Wicklow Town, Thank you

From a certain angle, with favourable lighting I can pass for quite sane and sorted. From over there, where you can’t really see me, I can appear as a strong independent woman who knows her own mind and does as she pleases. But I’m not. There’s something missing.

My family hang no pictures of me on their walls. My parents to not have a photograph of all their children and grand children together. I do not know what sort of women my sisters turned into. I was branded weird and difficult in adolescence and have been mostly ignored since.

I was reading Ursula Hannigan’s various articles and interviews. Her story just hit home. The tears flowed.  I was also flicking to and from @YesWicklow’s Twitter feed. When the Rathnew result came in I was in bits. It happened, in front of my eyes – an ex nun was proposed to by her American wife. You could watch that forever.

The Church indoctrination led me to believe I was sent from God to punish my mother for crimes unmentionable.  I attended the early Sunday Mass, alone, to pray for my evil soul. It’s only very recently I began to understand why I never questioned the inequality at home. After a sleepless night thinking of all those lesbians in Dublin Castle,  it’s only this morning I have asked why my sisters are treated so differently to me.

We were all led to believe there was something so fundamentally and inherently wrong with us that being ignored was the best we could hope for. No, not all of us. But I was. And ye changed that. That was a very clear message ye sent yesterday. We’ll have to wait and see how parents like mine react.

Wicklow, thank you.

And I’m still balling crying.

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