Teen Lesbian Story

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I Love My Lesbian Daughter: 17 Years and 27 Days
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The text lit up my phone like an atomic bomb.
Chloe wore a goofy smile every time she mentioned Miranda’s name; my instincts told me they were more than just friends. I’d finally decided to ask her. She laughed, shaking her head with startled embarrassment, and said, “I can’t believe you just asked that!”
“Oh,” I answered. “Sorry about that.” I apologized for my intrusion, my miscalculation about her sexuality .
Chloe came out to me at the age of 17 years and 27 days. Why count the days? Because I need to give her credit for every single day I’d misunderstood her.
“It’s okay if you’re still finding out who you are,” I naively told her.
“Mom, I’ve always known who I am. I just didn’t let anyone else know.”
I’d again been one step behind, as parents often are.
Chloe has always been a tomboy. Hot Wheels instead of Barbies. Blue instead of pink. Baseball instead of ballet. My little Chloe-the-Bear, her nickname from early on. Until she was three, I adorned her with dresses and bows and gave her dollies to play with. Until she was three and old enough to tell me what she wanted.
Chloe cried when the boys’ Little League coach told her it was time to play girls’ softball. She politely declined all glitter and lip gloss. She asked for boys’ character underwear for her sixth birthday.
She’s never had a boyfriend, never gone on a date.
Chloe’s girlfriend reached out to me. “I feel like I should talk to you, but I don’t really know what to say,” she texted. “I’ve always been so unhappy, but didn’t know why. With Chloe, now I’m happy.”
“Just be yourself,” I told her. “That’s all anyone could ask of you.”
“But my mom won’t understand.” Miranda was terrified of her parents finding out.
The struggle for gay rights suddenly became so much closer to home.
Chloe doesn’t much like going to church, and after confirmation, hardly went at all. But a few times she actually asked to go. Wanted to go. I’d fancied that maybe she needed absolution for a sin committed, or strength to deal with it.
Years later I brought this up with Chloe.
“When I was little, I always asked God why he made me this way,” she confessed with tearful brown eyes. “I’d keep asking myself, ‘Why do I have to be like this?’” Though she knew who she was, she also suffered through the pain of being different from her tribe.
But why should she have to ask herself that question? She’s always known. It’s the rest of us who haven’t. She’s the same person; it’s our perceptions that have been wrong.
That’s when I realized I’ve always treated her like someone she wasn’t. Why did her family unjustly assume she was a certain way; why did we approach our parenting with a preconceived notion of who she was? I knew she didn’t like girl stuff. But why had I always assumed she’d like boys? It wasn’t fair for her family to just assume.
“How should I refer to you?” I asked her, to treat her with the respect she deserved. “ Lesbian, gay ?”
Chloe was embarrassed. “Why do we have to use labels? Why do we have to decide what to call somebody?”
She was right. Hopefully her generation won’t need to label people. But unfortunately, older generations tend to find categories helpful when dealing with differences.
There are only three people in our family who know about Chloe; she’s still not ready to come out to the rest. I think she should trust them, but she’s afraid they’ll treat her differently. I reminded Chloe that it takes time for people to reconstruct their image of a person. Right or wrong, we all have preconceived ideas that take time to change. But she’s still afraid.
My heart is breaking under the weight of her secret. No one should have to hide who they are.
I know we’ll have a struggle with some family members, with some of Chloe’s classmates, with some parents. With many others out in the world. I’m still teaching my husband to be more sensitive—no “gay wad” comments about effeminate men on TV, no “she’s-so-pretty-it’s-such-a-shame-she’s-a-lesbian” comments. Chloe said that most kids at school are cool with classmates being gay, but there are still some who pull out the God card, believing it’s a sin punishable with a trip to hell.
I pray that other family members will accept Chloe for who she is and realize she’s the same person she’s always been.
Hopefully with love and growing understanding, there will be no more Hushed Up Life of Chloe-the-Bear.
Emily Lane writes about her imperfect parenting at Mamaconfidential.net
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"Out of the millions of people on the internet, the fact that we found each other has led me to believe that fate does indeed exist."
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As a teenager, I was never one to daydream about my fantasy wedding, nor was I invested in the idea of “true love” as idealized by Disney movies and romantic comedies. While my friends lapped that stuff up, I just wanted to spit it out. What I actually wanted to do was admit to myself who I really was. I repressed my sexuality not only because I was scared of my family and friends’ reactions to me being gay, but because I felt that it would be somehow "wrong" for me to be a lesbian. I was suffocating under the pressure I put on myself.
For almost 10 years, I oscillated wildly between confusion and fear in regards to my sexuality, wrapping myself in lies as I went along. Being “too busy” for a boyfriend was my go-to reply when friends asked me why I wasn’t dating anyone. I dodged questions like that for far too long.
In the spring of 2016, still chronically sad, I became an insomniac. I had begrudgingly accepted that I was, in fact, a lesbian, and spoken to a few girls on dating apps to find a sense of comfort in my sexuality. But trying to find love online, especially while grappling with the full-time job of hiding my sexuality from the outside world, seemed to be futile. I wasn’t feeling a strong physical attraction to anyone, for starters, and I was admittedly still struggling to accept myself. So I surrendered to my insecurities and decided that being in love was simply not something I was born to experience. My newfound cynicism inspired me to write dark, self-reflective fiction, and I started posting my work to a Tumblr blog I curated during my waking hours — 9 a.m. to 4 a.m.
I was shocked that people on Tumblr seemed to enjoy my writing, but far more astonishing was that one follower was a fairly popular user whose blog I had long admired. All I actually knew about the owner of said blog was that she was also a lesbian, and judging by her profile picture and occasional selfies, was ridiculously cute. She fast became my first real, non-celebrity, 100% confirmed lesbian crush — but I had never spoken a word to this girl in my life.
I knew that even if nothing came of this, I at least wanted to give it a shot.
A few weeks later , I received a private message from her.
Whatever short sentence she wrote me is now a blur. What I do remember is blushing in front of my computer screen, my heart racing, and feeling a familiar sense of embarrassment over the extent to which I liked this mysterious person. I literally had nervous sweats. But I tried to keep calm, and plucked up the courage to send her a reply.
She told me her name was Alyssa, that she was 21 years old and lived in Texas. Texas. I lived on the south coast of the United Kingdom, a whole 4678 miles away. Incredibly deflated, I tried to shatter the hesitant daydreams I crafted over the weeks I had spent endlessly scrolling her blog. Instead, I mused about how pretty Alyssa’s name sounded and welcomed days spent in almost constant dialogue with her.
As I gleaned from her Tumblr posts, Alyssa was intelligent, cultured, and kind. Days after our initial exchange, I accidentally hit the video call button on Snapchat (I swear it was a mistake!); to my surprise, she accepted the call and I was suddenly face-to-face with her in real time. She offered a nervous “hi” in the American accent I’d longed to hear. When our eyes met, we both quickly looked away. Then, Alyssa shyly tucked a strand of shoulder-length blonde hair behind her ear while the corner of her mouth turned upward. My heart blew up.
We talked for four hours that night — until the sun was rising on my side of the world. For the first time, I felt completely unashamed of my sexuality. I felt safe with Alyssa in a way that I never had with anyone else. My whole being felt at ease, and I was warm and happy in conversation with her. Alyssa looked happy too, and as I fell asleep at dawn, I knew that even if nothing came of this, I at least wanted to give it a shot.
Alyssa and I continued to speak every day via FaceTime and text. Then, on August 9, 2016, Alyssa officially became my long-distance girlfriend. By the time we finally met in London the following March, we had endured a 280-day-long wait since we first met online.
Seeing Alyssa for the first time was surreal. We had discussed the possibility of our bond simply not translating from the screen to real life, but as soon as we hugged I knew that everything was going to be alright. Alyssa was just as beautiful as she appeared on FaceTime, and I couldn’t believe that she — that any of this — was real. From the quick first kiss we shared on a street corner outside of Starbucks to the way she laughed as I tried to not spill my nacho dip at the pub, it all felt perfect.
Two days after Alyssa flew home, I had no choice but to come out to my family when my mother guessed that there was “something going on” between me and Alyssa. Having met Alyssa briefly and only as my “friend,” my family took some time to process the fact that she was my girlfriend, but they were supportive. I ended up spending the entire summer in Texas with Alyssa and her family before I moved to New Jersey for the fall semester. I was lucky enough to see Alyssa every few weeks.
After spending the summer together , living so many miles apart became much more difficult. Money always dictated the frequency of our visits. Time inched by when we were apart, yet flew past when we were together. We cried on FaceTime a lot — we missed each other; we were lonely. At the same time, we held tight to the notion that distance was making our relationship stronger, and that compared to this, we’d be able to deal with whatever should come our way in the future. Even on days when the pain felt unbearable, we vowed to make the miles count and build each other back up.
Although it felt like forever, it wasn’t terribly long before we were together again — Alyssa was accepted to pursue her master’s degree at my university in the U.K. the following January. After months of sacrificing our time, money, and sleep (working with a time difference isn’t easy), we were both elated by the acceptance email that gave us our chance at a real future together. Long distance did in fact make us stronger and more grateful for the little things, like napping together and being able to actually kiss each other, and together we are happier and more excited for life than ever.
When I think back to how we met, I feel so lucky. Out of millions of people on the internet, the fact that we found each other has led me to believe that fate does indeed exist. We now have the life that we dreamed of together, and neither of us can still quite believe it.
Harriet Scott is currently studying communication and media at Bournemouth University. She co-runs an Instagram account with her girlfriend that promotes LGBTQ+ equality and mental wellbeing.
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Every lesbian love story is beautiful, but ours is my favourite.
It wasn’t too long after meeting Natalie, that I gifted her a frame engraved with those words. I had no doubt in my mind that she was the one, and every time we’d meet, we were sure to let each other know how serious we were about one another.
You see, it was love at first sight. A term that I accept is probably hard to understand unless you’ve experienced it yourself. I remember rolling my eyes at the thought. How could you possibly love somebody you don’t even know? Queue Natalie…
Let’s start at the beginning. The night I lay scrolling mindlessly through lesbian dating app profiles.
It had been a tough six months. The worst of my life, in fact. The loss of my beloved Grandmother and the breakdown of a toxic relationship had stripped me of the person I once knew.
Little did I know at the time, it was like a snake shedding its skin. I had to encounter loss and suffering in order to grow.
One New Message :  You’re Beautiful .
That was it — just two simple words from the mysterious girl with lilac hair and piercings. I pondered way longer than is probably acceptable at that photo while figuring out what to reply to such a generic message.
Resisting the urge to respond right away, I clicked through to read her full profile.  That’s odd , I thought. Our personal write-ups – you know that section where you have to write a bit about yourself – they were almost identical.  
I can’t remember exactly what I replied, but it was probably something embarrassing along the lines of ‘ that’s rich coming from you ‘. God, I thought I was so smooth.
I’m pretty sure we saved our first conversations from the dating app somewhere. We’ll have to dig them out to give you all a good laugh.
Anyway, I digress, but that’s how we first found each other.  
“ HER is one of the world’s biggest dating apps for LGBTQ+ women and queer folks .
Created for queer people by queer people, HER is a safe and inclusive space where you can connect with queer women, find LGBTQ+ events near you, catch up on all the latest news and content, and maybe even find your person.
For the first time in what felt like a long time, I was genuinely excited to be speaking to this girl. She was funny, beautiful, and seemed pretty interested in me as well.
The conversation flowed so naturally that I hadn’t even considered the bombshell that was to follow. “ I can’t believe you live so far away.”  
… “Where are you from?” I replied. Surely she couldn’t live that far away. “The Isle of Man .” 
As it turned out, Natalie lived on a tiny island in the middle of the Irish sea. It would mean taking a flight from London to get there.
That’s OK , I thought. I barely even know this girl. It will be easy not to get attached.
Except it wasn’t easy. There was just something about her. And she felt the same. In any case, the app matched us despite the distance between us. Maybe this was meant to be?
After that, we spoke almost every day. Long-winded messages about everything from work to family and life in general.
We both tried to avoid raising the subject of meeting one another as we didn’t want there to be any pressure. But there was no doubt it was the elephant in our virtual room.  
It had been around 4 or 5 weeks since we’d first started talking when Natalie announced she’d be coming to England. She was to be in Liverpool for work and asked if I’d drive up to meet her.
It would mean a 4-hour drive up from London. Not to mention a 4-hour drive back should things not work out. However, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.
Either way, I had to know if the feelings I felt were real. Or had I fallen for somebody who I’d concocted in my imagination?
It just so happened, the weekend we were due to meet coincided with Valentines Day. Was it fate that we would meet on the 14th of February? Or were we tempting fate?
There were so many questions and uncertainties. But one thing was for sure. I couldn’t wait to finally meet her in person.
Soon enough, the day arrived. And it wasn’t long into my journey that I ran into my first traffic jam of the day.
This traffic jam was one of many. What should have been no longer than a 4-hour journey, ended up taking me almost 8-hours.
Naturally, Natalie thought she had been stood up. Whereas I was questioning whether the universe was trying to tell me something!
When I finally did arrive, our first encounter was, how can I put this, awkward .
I got lost and Natalie had to drive out to meet me. So our first exchange was an awkward wave as I followed her back to where she was staying.
Feeling flustered and clammy, I was feeling far from attractive by this point. But I was here now, and I just had to roll with it.
We both got out of our cars and approached one another for the very first time. It has to be said; it was probably the most intense moment of my life.
I was nervous and weak at the knees, yet at the same time, I felt calm. It was like something clicked into place. I believe that something inside me knew that I’d found ‘home’ .
It’s safe to say there was no reason for me to return to London that night. I ended up staying the entire weekend, and the mysterious girl with lilac hair and piercings was the most enchanting person I’d ever met.
We barely slept all weekend. We drank, listened to music, and poured our hearts out about anything and everything. It was perfect.  
Of course, our bubble eventually had to be burst. Natalie had to fly back to the Isle of Man, and I had to return to my job in London.
Again, we avoided putting any pressure on one another to commit to anything. But my heart broke harder than I care to admit as I left the apartment we shared that weekend.
I even sprayed the aftershave I wore on Natalie’s pillow, in the hope she’d remember me for just that little bit longer.
That night, we spoke for hours on the phone. We’d only just left each other, but we missed one another like crazy. By the end of the phone call, we’d made
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