When I was coming out in the late 70s/ early 80s I was terrified of my difference and divergence, of being alone. Born in South London and relocated to New Zealand, I grew up in a small mill town, the youngest of seven children in a working-class family. At 15 I hadn’t yet read the books – many of which were still to be written – that suggested being ‘different’ could also be special. The one lesbian role I knew was Sister George, and I’d only seen that on TV because my father thought Beryl Reid was the funniest woman alive. The film wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. Nor did it, with its classic doomed lesbian relationship, offer any hint of what my life would be.

I didn’t fancy being Susannah York, Beryl Reid or Coral Browne. I didn’t fancy any of them, either. (Well, maybe Coral Browne, just a little.) There were no lesbians on TV, in the movies, in my books, in my life – or so I thought. Years later I found that my uncle’s sister had had a ‘friend’ all her life, that when the mother of the boy up the road left their family home, she moved in with another woman. But these were secrets, hidden. These women weren’t able to be role models for me, not merely because they weren’t out, but because everyone else refused to be out about them as well. They were invisible.

No excuses
Yes, 30 years has made a difference, but in terms of role models there’s still a very long way to go. Something like 80% of British TV companies, theatres, film companies, newspapers, TV channels, film distributors, publishing houses and magazines are owned and/ or run by men (not all of them straight men, by any means) – no wonder we so rarely see representations of ourselves we recognise, in our multiplicity. And I don’t think this is entirely the fault of the men in charge. Not all that long ago the Brontë sisters had to sell their work under men’s names – change takes time; we’re doing better than we used to, but not well enough.

One of the reasons this change is too slow is that not all lesbians are engaged in it. I know women who work in the City and say it’s impossible for them to come out. Really? Harder than for the young Jewish and Muslim lesbians I know to be out to their orthodox religious families? Surely that huge City salary helps just a little? I know women who say they can’t tell their parents because the parents are too old, too sick or simply won’t understand. Well, not without us explaining to them they won’t. I know way more out gay men than out lesbians. I suspect most of us do. Yes, I do work in a ‘nice’ media world where (usually) people are fine about my being a dyke – but not always, not every time. And I don’t actually live in that world. I live in a South London terrace. Our neighbours know we’re together. Our GP knows we’re together. Our dry cleaner knows we’re a couple. Over the years, he’s become a friend. We talk about the weather and the world and religion. A Muslim, he’s asked how Shelley and I reconcile our ‘lifestyle’ with our family faiths of Judaism and Catholicism. The discussions we have over the counter have enlightened me about Islam and him about sexuality. When we bought our wedding dresses (not matching, not meringues) the sales assistant asked what was the occasion. We looked at each other, took a breath, and told him. He sent us an anniversary card last year. When the young and not-entirely-sober scaffolder sitting beside me on the train to YLAF asked what I did, his second question was, didn’t my husband mind me going away for work so much? I explained that I was wearing a wedding ring as the wife of a wife. He then asked, didn’t my wife mind me going away for work so much? – confounding both my expectations and those of everyone else in the carriage, who had suddenly gone very quiet.



Yes, it is boring coming out all the time. The tedious predictability of being at best – at least – interesting. But then again, people chat at bus stops and in supermarket queues, they’ll ask about work and partners and children. Every single time, there’s a moment of tension, an uncertainty, and not every reaction is OK. But my black and Asian friends have no choice about being visible as their ‘minority’ – in the question of sexuality, we do have a choice.

Change the world
My choice is to be honest. I believe I have a duty to make being out easier for the next lot of 14-year-old girls looking for the lesbians in their world. Where are the lesbian pop stars, movie stars and soap stars, the lesbian business leaders, entrepreneurs, religious leaders, playwrights, the lesbian Doctor Who writers? There must be some, but the fact that we can only name a few suggests that most of them aren’t out. They’re letting the rest of us make the world safer and easier and better for them while they lie. And I’m tired of it. I want them doing the work too. I’m bored with Pride events booking more men performers than women. I’m fed up with seeing Gay Times in every WH Smith in the country, but not being able to find DIVA there as well. I’m sick of our TV and theatre staging yet more work by gay men about gay men and believing that covers their LGBT remit. I’m tired of turning up at book events to find a panel of five gay men and me. Yes, some of my best friends are gay men, but our community – as much as any other – needs to remember that gay or queer or bi doesn’t always and only mean male. As women, we aren’t a minority. And what would make a huge difference would be to have many more women in that process. Not just behind the scenes, where we’ve always been, through all the LGBT struggles, but out front. If every woman who has ever had a homosexual love, desire or experience came out right now, the world would change overnight. We could stop being interesting or different or special because we’re lesbian or bisexual, and get on with just being.

The future’s yours
I know it’s not easy. Not many truly important things are. Shelley and I have been together for 17 years. We’ve lived through parental rejection, several house moves, cancer, miscarriage, failed IVF, infertility, parental death, the births, deaths, weddings and divorces of friends and family, along with countless dinners and parties and not enough holidays and too many deadlines. My family speaks of her as their sister-in-law. Both my parents are dead; my in-laws see me as theirs now. None of this has been easily won, and none of it came without a struggle. We pushed for nine and a half years for my father-in-law to even meet me. Every bit of that time was a struggle, but eventually the pushing paid off. My father-in-law is now my friend. There were six teenagers at our big wedding party two years ago, young people who may or may not find they are L, G, B or T as time progresses, young people who saw that their parents and families both valued and validated our relationship.

Of course it’s harder to come out without a partner, without that very personal ‘reason’ to be out. So how about this for a reason? That our world is ALL our responsibility. Thatcher has been gone a long time now, we know there is such a thing as society, and we know we make it; not just for ourselves, but for those to come. With each personal – sometimes very hard, sometimes very simple – declaration of truth, we’re honest on our own behalf and also hopefully making things easier for those young LGBT people coming after us. Just as the community before us made enormous, brave and often scarey changes in their turn. I know I’m hugely indebted to the women and men of all sexual orientations, including straight, who won for us the freedoms and rights that we – in the West at least – so often take for granted. We now need to take their work on into the future. It’s work that I hope will included lots more out women, their history, their future, their present and their presence.

It’s up to all of us to step up, come out and start showing ourselves. Time’s up for the incredible invisible women.