Most women have been dreaming about that day since they were a little girl. And looking back at old photos of my wedding in March 1994, I look exactly like I’m in the middle of a fairy tale.
A blushing bride, complete with flowing ivory gown and a long train.
Butterflies darted around my tummy as I walked into the church.
I said my vows and kissed my new husband Brent, then 25.
Hundreds of our friends and family smiling around us.
Only, the nerves I was feeling hadn’t been just the normal wedding jitters. I knew the feeling well.
I’d felt exactly like I did as an 11-year-old, when Mum had forced me to wear a frilly, teal dress with patterned shoes.
All I’d wanted to do was rip it off, run around in jeans and a T-shirt, and play football with the boys.
Growing up in Texas, I was tall and stocky, never very feminine, inside or out.
‘You look like a boy,​ Rachel,’ Mum said sadly when I came home from the hairdresser’s at 16 with short, cropped hair. ‘Good,’ I grinned proudly. I felt like a boy, I wanted to be one... And I’d known for years that I was attracted to girls. Ever since I got my first crush on my summer school teacher.
So my wedding day may have looked perfect.
But, really, it was all a farce.
I loved Brent, but as a friend.
It wasn’t surprising, then, that our marriage didn’t last.
In August 2000, we went our separate ways. And I finally plucked up the courage to date women. I kept my hair short, wore suits to my job as a care home owner.
Despite the odd comment and dodgy look, most people accepted me.
Then, in November 2013, a co-worker set me I looked the part – up on a but didn’t feel it blind date.
Denne historien er fra December 26, 2019-utgaven av Chat.
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Denne historien er fra December 26, 2019-utgaven av Chat.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent? Logg på
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