A reader writes: My heart is breaking. My partner died some time ago, yet it still feels as though it happened yesterday. I've recently received some very bad news about my own health, and more than ever I find myself needing my partner to be here with me. I feel as though my heart can bear no more. My soul feels empty without her. Everything about my life feels different, and it is so hard. I need to find other lesbians who have lost their spouse.
I attended a grief support group yesterday, and it was painfully difficult. During the introductory "check-in," the member who spoke after me said she would not be able to continue if I were allowed to stay in the group. She said lesbianism is a sin.
I looked to the facilitator after the comment, expecting she would say something—anything—but she said nothing. Her body language told me she was appalled, yet no words came. Instead, she simply looked to the next person to begin their check-in. In that moment, I felt as though I didn't matter. I sat there for about ten more minutes, then got up and literally ran out of the room. The facilitator followed me and pleaded, "Please don't leave," but I didn't turn around. I kept running all the way to my car and drove home.
The facilitator and I spoke today. She apologized for not speaking up in the moment and said she had been so shocked that she was rendered speechless. She asked what I needed now. I asked whether she had spoken with the woman who made the comment. She said she had not because she wanted to check with me first.
I told her what I needed was the opportunity to return to the group and explain how deeply that comment affected me—and to affirm that I have every right to attend a grief support group, just as anyone else does. I am angry that not only do I have to endure the pain of losing my partner, but I also have to endure the pain of ignorance and intolerance. It complicates my grief and fills me with such anger that, if I could climb the tallest mountain and scream for the rest of my life, it would barely touch the pain I sometimes feel. I did not choose to be a lesbian. I was born this way.
It was a good conversation with the facilitator, and I have decided to return to the next meeting and see what happens. My partner's life mattered. My life matters. I will continue honoring the love we shared until the day I die, and I believe we will be together again.
I am going to speak about how that comment affected me and how it has complicated the already difficult process of rebuilding my life without my partner. I also intend to share my feelings about the facilitator's failure to intervene in the moment. Whether others agree with me or not, I need to find my voice.
My response: I am so very sorry that this happened to you.
Finding the courage to attend a grief support group is difficult enough. To then be wounded by another person's ignorance and intolerance is simply inexcusable.
You wrote that you feel different, and I know that woman's comment must have felt like a knife to your already broken heart. But please never believe that you are somehow different from the rest of us. Grief has no gender. It has no sexual orientation. It belongs to every one of us who has loved deeply enough to be devastated by loss.
You are a precious, worthy human being, deserving of the same love, dignity, and respect as every other grieving person in that room.
Please don't give this person's prejudice any more space in your heart than it has already taken. Her words reflect her own limitations—not your worth.
I admire your courage, your determination, and your willingness to use this painful experience to educate others. At the same time, it saddens me that you've been placed in the position of having to defend your right simply to grieve.
While I appreciate the facilitator's apology and her honesty about freezing in the moment, I also believe it was her responsibility to create and protect a safe environment for everyone in that group. I'll gladly give her the benefit of the doubt, especially since she reached out to you afterward. But if you return and still do not feel safe, respected, and welcomed, please know that you owe it to yourself to find another group where you can grieve without fear of judgment.
If you do go back, I hope you'll imagine me standing beside you, lifting you up and surrounding you with light as you speak your truth. Know that I am with you in spirit, cheering you on and sending every positive thought your way. I hope you'll let me know how it goes.
In the meantime, here are a few resources that I hope may be helpful:
- Legacy Connect— An online forum for gay and lesbian individuals who have lost a partner.
- Lesbian .. Gay 2 Spirited— Online grief support for those mourning the death of a same-sex partner.
- Partnered Grief: When Gay and Lesbian Partners Grieve by Harold Ivan Smith and Joy Johnson.
- The Loss of a Life Partner by Carolyn Ambler Walter.
- Lesbian Widows: Invisible Grief by Victoria Whipple.
- Disenfranchised Grief: New Directions, Challenges, and Strategies for Practice, edited by Kenneth J. Doka.
Afterword:
The reader writes: Thanks, Marty. I did visualize you lifting me up and supporting me as I found my voice. I wish it weren't so difficult for me to speak up, and I pray it becomes easier with time.
The woman who made the comment wasn't there. Several people in the group told me they welcomed me, that I had every right to be there, and that they hoped I would continue attending. The facilitator apologized to me in front of everyone for not addressing the situation immediately.
Right now, I feel proud of myself.
On the drive home, I was overcome with tears and had to pull over for a while. I'm still not sure what I'll do about the group. I need some time to process everything before making that decision.
My response: I'm gratified to learn that you're feeling proud of yourself—that's even better than my being proud of you!
Standing up for yourself took tremendous courage, especially while carrying the weight of such profound grief. Whatever you decide about this group, you've already accomplished something important: you honored your partner, you honored yourself, and you found your voice.
I also believe your courage gave everyone in that room—including the facilitator—an opportunity to learn something invaluable about compassion, inclusion, and what it truly means to create a safe place for grieving people.
Bravo to you. ❤️
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