My daughter’s mother and I were together for three years. We built a life....we had a child, plans to get married this fall, and what I thought was a solid foundation. But in June, everything changed. She came out to me and told me she’s been struggling with her sexuality for a long time... something she’d kept buried because of her religious upbringing and the fear of judgment from her family. As for why she finally decided to come out now, I can only guess. Maybe it took her years to accept herself, or the weight of hiding such a big part of who she is became too heavy. Maybe she reached a point where she needed to be honest with me out of respect
When she told me, I didn’t know how to process it. I packed up and left. Not out of hate... but out of shock, confusion, and heartbreak.
It’s hard not to turn inward and wonder, What did I lack? Was I not enough? I keep thinking about how I fell in love with someone who, in the end, wasn’t fully herself. And maybe she couldn’t be.... not with her background, not with the pressure she was under. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. She was my best friend. My ride or die. The one I planned to spend forever with. Now I look back and question everything. It feels like the life we were building wasn’t as real as I believed it was.
Am I wrong for feeling resentful? I don’t know. I don’t fully understand the complexities of struggling with one’s sexuality. I don’t know what it’s like to live in fear of your truth. But I do know what it’s like to love someone completely, only to find out they were carrying something they couldn’t share with you and now because of all this, my daughter has to grow up in two different homes.
Since it happened, I’ve found myself spiraling into a huge porn addiction... especially lesbian porn, where I imagine women doing things to her. I didn’t understand why at first. But now I see it... it’s a way for my mind to rewrite the story. In those fantasies, its all bout control. In real life, I feel powerless.. like I couldn’t change what was happening. But in my sick fantasies, I get to shape the story, to feel some sense of power or involvement, even if it’s complicated or painful. This situation really messed up
