“The lifelong privilege is to be someone you really are.” ~ Carl John
We were all on Wild during the pandemic, am I right? I included falling in love with a woman. At the age of 50.
That’s not what I expected. But isn’t that what life will turn out?
One day you are trying to bake sourdough to prevent it from touching your face.
I have been single for over 20 years – bad dates in 205, some good treatments, and a quiet Friday night. I survived abuse, betrayal and abandonment.
I struggled to create peace in solitude. My biggest fear was dying alone in my apartment, and I hadn’t been found for days. I felt that was very possible.
This is trying to embrace that it was good enough to get.
Deep, I was so sad to be seen. Be chosen. It feels like I’m at home. It belongs to someone. Then I met her. And my life is wide open.
This was more than just a love story from his later years. This was a story about who I really were. Detaching decades of shame, “Am-i-gay?” denial, and internalized homophobia.
It was about getting completely into my skin. And the price of reliability? For us, it was shunned.
Neither of us had explored this path before, so when my wife came out to her venerable catholic family, they told her she was going to hell.
They called her hatred.
Her mother hung up her and never called her. It was years ago, and silence is still in our home.
That phone still ties the knot in my stomach. It wasn’t even my mother, but I felt it in my bones. I was an orphan as a teenager and knew the losses of such reductions.
But this was different. This was intentional. This was a betrayal in the name of righteousness.
Brothers, step-orders, nie and nephe claim to “support us,” but their actions say it is not the case. We have been invited to several events and excluded from other events. They hide the truth from our children like a shameful secret.
We show up, smile, talk a bit, and leave. No one asks how we are doing. No one mentions our wedding. We invited them.
And what do you know? I’m angry.
I’m mad because they start pretending that they’re not part of the harm.
I’m angry because they preach love and acceptance, but that only spreads to people who fit their mold.
I’m mad because my wife, the kindest person I know, sometimes cry in the darkness and say, “Maybe I shouldn’t have told them.”
But we did something brave and I’m mad too. And courage should cost this much, but that is often the case.
I tried to find a way to “pass.” To live half the truth.
We discussed keeping things quiet “for the kids.” But in the end we knew that any ploy would fall apart. Four children have big mouths. And love deserves light.
We wanted to be a model of integrity for ourselves and for them. So we came out. Completely. And I paid the price.
It’s hard to explain what it’s like to be haunted to the whole family. Yes, it’s sadness, but also anger. Deep, furious rage. It’s a disorienting feeling that you’re both too much and not enough at the same time. And it cultivates everything.
All the old stories from my childhood: I had to earn love. Unless I was perfect, I couldn’t love. My voice had nothing to do with it. Occuping space was dangerous.
Those lies stuck to my nervous system. But this new rejection? It opened them wide. And in that crack, I found a painful truth:
Living a real life can sacrifice people you thought would never leave. But living incorrectly sacrifices yourself.
So here’s what I’ve learned. For those who navigate the heartbreak of being rejected for the person you love or who you are:
1. I’m sad.
Do not skip the pain. Feel that. Make it furious. You are allowed to get injured. You are allowed to be furious. You are allowed to become a human.
Journaling is helpful. Venting to supportive friends is helpful. It helps to find someone to get it.
Fear can strip people of humanity. Fight against fear.
2. Build a selected family.
Find your people. Someone who cheers you, hugs you, and texts your stupid memes when you’re sad. They are real. They are important.
Thankfully, my brother was “fully” accepting it. They don’t dislike them. They may not be completely comfortable, but they never ruled out us.
And my Irish wife has many cousins, aunts and uncles to show up to listen to us and support us.
Our existing circle of friends did not hit our eyes or skip the beat to give us love and support.
3. Stop performance.
Even if it feels safer. Even if you win approval. It’s exhausting and soul-breaking. You’re not here to make it tasty. You are totally here.
My four stepchildren have adjusted well as they own our truth while we stayed elegant.
Kids can spend time with their grandmas and relatives, regardless of what they think about us.
It is their relationship to develop and nurture themselves, and in the end the children will reach their own conclusions.
We continue to model love as love.
4. Give your inner child the love she missed.
Your inner child deserved unconditional acceptance. They’re still doing it. Talk to them kindly. Show them they are safe now.
This worked hard for me. And for my wife. It was a sad and letting go process of reconstructing our lives and identities.
Rejection was a theme in my life, and it hit hard. Especially when I was always waiting for my family.
But I realized that my family is inside the walls of my house, and there are plenty of people for others who allow me to enter it.
5. Holds boundaries.
You don’t have to chase after people who can’t see your worth. You don’t need to explain your humanity. You aren’t too many. They are simply not ready.
We continue to reach out to our wife’s brother. Because they and their children are much longer than their mothers (their father passed away three years ago). They live a mile away.
And even though they say they are “Switzerland”, they say they are accomplices, but I know they are trying to get them to walk the middle line in their own way.
Sometimes I get struck by sadness because it feels like we’ve lost something.
The truth is, I still have days when sadness grabs me unexpectedly – a wedding, a holiday, or seeing how kind my wife is with our children, wondering whether anyone can deny her love.
But most of the time I’m proud.
I really did something**ing.
I stopped asking for permission to exist.
I didn’t do that at 20 years old. I didn’t even do it at 40 years old. I did that at 50 years old. And that’s fine. That’s important.
If you think you missed your chance, or if you think it’s too late to start over, I promise you that isn’t. There’s no need for a pandemic either.
It’s not too late.
You are right on time.

About Jen Hoffman
LCSW’s Jen Hoffman is a trauma, writer, and late blooming lesbian living in New England. She believes in the healing of her chosen family, the nervous system, and she believes it’s never too late to live your truth. You can find her free trauma and grounding guide at www.instarhealing.com.