How a Tarot Reading Led to My Coming-Out: Part 1
There I was, sitting on the wooden deck of my Federal Hill row home, my blonde curls and fuchsia mini-dress illuminated by the soft glow of a flickering candle and single strand of string lights. It was the night of my 28th birthday, my best friend and I had just gotten into an argument over tarot cards.
I had pulled a birthday spread, seeking guidance for the year ahead and where to focus my energy. I had sworn off men for the thousandth time. “Anything but love,” I thought to myself.
My spread: The Eight of Cups. The Empress. Queen of Cups.
This has to be a joke.
“Maybe the universe wants you to find a nurturing woman,” Kara commented.
I stared at her, confused and a little disgusted. “Absolutely not,” I replied, feeling defensive.
“Just because I swore off men doesn’t mean I want to start dating women. I love being single, I want to be on my own.”
“You were literally just saying at dinner how you’d make out with Blake Lively,” she retaliated.
“Yeah, because she’s hot, that doesn’t mean I want to date her. Or any woman.”
What did she even mean? I’m straight. I mean, do I think women are beautiful and mesmerizing? Of course… but doesn’t everyone think that? Surely everyone feels the same. Did I only share ‘Women Crush Wednesday’ posts of Kate Middleton and Blake Lively on instagram in 2013 while my friends posted MCMs of Ryan Gosling? Well, yes. But I can appreciate beauty without being attracted to it. Right?
Kara and I had known each other since I was 14, half of our lives at this point. We met on a mission trip for Hurricane Katrina relief. Ironic, right? Youth group girlies who grew up to be witches. She should know me better than this. I’ve only ever dated men, and mostly, had long-term relationships. She was technically my first kiss, for practice (and the male gaze). It didn’t mean I liked it. It didn’t mean I was into her. Or women.
I was so upset that I didn’t even take a picture of my tarot spread. I packed away my cards, gulped the last bit of red wine in my glass, took a hit from my bong, bottled up the questions popping into my mind, and trudged up the steps to my queen bed, where I scrolled on my phone until I fell asleep.
Seventeen days later, the world paused. Something called COVID-19. My students helped me clear off the countertops and their desks so that all surfaces could be disinfected, as we prepared for two weeks of school closure. (LOL, we were so naïve).
Suddenly, my scrambled mind, constantly filled with thousands of questions from curious ten-year-olds, lesson plans, grad school assignments, and the attempt to maintain some semblance of a social life, was free to think. And yet… crickets.
Maybe I manifested this. After all, #1 on my “Manifesting for 2020” list was “continuing to unpack my baggage and learning more about myself.” If only I knew then how overflowing that baggage would be, bursting at the seams and buried deep in my closet.
I filled my newfound time with social media- this fun app called TikTok, which my students had introduced me to. I did tarot spreads, read some of my witchcraft books that had been piled in my ever-growing “to read” stack, and binged New Girl for the third time.
Those thoughts from my birthday night didn’t stay suppressed for long. In fact, more questions started to bubble up: Do I even like men, or do I just feel like I should? Why am I counting out half the population just because society says I should? Is the admiration I feel for women actually attraction? Were there signs I missed growing up?
