Telling her
How, where, what you can and can't say. What you owe her. What you owe yourself.
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§ Journey
How, where, what you can and can't say. What you owe her. What you owe yourself.
The night I told my wife, we'd put the kids to bed and she'd made tea, and we were sitting at the kitchen table with the side lamp on. I had been working with my therapist for four months. I had thought about the first sentence for weeks.
What I said, in the end, was: "There's something I need to tell you. I don't have answers about what it means for us. I just need you to know what I now know about myself."
She put her tea down and asked me to keep going.
Not when you have answers. You won't.
Ready is when you've done the therapy work for at least three months, when you can say the sentence "I think I'm gay" out loud in a room and not flinch, and when you've stopped expecting the conversation to resolve anything in one sitting.
A specific test: when she asks "what does this mean for us" (and she will), can you say "I don't know yet" without folding into a plan to make her feel better?
Where. Your home. Not a restaurant.
When. Evening, after the kids are asleep. Not on a Sunday night before a Monday work week. Not before a holiday.
With. Just the two of you.
Sober. Both of you.
No phone in your hand.
The first sentence does most of the work. Three things it should contain:
A version that has worked:
"I need to tell you something. I've been working with a therapist for a few months. What I've come to understand is that I'm gay. I love you, I'm not leaving tonight, I don't have a plan, and I don't know what this means for us. I just couldn't keep this on my own anymore."
What not to say:
Be still. Speak slowly. Don't fill the silences after you've said it.
She will ask, in some order:
The phrase that does a lot of work: "I don't know yet. I want us to take some time, with help, to work out what this means."
Don't pre-decide which she'll be.
Some women have known for years. The disclosure is a weight lifted.
Some are blindsided. She may cry. She may shout. She may say things in the next hour she doesn't believe in the morning.
Some cycle through several reactions in one evening. None of it is the final position.
What you owe her, that night, is presence. Not arguments. You sit at the table, you let her have whichever reaction she's having, you answer the questions you can answer truthfully, and you don't fix.
Make her tea. Don't pretend the night didn't happen.
"I'm here. Whatever you need today, I'll do. We can talk more tonight, or in a few days. Whatever pace works for you."
Then go through the day. The house keeps moving. She'll need a few days to know what she wants to do with the information.
It is information. It is the start of a much longer process. It is not the end of the marriage.
Sit at the table. Tell the truth. Don't promise an outcome you don't have.
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