What I couldn’t know then was whether I truly wanted children, or whether I just wanted to prove wrong everyone who had pitied me. While I was becoming true to myself, the world changed. Even though I was in love with some of the women I dated, I felt mildly fraudulent in those intimacies. I spent years drifting between relationships with men and with women I was mildly bisexual in a fluid era, but if children hadn’t been part of the equation, I wouldn’t have bothered with the other half. I was encouraged by my parents and the world to marry a woman and procreate. When I came out, the prevailing view was that I was shortsightedly choosing sexual fantasies over producing a family. The origin of that sadness was opaque, but I think it came most from how the absence of children in the lives of gay people had been repeatedly held up as my tragedy. With the happy children in my adult life, I felt guilty, even mean, about being sad.
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