Tag: Acceptance

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Acceptance, by Gail Klock

There are many different nuances to the meaning of acceptance. I’ve always been at ease with “giving approval to others” and put great effort into understanding their points of view and actions even when I don’t agree. However, I’ve struggled with the aspect which involves “believing in favorably” when it has come to myself. It is only recently after experiencing some difficult situations and engaging in years of therapy that I can truly say I accept myself.

As a young child I struggled with a positive sense of self due to my lack of connection with my mother. I sensed her depression after the death of my brother and somehow came to the conclusion it was my responsibility to make her happy and in so doing I lost myself to her needs. I did not establish a strong sense of who I was. Now this is not to say that I was an unhappy child. I had many friends at school and in the neighborhood and thought of myself as a capable kid. At home I fought continuously with my brothers and often felt left out because they sided with each other against me, they enjoyed their commonalities of being males and in sharing a bedroom with one another. I did not have a safe place at home.

I was happiest when engaged in sports because this was the one place I felt a sense of wholeness. However, society at the time did not for the most part accept tomboys… especially as I entered the teen years. Furthermore, an unconscious part of me realized I was different sexually as well. It was at this point I began to crumble inside due to my lack of an acceptance of self and the lack of support from my environment. My parents were not negative about who I was- I think it was more of a benign neglect. But I certainly did not go to them to help me through the hard times. It was a struggle I had to face on my own. All outward appearances reflected a very confident young lady, only a very keen observer of human nature would have known otherwise. I recall a situation in junior high which reflected this dichotomy of how I felt inside and how I was perceived by others. In eighth grade we had elections within each of our homerooms for student council members. I was in a classroom of the popular kids- the future high school queens and kings, athletes, and honor students. I was nominated by one of my classmates along with three or four others and was directed to go to the hallway while voting took place to determine who would represent our class. When we came back into the classroom the teacher announced I would be our representative. Although I was pleased with the result I was very frightened by the outcome as I felt somehow I had been set up…if I allowed myself to believe my classmates really wanted me then they would all start laughing and tell me it was just a trick…they just wanted to be able to laugh at me. It wasn’t until many years later I realized they really did like me and wanted me to be their leader, they accepted me even though at the time I did not accept myself. I had learned how to play the game of appearing to be confident to avoid any inquiries as to my state of mind, I was afraid to let anyone know how fragile I was… to do so was too vulnerable- it was scary. I was very good at accepting others and helping them to feel good about themselves but I didn’t have anyone doing the same for me, largely due to the fact I never let anyone know I needed that help.

In college I was very confident in my field, I felt I was receiving a very good education, and I was going to be successful. I had a girlfriend that loved me very much and was very supportive, but I was still very confused about my worth as an individual. I could not look at myself in the mirror and say I really like you, you are a good and valuable person. Within two years I had moved from an awareness of knowing I was different to “you are a homosexual”. And along with this change in knowledge came an awareness that I was socially deviant. I, who had always gained my positive sense of self from helping others feel better about themselves, became a person who was to be feared. I felt totally isolated at times from those around me. I really needed to go to the student health center to see a counselor, which my girlfriend Connie was trying to get me to do and was even willing to arrange for me, but I couldn’t bring myself to go as I was afraid of being in the waiting room and having others staring at me and wondering what was wrong with me. I felt like I had a contagious deadly disease which I had to keep to myself so no one else would catch it- I think it came to be identified later as “the homosexual agenda”. It’s probably good I didn’t go for help as the mental health field at the time would have determined my homosexuality was a mental illness which needed fixing. This is not just a projection on my part, as I have mentioned in a previous story that a few years later when I did finally get up the courage to see a psychiatrist he told me shock treatment might cure me of my homosexual urges.

Once out of college I had far more acceptance of myself as a professional than I did as a person. The love and acceptance I received from my friends did not penetrate my own lack of self-acceptance. I felt like a fraud. There were very few people who were aware of my sexual preference which I think contributed to my feelings. I was liked for who I appeared to be, not for who I really was. I thought if people found out I was gay I would no longer be a “good person”. I would become this person with an agenda who was out to seduce every straight female I met. I wouldn’t even let myself look at women with any awareness of their physical attractiveness- I kept those thoughts buried so deep they never saw the light of day. The closets I hid in for twenty years created a dungeon in which necrosis of my soul and spirit took place.

I made a great deal of progress towards self-acceptance in the twenty-seven years I was with Lynn. But my self-acceptance was based a great deal on the two of us as a couple and the family we had created with our children. I was very proud of us and glad to be out of the closet. But when Lynn decided to leave the relationship for personal reasons all my old abandonment issues from childhood came rushing back. I barely made it through the dark days as I had no good feelings about who I was, I didn’t know I had the strength to make it through this soul wrenching sadness, and I certainly didn’t have the desire to. I’m not really sure where the light was that led through this dark, damp, miserable tunnel. I do know being needed by fourteen 3rd and 4th grade students gave my life the purpose I needed at the time to survive. With this purpose and intense, well administered psychological care from Vivian Schaefer I was able to regain my footing and slowly make strides to reach a point of self-acceptance I had never before had. I gained an awareness that the person other people had seen and loved for all those years really was who I was. With this self-acceptance I am the happiest I have ever been. I am looking forward to attending a solstice ceremony tomorrow morning- it will be an emotional event for me as I know the importance of living in the light. For me it is symbolic for an acceptance of myself, full on exposure to the sun with no closets to block the light, be they closets built by others or by myself.

© 21 December 2015

About the Author

I grew up in Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents. Upon completion of high school I attended Colorado State University majoring in Physical Education. My first teaching job was at a high school in Madison, Wisconsin. After three years of teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend graduate school at UNC-Greensboro. After obtaining my MSPE I coached basketball, volleyball, and softball at the college level starting with Wake Forest University and moving on to Springfield College, Brown University, and Colorado School of Mines.
While coaching at Mines my long term partner and I had two daughters through artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home required by coaching I resigned from this position and got my elementary education certification. I taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County Schools for ten years. As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.
As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.
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Acceptance, by Betsy

These
words represent thoughts that have occurred to me over the past couple of
weeks—mostly while on our recent trip to Nicaragua.
Acceptance
is growing
old and embracing it (being literally led by the hand so to speak through
airports, hotels, car rentals, etc. by children and grand child, I realized that
this is okay. I can embrace this)
Acceptance
is greeting every new day with gratitude, enthusiasm, and joy
Acceptance
is knowing when to keep your mouth shut
Acceptance
is understanding your shortcomings and imperfections and still loving yourself
Acceptance
is acknowledging when you are wrong
Acceptance
is accepting things you don’t want to accept
Acceptance
is putting words from the heart to paper
This
is not to say I don’t have a long list of things that I do not  care to accept but that will have to wait for
another day.
© 21 Dec 2015 
About the Author 
Betsy has been active in
the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old
Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been
retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major
activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a
volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading,
writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage.
She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren.
Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her
life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.
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Acceptance, by Ricky

While I was under 6-years old, I enjoyed playing with both boys and girls whenever they were around. I was not particular as to the items we played with either. If I was at my house, we played with my toys and if at another’s home, we played with their toys, which would include dolls if the playmate was a girl.

Somewhere between 3 and 4-years old, one of the girl playmates and I played doctor and we both learned the difference between girls and boys. Of course we got caught, but the visual images could not be erased.

As I aged to 6-years old and above, I gravitated to playing with boys only as the girls suddenly had cooties. I gave up playing with dolls and chose to play more active games like cowboys and Indians or war in an obvious imitation of the movies on television. For some reason, I never wanted to play Peter Pan after I saw the Disney animated feature. Perhaps I did want too, but my other playmates thought playing it was too sissy like.

At age 9 ¾ (not to be confused with platform 9 ¾ in the Kings Cross station), another boy and I fondled each other two nights in a row. Up until then, I never desired to see another person naked, but from those two days forward, I wanted to see other boys’ genitals. I had no desire to see girls’ private areas because I had learned playing doctor that girls have nothing to play with down there whereas, all boys have a built-in toy.

I experienced both oral and anal sex at age 10, learned about masturbation and had my first orgasm at age 11. At 11 I also noticed that I was attracted to some boys but not others. Since, I was still in the girls-have-cooties frame of mind, I thought nothing of it. However, as I continued to age, I became increasingly aware that my schoolmates no longer believed in females having cooties. That is when I began to feel different because I was not attracted to girls, only boys. I didn’t dislike girls and had several classmates that I got along with really well. If the opportunity had presented itself, I would have willingly gone to bed with them. But no such opportunity occurred and I became more and more confused and worried. I kept telling myself that I would probably “grow out of” my interest in males and I accepted that and internalized it for years.

I remained hopeful until 2010, when I finally accepted that I was never going to change and I was, in fact, gay. But now I am confused again.

Based upon my life experience growing up, I believe that children about 5 or 6 began to prefer being around members of their own gender. It is just my opinion as I have never read anything about child development in that context. It is just a self-declared fact I “made up” based upon my observations. So, why am I confused now?

I have recently watched several “coming out” stories that pre-teen and young teens have posted on YouTube. Most of them parallel my experience at that age except for one major difference. In most cases the boys state that they knew they were different at young ages. I didn’t know at that age, so how can they know? Is my so called natural-preference-for-one’s-own-gender-when-young theory real or is it just a desire to play active “boy games” and not passive doll games? Is it really a sexual attraction these video coming out story boys feel or just a non-sexual desire to be with and do boy things that they are misinterpreting as evidence or proof they are gay? Are they, in fact, in the early stages of puberty (as I was) at ever increasingly younger ages and these desires really are “sexual” in nature or just curiosity?

I just don’t know the answer to my questions. Until some straight boys of the same ages tell their stories on how they came out as heterosexual, there is nothing to compare the experiences of the two groups. So, I’ll just accept that I am going to be confused about these questions and probably something else as well for the foreseeable future.

© 21 December 2015

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

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Acceptance, by Carol White

Here is the profound question for me: “How do we get to Acceptance?” And by that I mean acceptance of everything, just as it is.

Having read many spiritual books and pursued spiritual quests through various churches and practices and groups, I can say that Acceptance is touted as a goal in most of those endeavors, whether it be Buddhist, New Age, Christian, Integral, or Unitarian studies.

How in the world, in the face of all the news headlines and analysis, in the face of war and terrorism and mass murders, and in the face of everyday problems relating to health or relationships or finances or big weather events, can I ever accept all of that within myself? How, in the face of poverty and loneliness and depression and global climate change and mental illness and diseases and rape and murder and death and man’s inhumanity to man, can I ever get to Acceptance?

What is our goal here? Peace of mind and inner peace.

One of the first things that comes to mind in pondering this big question is a song that I ran across about 33 years ago on a cassette tape put out by Ken Keyes that went like this: “That’s the way it is, by golly, that’s the way it is.”

Perhaps this is the first step to Acceptance, realizing that things are the way they are, and it won’t help anything or anyone for me to be upset or angry or depressed or physically ill over thinking about all of the bad things in the world. It only hurts me.

Does that mean that I don’t care or that I shouldn’t care? Absolutely not. In a huge way it’s a paradox. It requires that I allow my heart to be broken by all of the injustices in the world, and at the same time I accept the fact that injustices are happening. It means that while I strive to find inner peace by acceptance, I still, at the same time, want to make the world a better place.

I believe that this is a good time to consider the serenity prayer that Randy mentioned last time:

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

What a profound prayer that is.

I’m not trying to be a Pollyanna here. I am definitely not saying that if you think only good and positive thoughts that you will have good health and riches and wonderful relationships, and that all of the world’s problems will go away. Although positive thinking has its benefits, that is not the answer in our quest for serenity.

We must deal with the light and the shadow, with the good and the bad, with all of the wonderful people and things in the world and the evil that does exist. And the first step in dealing with it is acceptance of things the way they are.

When I was dealing with a particularly difficult health issue, I remember playing a song by Paul McCartney over and over again in my head: “Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.”

I think that for me, maybe it can begin with just a moment. For only one minute I’m going to allow everything to be exactly as it is and everyone to be just exactly as they are. I’m going to relax and release my judgment of everything and everyone and let it be. For just a few seconds I will try to relax my body and my mind so that the knot in my stomach can melt and I no longer feel the weight of the world on my shoulders or the anger and fear and concern take over my stomach and turn it into knots.

If I can do it for a moment, perhaps I can do it for two minutes, and maybe even more. Can you even imagine allowing all of your friends to be exactly who they are without wanting to change anything about them? It would be an internal relief, I think, not to want anyone to change anything.

I am remembering three words, each starting with an “A”, that I picked up from my spiritual studies: Acceptance, Allowing, and Awareness. Maybe even Awakening, if we should be so lucky as to reach that point someday.

But first, Acceptance and Allowing, which for a brief time can take me to a sense of peace and calm. And from this place of quiet mind is the place where I can start to reach out and think, “What can I do in my own little corner of the world to make things better?”

© 21 December 2015

About the Author

I was born in Louisiana in 1939, went to Southern Methodist University in Dallas from 1957 through 1963, with majors in sacred music and choral conducting, was a minister of music for a large Methodist church in Houston for four years, and was fired for being gay in 1967. After five years of searching, I settled in Denver and spent 30 years here as a freelance court reporter. From 1980 forward I have been involved with PFLAG Denver, and started and conducted four GLBT choruses: the PFLAG Festival Chorus, the Denver Women’s Chorus, the Celebration ’90 Festival Chorus for the Gay Games in Vancouver, and Harmony. I am enjoying my 11-year retirement with my life partner of 32 years, Judith Nelson, riding our bikes, going to concerts, and writing stories for the great SAGE group.

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Acceptance, by Will Stanton

There actually have been times during my adult life that some people wished to use me as a role-model. I am far too self-effacing to comfortably accept that suggestion. I never have had a huge ego, and I do not regard myself as a remarkably successful person. Nor am I especially emotive or flamboyant, drawing attention to myself. Still, I recall a markedly ironic episode in 1970 when I specifically was asked to play that role.

I was in my early twenties, living and working for just one year in a stereotypical Midwest town. It was not a town that I would like to spend a lifetime in. I suppose that many of the citizens were decent people, but they were much more narrow in their experiences and thinking than I would like. The dominating economic force in town was an Alcoa plant. Other than people’s work and families, the main focus of their attention was devoted to church – – there was a disproportionate number of churches for the size of the town – – also men joining the Rotary Club, along with the almost mandatory high-school football and basketball. I gathered from hearing people talk that, when a baby boy was born, he immediately was destined to play football, if he was chunky, or basketball, if he was thin and long.

Even the school-teachers were not particularly well educated, and they certainly were not cosmopolitan. I recall one English teacher stating, “I told them students to put them books back on their desks.” Then she adamantly asserted, “I’m not interested in ever going to Europe. Everything in America is bigger and better than anything in Europe.” You can just imagine what their attitudes were about sexual identity, appearance, and affect, especially for boys.

I recall one sunny day sitting on a bench, waiting for a bus, when a well-dressed woman sat down next to me. She did not hesitate to introduce herself and engage me in conversation. She seemed eager to tell me that she had a daughter my age, not yet married, who had been in Japan and soon would be rejoining her. Almost as though the mother were vetting me as a potential son-in-law – – and perhaps she actually was—, she inquired all about me. She seemed impressed that I had more to offer than the usual young men born and raised in that town. I also got the distinct impression that, when I told her that I had, over the years, much interaction with many Japanese because I had studied Judo and Karate, she apparently concluded that I possessed an appropriate degree of masculinity.

She then very kindly, but also rather forcibly, suggested that, my being relatively new in town and not knowing many people, I should come to her home and join her husband and teenage son for supper. She claimed that we would have so much in common to talk about; and, later when her daughter returned, I could meet her, too. Without hesitation, she stated an appropriate date and insisted that I accept, which I did, albeit with some misgivings.

From the moment of my arrival at their home, I sensed a peculiar situation. The husband, rather than standing up to greet me, remained slunk in a coach, looking at me in discomfort. Then her fifteen-year-old son politely but timidly approached me and held out his hand. I remember his appearance quite clearly. He was blond, pleasantly attractive, and, like many colt-like, long-limb fifteen-year-olds, slim.

What she said next astounded me, for she said it right in front of her husband and her son. She stated that she was concerned that her son did not show signs of being sufficiently masculine, that he needed to have a masculine role model to interact with on a frequent basis, and his father was not up to the task. She thought that, if I visited the boy frequently and engaged in various activities with him, I could be a good influence on him. I was truly embarrassed for the father, and I could just imagine what that poor boy was thinking and feeling.

I remained polite throughout the dinner, keeping the conversation focused upon general topics having nothing to do with the personalities of the boy or his father. I somehow managed to make the evening short, thanking them for a pleasant evening, and, much to my relief, departed.

For some reason, I managed to never return to that home. I never got to meet the daughter once she returned. I suppose, considering the fact that I never phoned their house, the mother must have concluded that I was not eager to become connected with her family.

In retrospect, that mother’s attitude toward her son and her husband does not surprise me, especially considering the time and place of that encounter. Yet, that mother’s lack of acceptance toward her son, whatever his orientation or personality, and that of her husband, saddens me. I have no way of knowing what may have become of that boy; yet, obviously, I hope that he found some degree of happiness, security, and acceptance.

© 16 September 2015

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

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Acceptance, by Ray S

Ever since I was old enough to reason, or maybe un-reason, my person has been split right down the middle. Picture an amorphous form waiting to take its shape of the character in this scene or act of the particular time in my life of this play. It is like going onstage when you hear your cue, sort of sink or swim, and you keep looking for direction and there isn’t any. Then a lot of directors appear, the play becomes complicated, and the form becomes an enigma.

In another scene there develops the discovery of the body and other like bodies. At this time it is taken for granted; no awareness of the condition except it is pleasurable and fun. (Boys will be boys.) It will be in another scene when labels appear—like pansy and sissy. “Queer” wasn’t a popular term at this time.

All the while the other side of this split enigma was craftily shaped into an acceptable heterosexual form. The deep seated need to fit in and be like everyone else took over and a fully, if not flawed, developed actor emerged on the stage. If there was any conflict burdening this act, it was sufficiently ignored so as to successfully convince this actor and his companions that he was a he. There never was an option if you had to play this role.

The big scene (known as chewing the scenery in theater talk) came when the subjugated enigma half rises in protest, and we see the two halves shouting at each other. The straight one screams, “I don’t want to be gay!” The gay half waits patiently through this anguished tantrum until his accomplice, Eros, rears his head.

All the while a play within a play has been unfolding. Everyone goes to college, everyone has a sweetheart—hetero that is. Every sweetheart finally secures an invitation to matrimony. The act and actors are quite convincing. It is all going well according to the traditional storyline, even to the advent of the securing or arrival of an heir and heiress.

Meanwhile Hetero and Homo carry on their secret conspiracy, and the act progresses. The final act or death scene arrives for the actor playing the role of the long-suffering wife.

According to tradition there is a play script for how to get into the sincere role and character of the bereaved.

If you look closely, the enigma halves have started to merge. Still, as a result of living a lifetime of the many roles this show has required, there remains a deep resentment from having had the guilt tacked on to the charade that this bit of theatre produced.

For a curtain call at the end of this drama, a person has emerged onstage to declare, “I am me.” I celebrate my gay place in its entire acceptance knowing that it is my life and not the lives of all those other characters I tried to fit into.

It has been a long, tedious story to relate, the play filled with regrets and joys, but the best result in this script is finally being able to be me. Like it or not!


 © 21 December 2015

About the Author