words I stayed. It was when she began to negatively impact my adult children that I found the inner strength to finally say, enough is enough.
On a beautiful fall Saturday one year ago I invited my mother to meet me for lunch. I needed to tell her that our youngest child was gay. We had tried to tell her in late 2019 but it proved too hard. My husband Kurt, my oldest Kaylie and my youngest Calvin and I set out to have a difficult conversation with my mother. We went to her home, sat in her living room while Kaylie bravely shared her transition journey. She eloquently shared her heart with my mother, which was upsetting for sure. We had the benefit of time to process this, but it came as a shock to my mother. I was so proud of my oldest at this point, marveling at her courage and her grace. My mother who has always been short on compassion and empathy reacted by pointing her index finger straight at my face. I had a visceral reaction to this, something I later realized because I had found myself often on the other end of that wagging finger. This night I sat in disbelief as she verbally battered me for my lack of faith as a mother. Her rage focused solely on my weak faith, my poor mothering, and my ignorance when it comes to Scripture. At this point my youngest, witnessing it all decided tonight was not the night for him to come out. Which made sense to all of us. At the end I forgave my mother, like I had always done, recognized how hard this was for her and continued to try to have a relationship with her.
It was with the memory of this awful encounter in the forefront of my mind that I went into this meeting with my mother. I chose to meet at a restaurant because it was public, and I felt confident that she would play the role of sweet mother in a setting where others might see her. Most of her unkind judgement coming only when we are alone, no one there to witness it.. We sat down, ordered our food and I, channeling my inner Glennon, shared my heart and set my boundary. I told my mother that we loved her, that I wanted to see her the day after Thanksgiving. I explained that my youngest was gay, that he came out in high school, that he was dating someone and wanted him to come to Thanksgiving. I told her that my oldest might want to bring a friend as well. I wanted her to understand that Kurt and I get so few days with our kids all together. I wanted her to see that if I was concerned about her being uncomfortable, I would not be able to enjoy my limited time with my children. I told her we are all comfortable together. It was here that she stopped me to say once again, “you don’t know Jesus the way I know Jesus.” Followed by an insistence that we pray together. I put up my hand and said, “let me stop you right there, I will not pray with you, if I want to pray, I will pray with Kurt, but I will not pray with you.” I sat there in the discomfort of upsetting her. All my life this kind of awkward feeling is quickly met with my overwhelming guilt and a strong desire to make her feel better. I felt the guilt, I felt the desire to fix it for her. I sat there silently, afraid that if I spoke, I would back pedal, apologize, take it on as something I have done to her instead of standing up for myself and my family. She created the need for me to even have this difficult conversation. So, still I sat silently. I went on to tell her that she had some repair work to do with both Kaylie and Calvin. She has been relentless in her pursuit of these two of my children. Sitting them down for Bible study when she sees them. Texting them her views of all things, criticizing their choices and basically making them not want to see her. I let this be between them and her, until I couldn’t.
Little did I know at the time, this conversation put in motion a letting go, the likes of I have never experienced. A series of negative but eye-opening encounters followed. It has now been ten months since I have spoken to my mother. Each attempt of hers to contact me has only pushed me farther away. But that is for another blog.
I will leave you with the words of Glennon Doyle:
“Right now, you are being required to choose between remaining and obedient daughter and becoming a responsible mother.
Choose mother. Every damn time from here on out, choose mother.
Your parents had their turn to build their island.
Your turn. (Untamed, P.194)”
A few years ago, I had a sign made for our home and it reads:
In our family
We choose to love first,
We cherish relationships,
We support change and growth,
We value difference,
We respect all of God’s creation,
And we laugh a lot.
The King Family
Est. 1988
Having to choose has been the hardest part. I wish I could be an attentive daughter and a loving and supportive mother. I tried to be both for a long time. I have chosen my wonderful, independent, open, dear children. I choose mother, I choose to be me, I choose authenticity.
What a good insight! It’s a good kind of mad. Resisting what is not good and embracing kindness.
I think when it comes to being nice or judgemental. I think that Jesus would choose to be nice. A friend told me I was, "too nice" and though I understand how I could be taken advantage of by being nice I responded, "if the one mistake that I make is being too nice I'm ok with that." It is so easy to be judgemental, mean and self righteous, but I choose to be nice as much as I can and laugh as much as I can.
Sidenote: Jesus only really got mad about one thing, Capitalism. I will still stay mad about that particular part of the human experience.