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Before I knew my daughter was gay, I let her girlfriend spend the night
It was just an innocent slumber party—two 16-year-old girls eating pizza, dancing to Beyonce and giggling over boys, the same way I did with my friends at that age, except back then we were dancing to Fleetwood Mac. But I soon realized I’d unwittingly put my daughter in bed with the object of her affection when her sleepover buddy came out to me in a series of text messages.
I hope you don’t care I like girls… I’m not going to tell my mom… She thinks it’s a choice…

Oh, to be the trusted confidante of a teenage girl! My heart and, let’s face it, my ego were thrilled.
But then I thought: Hadn’t she and my daughter just double dated to homecoming with boys? Then she texted that it would be different if she didn’t have a girlfriend. I pondered that text for a moment before the light bulb went off. That girlfriend was my daughter and they just had a sleepover.
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I guess I should have figured it out. Two years earlier, I’d walked in on my daughter with another girl. Her bedroom door was shut, the room was dark, and the two of them looked sheepish when I peeked in. That friend was a known troublemaker and I didn’t trust her. Unexpectedly and unbidden, she’d blurted out, “I’m not gay or anything!”
“Okay…” I said, as I turned to leave my daughter’s room, making a point of leaving the door wide open and turning on the lights in the hallway. That girl came and went a few times throughout high school, usually leaving some kind of upheaval in her wake. I’m fairly certain that at some point she broke my daughter’s heart at least a little bit, but at the time, I didn’t understand what I was walking into. Whether it was denial or cluelessness on my part, I didn’t know it was significant.
Now that I was putting the pieces together I felt deflated. My kid was being outed. I wasn’t going to freak out like the other mom, but I was hurt that my daughter hadn’t told me herself. I guess I wasn’t such a trusted confidante after all.
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“Are you her girlfriend?” I took a deep breath and asked my daughter after school the next day.
“Why didn’t you tell me, honey? Were you scared?”
“Not really scared,” she said. “Just trying to find the right time.”
So what changes when your teenage daughter has a girlfriend instead of a boyfriend? I had no precedent for this, no decree set down by my own parents or anyone else I knew. I’d had gay high school classmates, but they weren’t really “out” and no one was paired up publicly. I wouldn’t have dared bring a boy into my room while I was in high school. Do the same house rules apply to same-sex relationships? If two teenage girls want to be treated like any other couple, doesn’t that mean we should leave the bedroom door open and demand that all four feet remain on the floor? Otherwise, aren’t we guilty of fostering a double standard?
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There were parents in our community who allowed co-ed slumber parties and bought beer for their kids—I wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t a super strict parent, but I never would have given permission for my daughter to have a sleepover with a 16-year-old boy. Why would I be okay with her having a girlfriend stay? I thought about the differences. The most obvious is the potential for pregnancy, which, besides potential unfortunate social stigma, leads to life-altering decisions about abortion, adoption and teen parenthood.
With the likelihood of babies off the table, what else mattered? Hormones are hormones and the heart wants what the heart wants, and that’s where her relationship with this girl was just like any other. But what remained the same was the maturity level and broken hearts. I talked with my daughter (well, it was probably more of a lecture) about how, early in relationships, it’s easy to confuse desire for love; and that, just because our bodies feel like they’re ready for sex, it doesn’t mean our heads and our hearts are prepared. It was the same talk I’d had with her older brother, the same one I’d have if she were dating a boy—except with her I didn’t talk about condoms.
“If you get physically close to someone when you’re not emotionally mature enough to handle it, you can get hurt,” I said.
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“It’s not like that, Mom,” my daughter said. And maybe it wasn’t like that yet, but one day, with someone, it would be. Just like any mother, I want to protect my kids from heartbreak. But, of course, we can’t and probably shouldn’t even if we could. First forays into love and sex, gay or straight, are painful but necessary teachers. How else do we learn about boundaries, trust and resilience?
Also like other teen relationships, regardless of sexuality, teen trysts tend to flame out quickly. So while the smoldering embers of that romance burned my daughter without discrimination, I got a reprieve on figuring out my house rules for same sex relationships.
After my daughter turned 18, I let her next girlfriend spend the night. I wouldn’t have been so hospitable to a young man in her bed, so I’m definitely guilty of having a double standard. It’s one I can live with though, because I don’t want her to be sneaky and secretive. And, more than anything, I don’t want my daughter to ever be ashamed of whom she loves.
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Mary Novaria writes about family, friendship and everyday life on A Work in Progress and recently completed a memoir about life in the sandwich generation. She tweets @marynovaria.

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'Neither of us had been with a woman before.'
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The hysteria of nighttime at a wedding - everyone an inflated version of themselves, like bubbles close to popping. Things always happen at weddings. This is what I told myself the next day - this is how I wrote it off when Sarah* and I had sex.
We were acquaintances, really, rather than friends. She was my best friend Steven’s* girlfriend. Steven and I had known each other since university. We’d spent our year abroad together, living out a silly, sepia-tinged Italian fantasy - 'che bello! che dolce!' - and then graduated and moved to London and ended up with a circle of six or seven close friends.
Our whole group had been pleased the first time Steven brought Sarah to meet us; he’d spent years dating women with wild temperaments who’d end up trashing his room or threatening to set his car alight unless he capitulated to whatever demand they had. His relationships, up to Sarah, seemed to me more like protracted acts of masochism. We’d winced behind his back when he said he’d found someone he thought he could have a future with. But then he brought her to meet us and she was perfect: fun but calm, wild without the violence.

I’d spent time with them as a couple but before this wedding Sarah and I had never really talked. So that day we talked. And then we danced. In hindsight I suppose we were flirting in a way that felt completely devoid of meaning or jeopardy because we were both straight. I found her charming and funny - she complimented me on my dress, my hair, my shoes. We laughed a lot and I was pleased for Steven - my best friend, who had been treated so badly by partners in the past. 'I’m really glad you like her,' he said to me that evening, spilling wine over himself. 'I’m really glad you’re happy,' I said back, helping him to mop it up.
It was when Sarah and I went outside to share a cigarette, sitting in a dark corner of the country house garden that she kissed me.
I was surprised, of course, but not so surprised as to jump back or make a comment. I suppose in a way it made sense in the context of the day and our flirtation. I was also drunk. I giggled and hiccupped - a parody of a drunk person, a character in a bad romcom. Nothing felt serious or real, suspended as we were in the amber of that perfect mid-summer’s night.
So, I kissed her back. Then we went and found a secluded part of the grounds and had sex outside, giggling and fumbling - and neither of us entirely sure what to do because neither of us had ever been with a woman before. It’s hard to remember what was going through my mind. I was just excited, even though I’d never done this before, it didn’t seem like a big deal. If this had been the boyfriend of a female best friend it would have been an ultimate betrayal. I would never do that to a female best friend. But with Sarah, in that moment, it didn’t feel like cheating. It didn’t feel like anything I’d felt before or anything I can really put into words now, almost five years later.
Even in the sober light of morning, I didn’t think about it that way. But I did feel uneasy. I could barely look Sarah in the eye when I saw her - I felt this knot of awkwardness and shame. I guess I should have known - the shame was there for a reason.

Later that day she texted me to say she was sorry for kissing me and could we just forget that anything had happened. I reassured her that it was 'all good' and that nothing more would ever be said about it.
And that’s how it remained for a long time: a sore spot of a secret. I couldn’t think about it too closely because, like pressing a bruise, it made me flinch with discomfort. I’d consigned it as much as possible to memory until last year when Steven told me that he planned to propose.
When they were just boyfriend and girlfriend it was bad, but somehow less bad. Now though...I've thought over and over about how hurt he’d be if he ever found out. When they asked me to do a reading at their wedding, Sarah avoided making any eye contact with me the entire conversation. I still haven’t picked anything yet because it feels so disingenuous. I can’t even bring myself to think about it.
With a bit more maturity I can see that there’s really no distinction between cheating with a man or a woman, it’s still a betrayal and I wish I could take my actions back. Now I don’t really speak to Sarah, I guess we were never really friends in the first place, but the fact that we slept together has poured cement into the fissure between us. In a way, that has also made my relationship with Steven more difficult - he sometimes wonders aloud why Sarah and I don’t spend more time together. I think the guilt is something we’re both trying to forget, though I think it’ll be difficult.

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Teen Girlfriend Lesbian