FullSizeRender 5.jpg — *Courage*

*Courage began as Cor. The latin translation of Cor —> Heart. Courage is Heart Centered Living.*
*Living from your heart, not your programming.*

This month in honor of Pride month, we introduce to you Lindsey Yoakum. A Space tribe community member who courageously shares her story with us today. Let it remind you the beauty of remaining true to who are, fully, completely, undeniably. Leading with your heart.

““Listen. Every time you’re given a choice between disappointing someone else and disappointing yourself, your duty is to disappoint that someone else. Your job, throughout your entire life, is to disappoint as many people as it takes to avoid disappointing yourself.””

— - Glennon Doyle

Setting boundaries is something that’s always been so so hard for me. I grew up in what my therapist calls “an enmeshed household”. When enmeshment occurs in families, it's hard for people to develop a sense of self, engage in peer relationships, and regulate their emotions. Boundaries weren’t a thing in my family, and I quickly learned that trying to set them often meant being called disrespectful, selfish, and ungrateful. I learned very early on that in order to keep the peace in my family I had to follow the heard and do what I was told. I learned it meant sacrificing who I was in order to stay in my parent’s good graces. I learned that love has to be earned and is conditional. I’ve spent 25 years of my life bending over backwards and jumping through hoops to make my parents happy and proud, and yet I always seem to fall short.

I came out to my family in high school and my parents response was less than ideal. I was bluntly told that I wasn’t gay because being gay was a sin and that I just needed attention. Not wanting to rock the boat, I left it alone and didn’t bring it up again for years because I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable and I didn’t want to lose my parents’ love and respect. And then, I met my wife, and the same feeling that I had worked so hard to shut off and numb out bubbled up to the surface. My soul was whispering “you love this person”, while old conditioning patterns, ways of thinking, and fear were screaming in response: what about your parents? What will your family think?

So I told my parents about Sarah. Again, their response wasn’t great: my mom pursed her lips and my dad just stared right through me and then proceeded not to speak to me for a day or two after that. I had two choices: I could stay small, betray myself, act like I never brought it up, not stand up for my love and who I am, but be comfortable and safe in my family dynamic. Or I could stand up for my love, for myself, speak up and make my voice and my relationship heard, grow within the discomfort, and choose love. As I reflected on that notion, I knew I already had my answer. If I didn’t let myself love her, I’d be letting fear bully me into inauthenticity. I said to the universe, to myself: I’ve considered the cost of this enormous decision, and I’m willing to pay it. I choose love. I choose not playing small. I choose to be heard and to be seen.

So I didn’t shut down. I didn’t numb out, and I didn’t stuff it down. I spoke up: I brought Sarah up in conversation, I invited her to family events, I posted about our love on social media and made it loud and clear where I stood, and I didn’t hide away. My parents, however, were not budging in their views. Sarah wasn’t allowed in my parents house when I still lived at home (I was 23 years old at this point, but once again I lived in a “my house my rules” household), and my dad specifically told my Grandma that if Sarah showed up to Thanksgiving dinner at her house he would not go. Whenever I brought Sarah up in conversation, my parents would blatantly ignore me and talk over me. At one point, when I was experiencing a lot of health issues, my dad told me my “moral confliction over dating a girl” was what was making me sick. My parents told my grandparents my “roommate” aka partner would be joining us on a family zoom call during Easter. There were a few moments when I thought my parents were trying to be supportive, but they would often follow up with homophobic comments about Sarah. I endured all of it for years because I was terrified to stand up to my mom and dad, to rock the boat, to stand up for my relationship and myself.

My parents brought me into this world, but that doesn’t mean I owe them my happiness or my life. I realized when I kept asking myself “would I let anyone else in my life treat me like this?” And the answer was a big fat “hell no”, something had to change. Why are my parents the exception to that question?

I decided to pursue that thought further. I kept asking myself these questions: how long will I have to wait to feel accepted and loved unconditionally for who I am? How long will I have to wait to be treated with respect and for my relationship to be treated with the same respect and love my sibling’s relationship is treated with? The answer came after a specific night in October of last year, when I finally put my foot down and decided to stop cowering and playing small. Let’s just say it didn’t go well, which then lead to me setting a physical boundary with my parents. I’ve only spoken to my mom maybe three times, and my dad twice, since October of 2020. I haven’t seen them in person since December of 2020. I’ve done so much work on myself over the last 7 months: I’ve done work healing trauma, healing past wounds, setting firm boundaries, standing in my power, being my own person. Recently, after a particularly exhausting and degrading encounter with my mom, I’ve decided that it would be safest for my mental health and boundaries to completely go no contact with both of them. This meant blocking my parents numbers and blocking them on all social media platforms. This meant putting my foot down for the final time and choosing me.

Does it hurt like hell to not have supportive parents? Hell yes.

Is sacrificing my boundaries, mental health, and having to hide who I am worth it to keep them in my life? Hell no.

Cutting off contact with my parents has been the most painful, soul-wrenching thing I have ever done. Grieving the loss of my parental units comes in waves, and I’ve learned to welcome the sadness when it knocks instead of locking the door. It hurts because it means something. It hurts because it’s causing me to grow, to step out of my comfort zone, to create a new identity other than my parents’ daughter. Since setting the physical boundary with my parents, I’ve been called selfish, childish, dramatic. I’ve been told by my parents that I am ungrateful, that it’s all in my head. But I know in my gut/soul/intuition, that in order to survive, I have to do this. In order to thrive, I have to do this. I have to choose me. I have to choose me even if it meant disappointing my parents. Glennon Doyle talks in her book Untamed about being on your own island and only allowing others to join you when they can arrive with compassion, non-conditional love, support, and respect. I have to choose me even if it means standing on an island with my wife, our chosen family, and all of our support system, and closing the drawbridge to anyone who isn’t 100% supportive and unconditional about their love for me. If I had to, I would make the same decision over and over and over again. I choose Sarah, I choose love, and more than anything: I choose myself.

Love and light,