Holding Hands in Public

Some time ago I was at a training in which multiple questions were asked. One of those questions was "Have you ever been afraid to hold your partner's hand in public?"

At the time I had only dated men, so I could honestly say no. However, the question struck me. I've identified as a bisexual woman for some time, and so I could relate to the idea on a personal level. I've also always been a strong advocate for the gay and lesbian community, even prior to identifying myself as bisexual, so the idea in general struck a chord for me. However, I had no idea what that could feel like.

Several months ago I began a complicated relationship with a woman. She also had never dated women prior to what we have muddled together is a relationship of sorts. We haven't really identified completely as being together, but we both express the desire on some level and worry over the complications it would bring.

Tonight, I found out what it's like to be afraid to hold your partner's hand in public. I write this now, more as a way of communicating my feelings than in seeking for advice, but I welcome any and all comments.


Imagine….

You’re sitting there, at the hospital. You're in a pretty small town so the rules are minimal, visiting hours are really just guidelines, and when the room is full, you spill out into the hallway freely. As a mere supporter, you’re in the hallway. Inside the room is a young girl. She’s extremely thin and feeble. She has an incurable disease and it is likely she won’t make it through the night. You know her name, but little else about her. You’ve not met before. In fact, there is only one person in the entire building you have met before, your partner.

Try as you might, you can’t keep your eyes off of her. She’s beautiful, and strong. Definitely one of the tough ones. You know her, and so you know that internally she’s screaming. She’s sad, frustrated, and she wants to cry. You also know she won’t. Not now, not here. She’d never let go where they can see her. Your hand reaches out instinctively. You intend to rub her back, to give her what little comfort you can. You can’t make the pain go away, but you need her to know you’re there, that you care. She reacts quickly. Despite her pain she is more alert than you. She brushes your hand away before you can touch her.

You get it immediately. Not here, not now. She doesn’t want them to know. Them, they, are strangers to you, but they’re her family. She isn’t close with them, they speak infrequently, but they are family, and they can’t know. In fact, no one can. Where she is from, it would be a disgrace to admit the bond you’ve built, the bond you treasure so deeply. She gets it, she’s more advanced in thinking than they are. She trusts you, cares for you, but she can’t let them know.

You get it, you respect her for it, you care enough to follow her desires, but you’re not as strong as she is. The pain of it flashes across your face and you have to turn away. It takes you a second. You take several deep breaths and finally you’re able to shake it off on the surface, but deep down it still hurts.

Fast forward three hours.

You’re in the car. You’ve been pondering it all night, the question…..

“Have you ever been afraid to hold your partner’s hand in public….”

It bounces, back and forth. Over and over you think it. Tonight you think….tonight I was afraid….unable…unwilling. You’re distracted, unfocused. She asks you a question. The first time, you don’t hear her, but you look up from your daze. You take in her sweet face, and you force a smile, ask her to repeat it. “Chicken, tacos, or fast food…” she says again, returning your smile with a weak one of her own. Immediately you’re caught in indecision. For the first time you notice the hunger pangs in your stomach, having been too distracted to notice before, but the last thing you care about is What makes them go away. You know she wants you to make a decision, but you want to pick what she’ll like best. The pressure only makes you more indecisive. Finally, you try to weasel out of it, offering a weak “I really don’t care babe….whatever you want is great…”

She’s frustrated. You knew she would be. “You should’ve just picked something!”, you berate yourself inside your own head. She yanks her hand from yours, puts it back on the steering wheel and refuses to look at you. “Do not cry!” You screech at yourself from within your own mind. You can’t help it, the tears have already welled. It isn’t the food that’s upset you. It’s disappointment in yourself. All you want is to be there for her, to be supportive, but you can’t even make a simple decision, can’t rub her back, can’t hold her when she’s sad. And now you’re crying, and she feels bad. She reaches over and takes your hand back, tries to reassure you that its ok, that she isn’t mad, just tired. Her patience only fuels your self-disgust, bringing fresh tears to your eyes.

Black streaks stream down your cheeks, making the tears even more obvious. You couldn’t hide them from her if you wanted to. She’s too smart for that, knows you too well, but the obvious evidence frustrates you all the same. She tries to get you to talk about it, to tell her what’s wrong, why you reacted so strongly. In your turmoil you snap at her, which only makes it worse. She takes a breath, stops asking, and just hands you a napkin to wipe your tears with.

Again, her kindness fuels your frustration. Here you sit, sobbing in her car, when its Her family in the hospital, Her that needs support, Her that needs you! Your lack of emotional control makes you crazy. You can’t possibly find the words to try to explain, so you just keep apologizing, trying to express how sorry you are that you weren’t what she needed, couldn’t hold up for her. She doesn’t understand why you’re so sorry, doesn’t get what you’re apologizing for and the repetitiveness is frustrating, but she maintains the ever patient attitude that she always uses when you’re upset.

Finally, you’re able to calm, to take a deep breath, and wipe away the rest of the tears. You’re still frustrated, you feel bad, but you’ve gained some level of control. You reach over to rub her leg, to let her know you’re ok, that you’re there for her and that you appreciate her patience, but it’s the wrong leg, the sore one. You rub too hard, and she winces, stops your hand. You’ve hurt her, and the tears start anew…….