Whither transference?

So it seems I have to write a paper -- two of them, actually -- on the topic of gay relationships for my Clinical Work with Diverse Populations class.

One is a deconstruction of an intervention created in a group project, the topic of which was "The Social Invalidation of Same-Sex Relationships."

The other is a paper on "What happened to me in this class," which invariably will be about this whole issue of same-sex relationships, heterosexism and what it was like for me personally to be "the gay" on said project.

As it is, one of my project mates has informed me that she wrote her "What happened" paper on the experience of working on this project with me, the "real life" gay. I really like this classmate and friend a lot. And she seemed genuinely touched in some way by "the emotional experience" of learning ... I don't know what she learned ... but apparently it was something important.

But it was a little weird for me, this whole affair, because the experience of transference was so fucking unavoidable (unless I had chosen, instead, to work on a project surrounding socio-economic status, old people or transsexuals).

As Dr. M noted, it's not like I have any special understanding of the gay experience, not any more than she has a special understanding of the heterosexual experience. But I must say that when it comes down to *me* getting something about the gay experience that heterosexuals do not -- and both of my project mates are straight -- I suppose it's natural that I would develop a world of transference on the topic.

I was already having an issue. The whole project was born from me telling The Debutante that I believe the experience of my recent divorce has included a fair amount of social invalidation. But I had questioned how one could expect validation for a breakup when the relationship itself doesn't get much social validation from the start. The Deb, hearing me say this, said, "That should be our project! If it's not too close to home...."

I thought about it and figured, yeah, it's pretty damn close to home, but I can deal with that. And to a great degree, I have. S2 might think otherwise, because she periodically gets a ration of comments from me about "your people" and the like.

I am, of course, banking on the fact that my straight friends don't assume I hold them personally responsible for oppression and that S2, in particular, knows I don't see her "model" family as a symbol of all the heterosexist machine would deny me and the next woman who's lucky enough to hitch up to your dear UCM's love train.

As I've said REPEATEDLY, I've always considered being a lesbian a free pass to the cultural expectation that I have children. (To that idea, I say both, Eeeww, childbirth! and Trust me, you don't want me to be *anyone's* parent.)

But, really, not only can I NOT get married, but there are plenty of so-called supportive people in my life to whom I would not even bother to tell of my love interests -- at least, not until it was time to get the U-haul -- because they just do not respond the same way to gay relationships as they do to straight ones. After a while of living an openly gay life, you learn this. One of the things you learn is that your gay friends usually "get it" better than anyone else.

I've had times in my life where my social network was almost exclusively gay. There's always managed to be one good friend who's an ardent Christian (and, god save her, a Republican) in the mix -- as well as some progressive straights -- but my friends were predominantly gay for many years.

As of late, this has not been the case. I can count the gay friends in my immediate social sphere on one hand -- and still have one or two fingers left over, depending on whether I count the lesbian who's having major transference issues with me and her mom lately and whether XGF is in the mix. And one of them is a gay boy I rarely see -- unless he's snorting coke off my dining table at 2 in the morning.

As S2 has said, I'm "a gay girl trapped in a straight woman's world."

This is my own doing. Happily embedded in a relationship for nearly seven years, I let certain social activities slide. And there was a friend I gave the old heave-ho. And one moved away. And I left the corporate world, where I knew a few. And then I went and broke up.

So who was there for my "safety net" when I was suddenly out on my own?

One and a half old lesbians. (The "half" thinks I'm foolish for ending the relationship but made a few supportive comments anyway.)

And two or three straight women who I am still just getting to know. (A shout-out to you, ladies!)

Because my *other* straight friends around these parts? Those would be a bunch of ball-dropping, less-than-supportive people, a few of whom have some serious issues with their moralizing Christianity and were actually taking some GLEE in my breakup (mainly because of the prospect that XGF might go straight -- WHATEVER...).

I don't want to go into anymore detail. I'm EXHAUSTED from all of this. But you can see, maybe, just why this project has felt psychologically taxing to me -- and why I'm not especially looking forward to writing the papers.

*Of course* I've got some transference going on here. I think there'd be something wrong with me if I didn't. But all things considered, I'd prefer to be writing some homoerotica than papers about heterosexim. Because, in the end, it's not the occasional experience of homophobia that's getting to me here. It's the unending heterosexism.

And the fact that I'll *never* get to clean up on the wedding registries the way my straight friends do -- if only because more than half the people in my life wouldn't take my relationship (if I had one) seriously enough to think it warrants a gift of nice silverwear or a Limoges setting or two.

Whann! Whann! Whine. Whimper. Sniffle. Sigh. ... Please excuse me while I go invalidate *myself* so as not to be harmed so much by those who will be doing it to me next.