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Identity in midlife lesbians: A kaleidoscopic view

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Identity in midlife lesbians: A kaleidoscopic view

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Content IDENTITY IN MIDLIFE LESBIANS:
A KALEIDOSCOPIC VIEW
Copyright 2004
by
Mary Mildred Read
A Dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
(EDUCATION-COUNSELING PSYCHOLOGY)
December 2004
Mary Mildred Read
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DEDICATION
For Tina Marie (1971-1988), my beautiful rosebud girl-the redheaded
daughter of my dreams-forever 17.
And for Robert Forrest Read (1949-1994), the best big brother in the world,
who taught me what it means to love to learn for learning’s sake.
May my honored dead be honored by my life, and may my beloved living
always live through me. (Cherokee Prayer)
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A project of this scale requires a team effort and multiple layers of support.
I have been extremely fortunate to receive that from many wonderful friends, col
leagues, teachers, and mentors along my path. My first mentor in this field, Dr.
Lisa L. T. Hoshmand, sparked my curiosity and fed my interest in qualitative re
search. That connection led me to work with Dr. Donald E. Polkinghome, my
advisor and dissertation chair at the University of Southern California. His
generosity in working with his advisees, hosting monthly study meetings in his
home for many years, greatly enhanced my educational experience overall and this
project in particular. I also owe a deep debt of gratitude to Dr. Walter L. Williams,
my guiding light in lesbian studies and my role model as an out, proud, queer
member of the academy. His encouragement and guidance helped me to stay true
to my vision for this project and will continue to enhance its usefulness within and
beyond the LGBT community. Thanks are due to other committee members as
well, including Dr. Joan I. Rosenberg, Dr. William G. Tierney, and Dr. Clyde
Crego, my first instructor at USC.
This project could not have come to fruition without the steadfast support,
encouragement, and understanding that I received from my family of colleagues at
California State University, Fullerton, where I have been teaching in the Depart
ment of Counseling since 1990. To my many co-workers, students, and adminis
trators over the years (who are too numerous to name), as well as to my two
graduate assistants (Anhthu and Yvonne), my heartfelt thanks for their unwavering
faith in me and for their commitment to my continued growth and success.
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Many webs of interconnection have provided essential support as this
project evolved over the years. Several of my closest friends shared in-depth inter
views with me for a pilot study early on, giving me the courage to share my own
story in this version of the work. Sisterhood is powerful, and these womyn
(anonymous due to the research) inspired me and helped me to become who I am
today. My friends are my “family of choice,” and so my deepest thanks go to my
precious circles of friends: my musical family (Vox Femina Los Angeles), my
USC study group (Hsing-Fang, Jenny, Sujatha, Valerie, Julie, and Fox), my pre-
doctoral internship colleagues at the University of California, Riverside, Student
Counseling Center (Bob, David, Manya, Naomi, Brad, Jacqueline and others), two
groups of wonderful womyn with whom I share a loving, creative, and balanced
practice of feminist spirituality (including Monica, Barbara, Susan, and Debra), and
my dear friends with whom I have shared living arrangements, office spaces, and
keep-in-touch luncheons (Cynthia, Lisa, Pablo, Natalia, Stevie, and Karen). With
out their insight, honesty, practical support, and occasional admonitions I would
never have finished what I started.
Last, and best, my gratitude goes to my life partner, Liz, who came just in
time for the celebration, which we aim to extend for the rest of our lives. She
brought me the family that I had always longed for (including grandchildren!), and
our lives grow richer and sweeter by the day. I thank her for being an out, proud
dyke, and for being proud of me, as well.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION ............................................................................................................. ii
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.......................................................................................... iii
LIST OF TABLES AND FIGURES...........................................................................ix
ABSTRACT ..................................................................................................................x
CHAPTER
1. INTRODUCTION.......................................................................................... 1
Overview of the Project.......................................................................... 1
The Scope of the Project......................................................................... 6
The Baby Boom Cohort...................................................................6
Voices of Diversity in Psychotherapy Research............................6
Estimated Number of Midlife American Lesbians................ 9
Invisibility of Lesbians...........................................................10
Minority Status and Multicultural Identity........................... 13
Ageism.....................................................................................14
Background of the Project.................................................................... 16
The Mental Health Community and Homosexuality...................17
Early History: Late 19th Century.........................................17
20th-Century Views on Homosexuality............................... 19
Goals and Methodology........................................................................24
My Standpoint in This Project............................................................. 25
Description of Chapters........................................................................29
2. REVIEW OF LITERATURE......................................................................32
Theories of Identity and the Self.......................................................... 33
Self Versus Self-Concept...............................................................34
Self-Discovery Versus Self-Creation...........................................35
Essentialism............................................................................ 36
Social Constructionism and Social Constructivism............ 39
Postmodern Middle Ground or “Both/And” Positions 42
Self and Identity in Psychotherapy Practice Research .............. 45
Self-Psychology......................................................................46
Humanistic Psychology......................................................... 50
Dimensions of Identity.......................................................................... 52
Gender Identity.............................................................................. 54
Racial Identity................................................................................ 57
Disability/Temporary Ability Identity..........................................59
Multicultural, Multiple-Issue, “Rainbow” Identity.....................60
Feminist Identity............................................................................ 60
Lesbian Identity............................................................................. 61
Historical Definitions............................................................ 62
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Identifying as Lesbian........................................................... 65
Essentialism and Lesbian Identity.........................................69
Social Constructionism/ Constructivism and Lesbian
Identity............................................................................ 71
“Middle Ground” Models of Lesbian Identity.....................74
Narrative................................................................................................76
Life Stories.................................................................................... 77
Emplotment............................................................................ 81
Narrative Structure.................................................................83
Narrative Analysis..................................................................84
Narrative Identity...........................................................................85
Conclusions............................................................................................87
3. METHODOLOGY........................................................................................89
Rationale................................................................................................90
Purpose of the Study......................................................................90
Need for the Study.........................................................................91
Evolution of the Study...................................................................93
Feminist Ideals for Research........................................................ 95
Data Gathering...................................................................................... 96
Cohort.............................................................................................97
Narrative Identity Expressed in Life Stories............................... 98
Data Selection Process.................................................................100
Sources of Narrative Data About Midlife Lesbian Lives......... 101
Topical Books Containing Quotes......................................102
Autobiographies...................................................................103
Collections of Brief Life Story Recollections....................104
Issue-Related Collections of Life Story Portions...............106
Unpublished Doctoral Dissertations on Lesbian
Identity.......................................................................... 109
Summary of Sources............................................................121
Data Analysis.......................................................................................122
4. RESULTS .................................................................................................. 127
Imagery of “Worlds” and “Difference” as Organizing
Constructs.....................................................................................128
Limits of the Model.....................................................................130
Domains of the Conceptual Model.............................................131
Historical Context and Generational Cohort.....................................134
The 1950s.....................................................................................137
The 1960s.....................................................................................139
The 1970s.....................................................................................140
Stereotypes in the Cultural Story................................................ 140
Personal World: Where Difference Is Noticed and Integrated 142
Life Cycle Effects on Identity.................................................... 144
Progression of Identity.................................................................145
Self-Concept and Related Identity Plots About Lesbianism ....149
Denial—”I’m Not Lesbian”: Lack of Lesbian
Role Models..................................................................149
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Nonacceptance—”I’m Lesbian, and Therefore
Defective, or Sick, or Sinful”: Dealing With
Shame, Stigma, and Self-Doubt...................................152
Acceptance—”Pm Lesbian, So What, I’m OK and
Will Live With It”: Coming Out to Oneself.............. 158
Celebration—”Yes! I’m Lesbian and Proud, Glad
to Be”: Honoring a “Tangential Perspective” ........... 161
Social World: Where Difference Is Processed and Expressed....... 165
Sexuality.......................................................................................165
Exploration and Development of Lesbian Sexuality......... 166
Lesbian Sexuality Absent in Cultural View.......................167
Family Life...................................................................................170
Family of Origin...................................................................171
Family of Choice..................................................................172
Work Life.....................................................................................172
Closeted at Work..................................................................173
Out at Work.......................................................................... 175
Political World: Where Difference Is Enacted and Celebrated 177
Building Lesbian Community.................................................... 178
Enjoyment of “Like” Others................................................ 180
Alliances Across Differences..............................................181
Reducing Heterosexism and Homophobia......................... 181
Celebrating Diversity................................................................... 182
Addressing Issues of Race and Class..................................182
Making a Contribution.........................................................184
Summary.............................................................................................. 185
5. SUMMARY AND DISCUSSION............................................................187
Findings and the Literature.................................................................189
Mandate for Multicultural Competence Relative to
Lesbian Clients............................................................................ 194
Summary of Findings and Application of the Model to
Author’s Life Story Portion.........................................................196
My Story.......................................................................................198
Life Lessons................................................................................. 214
Living in a Loving Partnership............................................214
Connecting With Community.............................................214
Working for Social Justice..................................................215
Discrimination Is Not Fair...................................................215
All Oppressions Are Linked................................................216
Meeting People Opens Doors..............................................216
Find Work That You Love..................................................216
Choose a Career That Supports Your Life.........................217
Finding Affirming Spiritual Contexts................................ 218
The Importance of Lesbian Role Models and Mentors 218
Coming Out to Family and Friends.................................... 219
Finding Feminist and/or Lesbian-Affirming
Psychotherapy.............................................................. 219
Finding Lesbian-Affirming Books, Articles, Movies,
and Music......................................................................220
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Participating in Political Activism..................................... 220
Importance of Close Lesbian Friendships..........................221
Plot Your Own Life Course.................................................221
Survive Until You Can Thrive............................................222
Summary.............................................................................. 222
Contributions and Implications for Future Research........................223
REFERENCES......................................................................................................... 233
APPENDICES.......................................................................................................... 261
A. AMERICAN PSYCHOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION GUIDELINES
FOR PSYCHOTHERAPY WITH LESBIAN, GAY, & BISEXUAL
CLIENTS ...................................................................................................262
B. ADDITIONAL SOURCES...................................................................... 303
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LIST OF TABLES AND FIGURES
Table
1. Data Sources for the Study............................................................................... 3
Figure
1. Outline of conceptual model ....................................................................... 124
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ABSTRACT
This project examines issues regarding the formation of a positive lesbian
identity faced by the cohort of midlife North American lesbian women who were
bom between approximately 1940 and 1965. Data from a variety of academic and
popular sources (including interview studies, autobiographies, dissertations and
topical collections about aspects of lesbian life) consisted of narrative accounts and
life story portions gathered from approximately 500 self-identified North American
lesbians who are members of the baby boom generation. From this retrospective
data a collage of sorts emerged, revealing a complex picture of midlife lesbian
identity. A variety of recursive, fluid pathways became visible, through which the
common destination of positive identification as a lesbian was reached, across
common issues and in a variety of contexts.
The variety and unity of the retrospective meaning-making processes inher
ent in midlife lesbian identity are presented by displaying the data collage through
the kaleidoscopic lens of the conceptual model that arose from the analysis of that
data. This model uses the construct of lifeworlds (personal, social, and political) as
processing points in the ongoing development of narrative identity, set against the
historical background of this cohort. The shifting, overlapping, and contextual
nature of the landscape of lesbian identity is shown, providing a broader under
standing of self and identity issues for older women in general and midlife lesbians
in particular.
The feeling of “being different” (reflected in the narrative data collage) pro
vides a unifying theme in the conceptual model, which is intended for use within
and beyond the psychotherapy community to increase understanding and raise
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awareness regarding the challenges midlife North American lesbians met in form
ing positive lesbian identities and constructing fulfilling lives in the face of hetero
sexism and homophobia. As a demonstration of the model’s utility, portions of my
own life story are viewed through its lens. Sixteen life lessons drawn from the data
collage regarding forming a positive lesbian identity at midlife are highlighted, and
implications for psychotherapists and other helping professionals working with
middle-aged women are discussed.
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CHAPTER 1
INTRODUCTION
Overview o f the Project
The purpose of this project was to describe and understand issues regarding
the formation of a positive lesbian identity that are faced by the cohort of midlife
North American lesbian women who were bom between approximately 1940 and
1965. The findings of this dissertation are presented in the form of a conceptual
collage, a compilation of perspectives integrated into a model through which to
view narrative accounts of life experiences from this cohort. This conceptual
model is intended for use within and beyond the psychotherapy community to
increase understanding and to raise awareness regarding the challenges that these
midlife North American lesbians met in forming a positive lesbian identity. A
broad perspective on how challenges are met and a fulfilling life is constructed is
described, with implications beyond the cohort under study.
While it is highly unlikely that identification as a lesbian was universally
seen as a positive option by all of the women who could have met the varied defini
tions of being lesbian (see chapter 2), such a positive outcome is the focus of this
research. Women who did not experience their lesbian identity as possible or posi
tive would have been unlikely to volunteer for the kind of interview research about
lesbian identity that produced the sources of life story data that were analyzed for
this project (see chapter 3 for a description of these sources). This project was not
an attempt to produce a monolithic model for understanding all midlife North
American lesbian lives, or what Van Gelder and Brandt referred to as “the big book
of everything that ever happened to all gay women” (1996, p. 13). Rather, a
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conceptual model was created that is similar to a collage or kaleidoscope, with
many separate yet integrated elements contributing to a complex, shifting view of
this cohort’s lifeworlds and identity processes.
From a variety of sources (see Table 1) I had access to information from
approximately 500 self-identified lesbians, interviewed from the late 1980s to
2001, who were at least 40 years old at the time of their interview and are members
of the baby boom generation, that is, bom between 1940 and 1965. Because I am
a member of this cohort, I supplemented these data with materials from my own
identity development in the discussion section (chapter 5). I integrated information
from earlier narrative analyses and life story portions from the available literature
in psychotherapy-related fields (e.g., counseling psychology, sociology) regarding
this cohort’s identity issues with portions of life stories from the 500 contributors to
the data. The demographics and backgrounds of the contributors included in this
literature (see chapter 3) roughly correspond with the diversity of the North
American populace in terms of race, socioeconomic status, and religious practices.
Information from their life stories was examined iteratively to explore their varied
lifeworlds (defined below). This integrated information was then examined for
commonalities, which were then coordinated to form a conceptual kaleidoscope
through which to view the experiences and self-reflections of this generation of
North American lesbians regarding their identity.
Since some of the literature used to create the conceptual kaleidoscope pre
sented in chapter 4 is not generally accessible as part of the literature of psychother
apy per se (see chapter 3 for details on these sources), I have chosen to highlight
the perspectives of a number of women who gave qualitative interviews to previous
researchers and to position my conceptualization of their lifeworlds (Husserl, 1925)
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Table 1
Data Sources for the Study
Source category Author, year
Number of
participants
over age 40
Topical books with S. E. Johnson, 1991 14
life story quotes Kehoe, 1988 100
Kennedy & Davis, 1993 45
Autobiographies Berzon, 2002 1
Faderman, 2003 1
Nestle, 1987 1
Brief life story collections Adelman, 1986 22a
Gershick, 1998 9
Issue-related collections Abbott & Farmer, 1995 42b
Cassingham & O’Neil, 1993 34°
Curb & Manahan, 1985 47d
Penelope & Wolfe, 1989 46
Penelope, 1994 34
Sang, Warshow, & Smith, 1991 41
Doctoral dissertations C. A. Anderson, 2001 15
Bennett, 1992 4
Bourne, 1990 6
Imbra, 1998 4
Jackson, 1995 11
Pedersen, 2000 19
Silberkraus, 1995 3
Total Participants 499
aSome 65+. bMost 40+ by context, approximate number, no ages given.
d Approximate number.
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within the realm of psychotherapy-related literature. It is hoped that this kaleido
scopic representation will give a vicarious appreciation of these women’s experi
ences, increase understanding regarding their varied lifeworlds, and enable others
(especially psychotherapists and other helping professionals who work with this
population) to see the world at least partly from their perspective.
To explore the identity processes of this cohort of midlife women and what
it means to them to self-identify as lesbian, I use the construct of lifeworld
developed by Husserl (1925) in his discussion of the phenomenology of psycho
logy. Entering the perspective of another is never completely possible (as Husserl
pointed out), but sharing one’s perspective of what life feels like in the experienc
ing can offer an authentic view of one’s lifeworld, by which mutual understanding
and empathy are increased (Bugental, 1965). Habermas (1981) later used the term
lifeworld to indicate shared common understandings developed through contacts
taking place over time within a variety of social groupings (e.g., families, com
munities). The lifeworld construct is particularly useful in speaking of identity
issues because inherent in it is a sense of mutual participation and community
action, the recursive co-constitution of a sense of who “we” are.
There have been some previous explorations of the lifeworlds of specific
populations who might seek psychotherapy, such as Joanne Greenberg’s I Never
Promised You a Rose Garden (1964), or Flora Rheta Schreiber’s Sybil (1973), told
from the therapist’s perspective, or the stories of famous people in the media such
as Mike Wallace, Patty Duke, and Joan Rivers, who gave first-person accounts of
their struggles to overcome mental health issues. However, there are many differ
ences between this project and those works. First, and most important, lesbianism
is not a mental disorder, as are schizophrenia and dissociative identity disorder,
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from which the protagonists of the first two life stories suffer, respectively, or the
depression, addiction, and anxiety with which many famous people (whose stories
have been recounted in popular media) have struggled. Second, this work is not
one long, first-person life story but a compilation of perspectives drawn from many
shorter life story portions integrated into a conceptual framework of identity
domains. This method produced a unique collage of perspectives, honoring
diversity while giving a sense of the cultural group—middle-age, North American,
self-identified lesbians—and the social milieu in which their positive sense of
lesbian identity developed. Third, while the first two works cited above may be
loosely considered case studies, neither they nor the autobiographical accounts of
the media personalities’ struggles are presented for an academic audience. Some of
the source material used in this study is from works published in the popular press,
while other sources are culled from academic publishing and dissertations (see
chapter 3) and this project is aimed, in its current form, primarily at an academic
audience.
Therefore, the contribution of this dissertation lies in presenting an overall
view of midlife North American lesbian lives, not by generating new theory or
conducting new case studies but by pulling together various sources of already-
gathered life story portions and creating a collage of lifeworld perspectives to
increase understanding of and empathy for these unique, courageous women. It
should be underscored that the reflection of multiple perspectives is crucial to the
authenticity of this project. The use of a collage of life story portions helps to
represent a variety of pathways through which the common destination of positive
identification as a lesbian was reached. Although I include reflections from my
own life experience (chapter 5), I do not take the position that all midlife North
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American lesbian lives are alike nor that my own personal experience is reflective
of the life stories of the entire cultural group.
The Scope o f the Project
The Baby Boom Cohort
The psychotherapy field in North America is faced with a rapidly expanding
aging population, as the post-World War generation passes through midlife. People
65 years and older represent 13% of the population and are currently the fastest
growing segment of the U.S. population. It is estimated that, by 2030, older adults
will account for approximately 20% of the total population (U.S. Department of
Health and Human Services, 2001). As a unique cohort, this group, collectively
termed the baby boom generation (A. J. Stewart, 1994), has a wealth of information
to share with the psychotherapy community. Being bom during or after World War
II, this generation entered a society that had suffered a massive loss of innocence.
As the baby boomers came of age in the 1960s and 1970s, the impact of social
change movements (e.g., civil rights), technological advancements (e.g., “instant”
global communications), and a greater exposure to Eastern philosophies (e.g., yoga,
Buddhism) and cultures reflected the shrinkage of the globe that worldwide war
efforts had begun. Changes in postwar North American society such as the
Women’s Liberation movement (Weedon, 1987) in turn recursively affected the
identity processes of this unique generation.
Voices o f Diversity in Psychotherapy Research
Changing times in America during the period that the baby boom generation
was forming its self-awareness and social consciousness both forced and
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encouraged the broadening of perspectives to include more diversity than had been
typically embraced by official power structures. The civil rights movement and the
changing needs of an increasingly diverse population influenced the flow of
research and training mandates in psychotherapy-related fields, emphasizing a need
for tolerance and openness as ethical standards and for conceptual models that
reflect diversity as essential for training competent, ethical practitioners. Systemic
thought came to prominence in the “hard” sciences as well as in the social sciences,
and the interconnection and interdependence of all life forms came to be celebrated
as healthy physical and social realities.
The fields relating to psychotherapy (e.g., counseling psychology, socio
logy, social work) have embraced their responsibility to reflect, in their research
and practice, the diversity of the clients who will utilize therapy services, as well as
the diversity of the larger social, political, cultural, and economic worlds in which
clients’ lives are contextualized (Espin & Gawelek, 1992; R. L. Hall & Greene,
1996). Ideally, psychotherapy literature includes the actual voices of participants in
the presentation of research (Grossman et ah, 1997, p. 80). As well, the voices of
marginalized, underserved, previously “invisible” persons and groups must be
included as the scholarship underpinning the practice of psychotherapy continues to
develop (Comas-Diaz & Greene, 1994; Grossman et al.; Tierney, 1997). Informa
tion about the lives of women, especially older women, and older lesbian women in
particular, deserves a prominent place in the training of psychotherapists.
However, there is only a small amount of literature currently available
concerning the identity issues that lesbians face, although that literature is growing
(Greene, 1997; Jay, 1995; Mallon, 1998). The focus on diversity within counseling
psychology and other psychotherapy-related fields had previously been aimed
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mostly at issues related to ethnicity, not on sexual orientation or identity issues
(Brown, 1995; Dworkin, 2000; Finley, 1997; Frye, 1996; Jones, 1997).
In the studies that have focused on North American lesbians at midlife, the
researchers sometimes drew themes from narrative data that had been gathered as
interviews. The current study drew on such themes, along with life story portions
from other interviews with self-identified midlife lesbians that were presented in
the literature without analysis. The conceptual model presented in chapter 4 offers
bridges of understanding to clinicians through which to understand the rich com
plexities of their clients’ lives, especially the lives of older women. Conceptualiza
tions of the issues self-identified lesbians of the baby boom generation that were
faced in the formation of their personal sense of identity contain valuable insights
for practitioners and clients of psychotherapy. Realizing that all people are not the
same in terms of their sexual identity is a significant outreach for the psychotherapy
community. As noted above, this is important for ethical service delivery
(Grossman et al., 1997) and therefore affects the training mandates for those
preparing new psychotherapists.
A significant tool for supporting diverse clients in psychotherapy-related
fields is the American Psychological Association’s 2001 Guidelines for Treating
Lesbian, Gay, and Bisexual Clients (appendix A), built on the principles of the
same organization’s 1992 version of its ethical code. These guidelines highlight
the fact that homosexuality and bisexuality are not mental illnesses, but that the
stresses associated with living under prejudice stigmatization may impact the
mental health of lesbian, gay, and bisexual (LGB) clients. They also encourage
clinicians to investigate and reduce their own biases and inaccurate perceptions
about this population and to enrich their training experiences to include specific
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sensitivity to and competence in the issues potentially facing their LGB clients.
Consonant with these principles, bringing midlife lesbian life stories into focus and
building a conceptual collage for therapists to increase their understanding of this
population therefore reflected ethical practice as a psychotherapist. This aspect of
the current study is discussed in greater detail in chapter 5.
In deference to the need for research on diversity, it should also be noted
that, while the focus of this project was on the stories told by women reflecting the
development of a positive sense of lesbian identity, there was a wide variation in
how positively this aspect of life was viewed by the interview participants (see
chapter 3). Also, it is likely that women who felt quite conflicted about their
lesbian identity or viewed it very negatively would not participate at all in research
interviews having to do with being lesbian. Voices representing the worldviews of
women who did not develop a positive (or at least neutral) sense of lesbian identity
are therefore missing from this collage, except as represented by women who
moved through a time of negativity and conflict in their identity journeys.
Estimated Number o f Midlife
American Lesbians
Due to the relative invisibility of lesbian lives (discussed below), there is no
accurate accounting of the number of lesbians living in the United States, nor is
there a sure way to calculate the total percentage of women who “are” lesbian. The
discussion of what constitutes “being a lesbian” is presented in chapter 2wo, under
the heading Lesbian Identity. Despite these factors, it is clear that there are, indeed,
midlife lesbians in the population of the United States, in numbers large enough to
sustain such accouterments of cultural life in the new millennium as travel
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agencies, recording labels, bed and breakfast chains, and music festivals (Van
Gelder & Brandt, 1996).
Therefore, to roughly estimate the number of midlife lesbians in America, I
followed the same formula that Zsa Zsa Gershick (1998) employed, described
further in chapter 3. I combined the 2000 census bureau figures for the projected
number of women over 40 in the United States (retrieved from the Web site
www.usatoday.com/graphics/census2000.unitedstates) with Kinsey’s (Kinsey,
Pomeroy, Martin, & Gebhard, 1953) finding that approximately 8% of adult
women were lesbian. Of the total population of the United States in the 2000
census (estimated to be 281.4 million), approximately 31.5 million were women
between the ages of 40 and 65. By taking 8% of this population group, this
formula indicates that, as of the new century, approximately 2.5 million midlife
lesbians (the population under study) lived in the United States. To place this
number in perspective as a sizable population bloc, 2.5 million Americans have
bipolar disorder; the same number suffer from rheumatoid arthritis; 2.5 million
yogurt cups were sold in the United States in 2003; there are currently 2.5 million
smoking deaths worldwide annually; and there were 2.5 million votes cast for the
outcome of the first American Idol television show.
Invisibility o f Lesbians
When the topic is heart disease, the number of Americans that die annually
(about 1 million) receives significant press and research coverage. The population
of Americans with HIV infection (also estimated to be about 1 million) likewise
receives notice from the American public, albeit less than adequate funding for
treatment, support, and research for a cure. How is it that 2.5 million midlife
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lesbians in America remain relatively invisible to the American public? The
National Museum and Archive of Lesbian and Gay History (1996, p. 86) described
three aspects of invisibility that affect the current state of research on lesbian lives:
(a) the omission of lesbian lives from public debate and media representations
about homosexuality, (b) an exclusion of difference or separateness from gay men’s
lives resulting in a conflation of “gay” issues as gay male issues, and (c) an overall
denial in heterosexual society of the existence of lesbianism. Nevertheless, there is
a lesbian past, a herstory (W. Stewart, 1995) of individuals, communities, causes,
and so forth, that are an integral part of the social fabric in North America and
around the globe (D’Emilio, 1983; Faderman, 1999; Ferguson, 1990; Katz, 1983;
Kennedy & Davis, 1993; Zimmerman & McNaron, 1996). Despite this rich past,
lesbian lives have been largely invisible due to an overlooking of difference (one
sees only what one is prepared to see) and an erasure of the life details in which
that difference would be displayed (Faderman, 1996). As Imbra (1998) noted:
The history and culture of lesbians, although rich in language, music,
literature, spirituality, symbolism, community and more, has, until recently,
been a culture of the closet. This is true for no other marginalized group
today, with the exception of gay males, (p. 42)
Until the rebirth of lesbian scholarship in the past 3 decades, knowledge
about lesbian lives was “under-theorized and under-researched” (Vicinus, 1994,
p. 57), particularly in the academy (Duberman, Vicinus, & Chauncey, 1989; Imbra,
1998; W. Stewart, 1995). This underrepresentation of lesbian experience in the
literature is a symptom of both the invisibility of lesbian lives and the erasure of the
differences that mark a life as lesbian, which can be linked to sexism (W. Stewart,
1995) and heterosexism (Rich, 1986).
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Sexism affects research on women because in an androcentric culture men’s
lives are more the focus of history and research than are women’s experiences.
While the lives of lesbians and gay men receive less attention than those of their
heterosexual counterparts (Gonsiorek Weinrich, 1991), especially within the
psychotherapy community (Garnets & Kimmel, 1993), androcentrism has also had
an effect within the gay and lesbian community (Retter, 1999). The cultural
privileging of males (Weedon, 1987) has an effect on research conducted con
cerning this community such that gay men’s lives are both more often represented
and less often erased than are the lives of lesbians. “Lesbians have historically
suffered more from the process of erasure than gay men, since history (as opposed
to herstory) has usually been concerned with men and their actions” W. Stewart,
1995, p. 150, emphasis in the original). In a society that compels heterosexuality
(Rich, 1980) and reinforces heterosexism (Blumenfeld, 1992; Bridgewater, 1997),
research on lesbian lives fills a void in scholarship and helps to correct the
invisibility of a significant minority in the American population.
In the framework of psychotherapy research (and more broadly, the related
social science disciplines) the lives and experiences of lesbians have not received
adequate attention. For instance, in general, study of the ways in which lesbians
construct and participate in families is missing from family therapy journals (K. R.
Allen & Demo, 1995; Green, 1996). Also, theoretical conceptions of identity
development and family life cycles do not often include the experience of lesbians
(Card, 1995; Slater, 1995). Even feminist research, with its commitment to
women’s experiences and perspectives, has only recently become more inclusive of
lesbian lives (Honeychurch, 1996; Katz, 1995).
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Knowledge is power, and it helps to counteract social invisibility. “Knowl
edge development is the first stage in creating an understanding of a previously
invisible community” (C. A. Anderson, 2001, p. 81). Imbra (1998) noted that the
invisibility of lesbian administrators in higher education (her population of study)
“provides some protection, yet on the other hand allows for the perpetuation of
internalized, as well as institutionalized, oppression” (p. 16). The presence of more
narrative research in the past 10 years on lesbian lives is a hopeful step in cleaning
out the epistemological closet (Sedgwick, 1990), bringing into visibility a portion
of the population whose experiences had been predominately invisible (Rupp,
1996). “To (re)create lesbian presence, it is necessary to reclaim lesbian existence
and identity by rewriting what has been erased (Imbra, 1998, p. 42).
Minority Status and Multicultural
Identity
The invisibility of lesbians is partially explained by their standing as a
minority within the dominant culture of North America. Being lesbian is a
minority status, not only around difference in terms of sexual orientation but also
in gender status for the “aberration” of not centering on maleness in a culture that
privileges it. Differences are often interpreted in terms of power inequities, pre
venting mutuality and perpetuating stereotypes, prejudice, and other forms of bias
(Brown, 1994; J. B. Miller, 1995). Imbra (1998) related the invisibility of lesbians
to these power inequities: “Erasure of marginalized groups occurs for a variety of
reasons, yet the basic explanations are grounded in inequality, discrimination, and
oppression” (p. 36).
Minority status also links lesbians in a cultural frame by virtue of a shared
experience of oppression. Counseling psychology and other psychotherapy-related
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fields have focused on the contextual nature of multicultural identity increasingly in
recent years (Ibrahim, Ohnishi, & Sandhu, 1997; Merchant & Dupuy, 1996).
However, the identity of minority group members (whether the arena of difference
is ethnicity, class, or sexual orientation, etc.) is compared to the dominant group in
most research, not explored phenomenologically for individual and contextual
meanings. In part, culture determines the individual’s identity development in a
recursive flow with that person’s self-concept (Cushman, 1995; K. J. Gergen & M.
M. Gergen, 1986). Irvine (1996) noted the increasingly broad venues that culture
has come to denote, driven by interdisciplinary conversations about the “intersec
tions of race, ethnicity, gender, and sexual identity” (p. 214) that fall under the
rubric of multiculturalism.
Ageism
The population of interest in this study is self-identified North American
lesbians at midlife (bom between 1940 and 1965). Not only are these participants
women and therefore at a disadvantage in a patriarchal, androcentric society; they
are marginalized on the basis of two other dimensions bearing lesser power and
status: being older and being sexually different. However, there are two aspects of
their identity in which many (although not all) of the 500 women whose voices
were considered for this study were not in the minority. Most of the middle-age
lesbian participants reflected in the literature used as sources for this study were
White and able-bodied, presumably since these are majority characteristics for the
total population of the United States. The demographics of the contributors
matched the general population in these domains, with both being about 25% non-
White.
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Rothblum, Mintz, Cowan, and Haller (1995) noted that “for able-bodied,
middle-class, white women . . . ageism may be the first recognized experience of
oppression” (p. 62). Ageism minoritizes both men and women; however, women’s
lesser earning power over their life span makes them more vulnerable to the
reduction of power and choice that accompanies the aging process in American
society (Friend, 1990). Most research on older women’s lives assumes hetero
sexuality (Browning, Reynolds, & Dworkin, 1991), as does American culture in
general. Older lesbians may be fearful to fully disclose their lesbian identity to
caregivers, researchers, or the legal system, given these increased levels of
vulnerability (Tully, 1989).
In 1991 Sang, Warshow, and Smith spoke of the paucity of information
about older women’s lives in general and older lesbian’s lives in particular, and of
the negativity that characterized most of the information that was available at that
time. They saw the gloominess of the predictions made for aging lesbians by the
dominant cultural story as springing from the heterosexist, nonfeminist assump
tions that a woman’s only satisfying roles in life are as a mate to a man and a
mother to her children, who will all leave her eventually. In their collection of
midlife lesbian’s voices, a more satisfying life course was revealed, with a transi
tion to a new kind and level of creativity at midlife and beyond. These views from
older women regarding how to survive and transform losses offer valuable insights
to psychotherapists, who will inevitably face such issues in their own as well as
their clients’ lives.
These insights are the main motivation for this study: to view and display
for a larger audience the broad range of productive coping strategies that midlife
women, experiencing at least three forms of diminished privilege in North
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American society (women, older, and of stigmatized sexual orientation) have used
to create lives of meaning and fulfillment. Reading life story portions from 500
midlife lesbians has been transformational for me. I believe that their stories have
much to teach about living good lives in hard circumstances.
Background o f the Project
The creation of meaning in human lives is a central pursuit (Parry, 1997;
Polkinghome, 1991a, 1996d). Identity narratives represent one of the avenues by
which people engage in the creation of personal meaning (Polkinghome, 1991a).
Identity is a part of human personality, and gaining answers to the perennial
questions of “who am I?” and “what is my purpose?” is a significant function of
culture (Polkinghome, 1996a, p. 365). As discussed above, culture has a recursive
effect on identity: Status in a culture shapes the individual’s identity, and the
contributions of individuals in turn shape the culture.
The individual does not exist apart from a context, and the view regarding
how important context is to the production (Phelan, 1994) or performance (Butler,
1990, 1993) of identity influences the research done on the topic (Coupland &
Coupland, 1995). Little research is done in psychology (or other psychotherapy-
related fields) on the self per se; rather, it is identity that is studied, along with
constructs about the self (e.g., self-efficacy, self-esteem). I take the position that
identity is how the knowledge of self comes about, which makes it a fruitful realm
of enquiry for psychotherapists. The view of the self that is adopted (explicitly or
implicitly) influences in turn whether identity is seen as internal, stable, and “real”
or context driven, fluid, and immaterial (Henwood, 1994). A more detailed
discussion of the constructs of self and identity is presented in chapter 2.
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Stories about lives represent the interaction of the individual and the various
groups or contexts within which the individual relates (K. J. Gergen & M. M.
Gergen, 1986). Identity narratives serve to communicate in a coherent way about a
stable sense of self (McAdams, 1996; Ricoeur, 1991) while recognizing multiple
layers of self and identities (Doan, 1997; Parry, 1997; Parry & Doan, 1994;
Polkinghome, 1988,1996a). Life stories also instruct the generations who follow,
enriching their lives. “Narratives invite us to walk through lives-to some extent to
reexperience lives-and to think about ways to help others walk through life safely
and contentedly” (Birren, 1996, p. x). To facilitate the reader’s connection to the
life story portions that are presented in chapter 4, a brief history of the social milieu
surrounding the population of interest (i.e., midlife North American lesbians)
follows.
The Mental Health Community and Homosexuality
Early History: Late 19th Century
The context in which the stories of lesbian lives are formed and expressed is
a shifting psychosocial tapestry. The mental health community (e.g., psychiatry,
psychology, psychotherapy, social work) has had its share of cultural changes with
regard to homosexuality (Berzon, 2002; Moses & Hawkins, 1982; Tozer &
McClanahan, 1999). Prior to the late 19th century, the psychological community
was not engaged in the study of homosexuality. According to Moses and Hawkins,
Krafft-Ebbing’s 1887 Psychopathia Sexualis (Krafft-Ebbing, 1935) is generally
seen as the first intersection of psychology and homosexuality. However, W eeks
(1977) cited the German psychiatrist Westphal as the first to publish a definition of
homosexuality as pathology, in 1870.
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The impact of this negative view of homosexuality is apparent in the
psychotherapy community still today, despite many steps toward more openness
and acceptance of differences over the years. The study of psychology and
psychotherapy is grounded in the society surrounding it and, therefore, recursively
draws its identity as a field from society while reforging society through its
discoveries and trends. Spiritual traditions are a part of the sociocultural grounding
on which ideas about homosexuality are evaluated. Unfortunately, in the main
stream Western (Eurocentric) cultures, those traditions were frequently judgmental
of same-sex attractions, acts, and relationships.
The dominant religious view of that time—that homosexuality is a sin and
that all nonprocreative sex is “unnatural” (Bullough, 1979)—was supported by and
influenced Krafft-Ebbing’s work. Both Halperin (1990) and Katz (1990) asserted
that the first published textual reference to homosexuality occurred just a few years
later, in 1892. Connell (1987) noted that “such medical and legal discourses under
lined a new conception of the homosexual as a specific type of person” (pp. 147-
148) and in turn greatly influenced not only the ways in which homosexuality was
perceived as part of the self-concept but also the general social concepts of
femininity and masculinity in the Western world. Notably, operating in the same
time frame, Freud viewed homosexuality merely as an arrest in development, a
natural variation in sexual functioning but not an illness or something of which to
be ashamed, asserting that people are bom essentially bisexual (Browning, 1984;
Freud, 1951, p. 786).
During the late 19th century, as the medical community in general and
psychology in particular were beginning to involve themselves in the diagnosis and
treatment of homosexuality as an individual illness (and social evil), most lesbians
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were depicted as “sick, perverted, inverted, fixated, deviant, narcissistic, maso
chistic, and possibly biologically mutated, at best the daughters of hostile mothers
and embarrassingly unassertive fathers” (Krieger, 1982, p. 93). When lesbian
relationships were visible enough to be “identifiable to the outside world, [they]
tended to be perceived as perverse relationships between women who were
essentially homosexual” (Brown, 1995, p. 3). The collective consciousness became
tainted with this stigma of perversion, even if individuals occasionally resisted it.
Secrecy was institutionalized to the degree that Sedgwick (1990) called the “closet
. . . the defining structure for gay oppression in this century” (p. 48), leading to
pervasive isolation and invisibility for lesbians from the 1880s to the 1960s. The
tide of invisibility oppression began to turn with the onset of the gay liberation
movement during the civil rights era of the mid-20th century.
20th-Century Views on
Homosexuality
The 20th century witnessed (and created) many changes in the society’s
views on homosexuality. Arguably, gays and lesbians living through that historical
period saw more significant changes in status, rights, labeling, and acceptance than
any previous generation (Nestle, 1987). It is this radically shifting social dynamic
that makes the population of interest (i.e., midlife North American lesbian women
from the baby boom cohort) so attractive for this research project. A brief tracing
of the elements that contributed to the changes in the mental health community’s
views on homosexuality follows.
Essentialism versus social constructionism. In the early 20th century, social
scientists and sexologists such as Havelock Ellis (1922) wrote about lesbians as
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though they had been there all the time and were only now being “discovered”
(N. Miller, 1995, p. xii). This follows the essentialist viewpoint (discussed below
and in chapter 2) that lesbianism is innate, part of a stable, internal self (Browning,
1984; Card, 1995; National Museum and Archive of Lesbian and Gay History,
1996). Different perspectives on essentialism generated a range of theories on
lesbianism, including biological and psychoanalytic theories. The common ground
among these theories, apart from their creation by White, European, medical men
from predominately middle-class backgrounds (Faderman, 1991), was the location
of causality within the individual (Brown, 1995; Browning). Following Freud,
early psychoanalytic theorists challenged the supposition that genetics create
lesbianism, although they departed from Freud by claiming that homosexuality was
an illness—a view that prevailed from the 1920s to the 1960s (C. A. Anderson,
2001; Browning; Faderman, 1991; Marcus, 1992; N. Miller). Notably, there is still
no conclusive evidence to date to support a biological etiology for lesbianism
(C. A. Anderson, p. 18).
This essentialist view was then challenged by the social constructionists
(e.g., Butler, 1990; Faderman, 1991), who advanced the notion that the concept of
lesbian was culturally created, thereby positing “a person with particular, identi
fiable characteristics” (N. Miller, 1995, p. xii). This socioculturally recursive
identity position (social constructionism/constructivism) is defined below and
discussed in detail in chapter 2. As the social construction position evolved, a more
radical position was subsequently put forward, that “sexuality and gender identity
[are] constructed within the history of a changing social structure, by processes of
social struggle” (Connell, 1987, p. 148). Within this new framework, lesbianism as
a construct was researched and defined, then applied to women-identified women
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(see chapter 2) who ostensibly had always been there but were not previously
named as lesbian (Brown, 1995; Browning, 1984; Faderman, 1981; Katz, 1995).
Notably, C. A. Anderson (2001) commented that the designation of lesbianism did
not come about “until social conditions of the 20th century offered women the
freedom and ability to live independently of men” (p. 24).
Research on women’ s sexuality in the 1950s. In America, as the first
members of the population of interest (i.e., the “baby boom” age cohort) were
entering the scene, the Kinsey studies (Kinsey, Pomeroy, & Martin, 1948; Kinsey
et al., 1953) greatly expanded the dominant cultural views of sexuality. One signi
ficant expansion was the idea that persons could be a mixture or percentage of
differing types of sexual attraction/orientation, rather than exclusively heterosexual
or homosexual. This more flexible view hinged on a hypothetical continuum of
sexual orientation, with few persons at either 100% homosexual or heterosexual
and with types of attraction subject to change during the life course (N. Miller,
1995). The study of women’s sexuality (Kinsey et al., 1953) was especially salient
in expanding cultural views of lesbianism, since it reported that “many women who
described themselves as heterosexual had in fact experienced an attraction to other
women, with or without accompanying behavior” (Tozer & McClanahan, 1999,
p. 724; see also Faderman, 1991).
McCarthyism and gay liberation. However, these studies did not mean that
the way was smooth for the acceptance of homosexuality as a normal variation of
life expression. In the 1950s, an era characterized by the “irrational persecution of
individuals based on their sexual orientation” (C. A. Anderson, 2001, p. 40) was
dawning. The fear and paranoia engendered by McCarthyism drove many North
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American gays and lesbians further into the closet. The extremes of persecution
and oppression also fostered the birth of the gay liberation movement, with the
founding of the Mattachine Society in 1950 and the Daughters of Bilitus (DOB) in
1955 (Abbott & Love, 1972; Duberman et al., 1989; Jagose, 1996). The DOB was
founded as an alternative to the lesbian bar scene to provide a supportive meeting
place and further societal acceptance of lesbians via assimilation, not activism (at
least initially; Jagose). The first lesbian magazine, “The Ladder,” was published by
the DOB until 1970 (Duberman et al.), when the focus shifted “from a lesbian
periodical to a feminist magazine openly supportive of lesbians” (Weitz, 1984,
p. 243).
Gay liberation and the psychotherapy community. The mental health field
had a mixed response to the beginnings of what would come to be known as the
“gay liberation” movement, sometimes moving toward acceptance and inclusion of
gay and lesbian persons, with occasional retreats to earlier pejorative positions.
Betty Berzon (2002) spoke of this in her autobiography. Berzon was a student of
Dr. Evelyn Hooker at UCLA in the 1950s. In the summer of 1956 Hooker, a social
psychologist, presented findings from her research that placed homosexuality
within the normal range of sexual patterns, psychologically (Berzon, 2002, p. 102).
Others in the field were not so accepting. Albert Ellis, for example, in his
groundbreaking work Reason and Emotion in Psychotherapy (1962), stated, “Fixed
homosexuals in our society are almost invariably neurotic or psychotic . . . there
fore, no so-called normal group of homosexuals is to be found anywhere” (p. 242).
Nevertheless, cultural change continued through the activism of gay and gay-
affirmative psychologists and psychiatrists (Berzon, 2002), many of whom had
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experience in fighting discrimination and prejudice through the civil rights move
ment of the 1960s. In September 1971, at the annual meeting of the American
Psychological Association, Betty Berzon and Don Clark called a meeting of lesbian
and gay psychologists for the first time (Berzon, 2002, p. 171).
Two years later, in 1973, the American Psychiatric Association removed
homosexuality from its published list of mental disorders, with the exception of
ego-dystonic homosexuality (i.e., homosexuality that “felt wrong” to the person or
did not match the person’s sense of self). This change, in addition to effecting the
largest “mass cure” in medical history (Berzon, 2002), paved the way for further
action in the psychological community. For example, a new psychological journal
(The Journal o f Homosexuality) was begun in 1974 to advance scholarship address
ing sexual orientation from a nonpathological view (Silverstein, 1974).
The American Psychological Association, in support and clarification of the
American Psychiatric Association’s earlier announcement, adopted a resolution in
1975 that stated, “Homosexuality per se implies no impairment in judgment,
stability, reliability, or general social or vocational capabilities” (as cited in Conger,
1975, p. 633). Despite such support, when the American Psychiatric Association
published its next version (3rd edition) of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual o f
Mental Disorders (1980), it retained ego-dystonic homosexuality as a category of
mental illness. To help close this “loophole,” “Silverstein (1977)... argued that
acceptance of a client’s internalized homophobia (in the form of ego-dystonic
responses to homosexuality) perpetuates the social oppression of gay and lesbian
individuals” (Tozer & McClanahan, 1999, p. 725). The loophole was closed in
1984, with the removal of ego-dystonic homosexuality from the American Psychi
atric Association’s list of mental disorders. In 1994 the American Psychological
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Association issued a statement that “homosexuality is neither mental illness nor
moral depravity. It is simply the way a minority of our population expresses
human love and sexuality” (American Psychological Association, 1997, p. 2).
Goals and Methodology
The research question guiding this dissertation was as follows: What were
the issues regarding the formation o f a positive lesbian identity faced by the cohort
o f midlife North American lesbian women who were born between approximately
1940 and 1965? This question was posed to guide the description of this cohort of
women and to frame an expanded understanding of their lives, particularly how
they created meaning and fulfillment in their lives despite a minoritized identity.
Gaining new perspective on the lifeworld of this population could further inform
the psychotherapy community about a significant and understudied segment of
their clientele.
To answer the research question, I chose to reflect on life story portions set
forth in published literature (detailed in chapter 3), some of which is from psy
chotherapy-related fields (e.g., counseling psychology, sociology, social work).
The goal was to portray a collage of the narrative data (collected from 500 midlife
lesbian contributors) that others, especially psychotherapists, can use to broaden
their own understanding of this population in particular and of potential identity
issues for older women in general. Again, while all women from this cohort, faced
with the possibility of identifying as lesbian, did not go about this process in the
same way nor reach the same positive conclusions about their lives, the focus of
this study is on a positive sense of lesbian identity, viewed through multiple,
kaleidoscopic lifeworld perspectives.
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The life story portions used as data were drawn from qualitative interviews
with midlife lesbians (see Table 1) and included information relevant to describing
the types of identity issues that these women had faced. I immersed myself in
information gathered from these life story portions, organizing it (along with
themes that other authors had produced from this narrative data) by iteratively
seeking connections among the wealth of perspectives represented and checking the
individual perspectives against the larger collection for goodness of fit and variety.
This process included a collection of previous narrative analyses of these data
(including the themes that other authors had developed), into which I integrated
related narrative information from unanalyzed life story portions gathered in topical
collections based on interviews with self-identified, midlife, North American
lesbians. To maximize the reflection of varying lifeworld perspectives, I chose the
metaphor of worlds to describe the overlapping domains of life experience in which
an awareness of lesbian identity becomes salient.
An outline organizing the flow of information about these worlds was
constructed to highlight the shared story trajectories in the narratives set forth by
and for this cohort of women. The conceptualization of different worlds (personal,
social, political) is not meant to be rigid or exclusive (see chapter 3) but to give a
sense for the recursion constantly transpiring between a midlife lesbian and her
social milieu and among various internal perceptions that she has about her larger
lifeworld.
M y Standpoint in This Project
This research project is personal to me. As Reinharz (1992) noted,
“Feminist authors frequently begin their writing with the ‘personal connection’
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they have to the research topic” (p. 260). I have been interested in issues of identity
as long as I can recall. Long before I had any knowledge of the word lesbian, I
was aware of some differences separating me from other children my age. My
responses to my peers were not “regular”; I played differently, I was interested in
different things, and in many ways I behaved as a “gender outlaw, even in my
preschool years. My understanding of the ways in which I am similar and different
from my peers has evolved over time. Fortunately, that understanding has fostered
acceptance, with the result that I no longer agonize over how and why I am differ
ent but celebrate those differences and allow them to enrich and expand my life. At
50,1 am a midlife, mid-career, “transplanted native” Californian, feminist, lesbian
“womyn,” happily contented with all of those variables. (I repeated the womanness
embedded in the term lesbian for emphasis because I view being lesbian as being
exponentially woman, “woman times woman,” and as spelled the label womyn
[here only] to reflect the “not from or about men” standpoint available in lesbian
feminist thought.)
What began as a vague sense of “difference” has developed into an aspect
of my identity that I would variously locate as my sexual, cultural, gender, per
sonal, political, or spiritual identity, depending on the context of the discussion. In
this postmodern (or post-postmodem) age (W. T. Anderson, 1997; Monk, 1996) it
is clear that identity exists in multiple contexts that are dynamic, overlapping,
recursive, and fluid (Jones & McEwen, 2000; Markus & Nurius, 1986;
Polkinghome, 1992a). Exploring the realm of lesbian identity for my own life and
for other women of my age cohort and national heritage involves a discussion of
these overlapping domains, as well as the cultural and sociopolitical contexts in
which they developed.
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Integrating a sense of sexuality that is different from the mainstream
heterosexist culture in which one is immersed can be a problematic, even traumatic
venture. Despite this, many (perhaps most) women who come to self-identify as
lesbian are able to just that: integrate their sense of sexuality into their overall
identity, experiencing that which their culture names “different” as a positive
quality in their lives (Brown, 1995; Browning, 1984; Eliason, 1996; Rust, 1993).
This ability to create a sense of positive identity in the face of negative messages
from one’s culture about an integral aspect of one’s life is an admirable quality, one
that deserves celebration and recognition as well as further exploration.
As a practicing psychotherapist and an educator/trainer of the next genera
tion of psychotherapists, I am continually drawn to examples of courage and
resilient adaptation in patterns of living (Bonanno, 2004). When facing a difficult
life circumstance or area of uncertainty, stories of others who have braved similar
challenges are particularly bracing, especially if some tools or hints of how they
accomplished this are also presented (Parry & Doan, 1994; Rennie, 1994; Winslade
& Monk, 1998). To support clients’ movement toward positive adaptation, the
therapeutic community has a need for conceptual models to illuminate the gap
between their own experiences and those of their clients. The purpose of this pro
ject was to create such a kaleidoscopic model or conceptual collage, synthesizing
and critiquing the themes found in the narrative analysis of previous life story
research with North American lesbians of the baby boom generation.
Understanding the lifeworld of these midlife lesbians brings a dimension to
psychotherapeutic practice that enriches both the practitioner and the client. With
this increased understanding, therapists can offer strategic support for the identifi
cation processes that midlife lesbians face, since they would be more familiar with
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the kinds of adjustments their older lesbian (or questioning) clients are facing
(Friend, 1990; Moses & Hawkins, 1982; Tozer & McClanahan, 1999). Also, this
conceptualization could inform psychotherapeutic work done on the identity issues
facing older women who do not identify as lesbian and other clients who identify
(or are identified) as members of one or more minoritized, stigmatized groups.
As a multiculturally aware psychotherapist, I am also fascinated by the
wonderfully diverse ways in which human beings choose to live their lives,
patterned against a collage of competing, conflicting, and collaborating back
grounds. In this time of burgeoning awareness of the importance of multicultural
issues, it seems self-evident that psychotherapy must address whatever differences
are salient in clients’ lives in an open and celebratory manner. Remaining unaware
(however benignly) of older lesbians’ lives is not an ethical option for practitioners,
nor is deciding to “help” those who identify as lesbians to desist from that identi
fication. (These issues are discussed further in chapter 5.)
The cultural story that was dominant as I was raised (in the rural Midwest
from the mid-1950s to the early 1970s) has changed a great deal with regard to
tolerating difference in the realm of sexual identity. (This is discussed in detail in
chapter 4.) Because I have come to see myself as a lesbian, and because that
process was fraught with conflicts for me, I am interested in how other women
constructed that identity for themselves. Finding life stories, oral histories, auto
biographies, and other written records of older lesbians’ lives to draw from is not as
challenging now as it was 20 (or even 10) years ago. However, women’s lives,
especially the lives of older, sexually marginalized women, have not received the
same level of attention and analysis that has been applied to (even gay) men’s lives
(Jacobson & Grossman, 1996; Kehoe, 1986a). This project contributes to the
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psychotherapy-related literature by privileging the voices of North American baby
boom lesbians, sharing their journeys toward a positive lesbian identity.
Description o f Chapters
Chapter 1 introduces the project, including a statement of the research
question, its relevance to the psychotherapy field, and a brief background of the
population under study.
Chapter 2 is a review of the literature focusing on three major domains
needed to support inquiry regarding the research question. The first domain pre
sents the theoretical constructs of self and identity as they are studied from the
standpoint of unity and consistency across time (D. Hart, Maloney, & Damon,
1987; Polkinghome, 2000a). This discussion is framed by highlighting the tension
between the essentialist position, positing an internal, unchanging, “given” self (R.
A. Neimeyer, 1999), versus the social constructionism (Cushman, 1995; Shotter &
Gergen, 1989) and constructivism (Lyddon, 1999) positions. These latter views,
which focus on the action of society upon the individual’s sense of identity, ascribe
varying degrees of agency to the individual. This domain of the literature also
covers a synthesis between the two poles of the above-referenced debate, providing
a blend of internal factors affecting identity with sociocultural effects (Mahoney,
1991; Polkinghome, 1991a).
The second domain of the review of literature views the multiple, overlap
ping, and highly contextualized dimensions of identities (not identity) that are
experienced by an individual and which are salient to a discussion of lesbian
identity, the dimension on which this project is focused. Existing conceptual
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models (e.g., Jones & McEwen, 2000) that describe multiple dimensions of identity
are included in this domain.
The third domain of the literature review deals with the reintegration of the
separate, potentially conflictual identity dimensions described in the previous
section. This integration is explored through narrative identity theory and methods,
including life stories. The works of authors who have attempted to support a
middle-ground position in which identity components can be integrated without
being standardized are given particular attention in this domain. The need for a
kaleidoscopic conceptual model of identity for midlife lesbians is displayed
through the review of extant literature. (Relevant sources not cited in the study are
included as appendix B.)
This background from the literature sets the frame for chapter 3, where the
methodology for gathering and analyzing data for the project at hand is presented.
A detailed discussion of the sources whose life story portions (and in some cases,
previous analyses of narrative data) provided the springboard for the theoretical
conception of lesbian identity at midlife is included. A narrative tracing of the
analytic processes provides an insider’s view of qualitative research, which in turn
supports the authenticity of the conclusions drawn from the data.
Chapter 4 presents a conceptual model of lesbian identity issues created by
viewing multiple life story portions (contributed by middle-aged lesbians) through
the integrative theoretical lenses discussed in chapter 2. This kaleidoscopic con
ceptual model is intended to illuminate and describe some of the identity issues
facing the baby boom cohort of North American women regarding a positive sense
of being lesbian. The representation of aspects of the lifeworld (personal, social,
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political) contributes to the collage of narrative identity drawn from the life story
sources described in chapter 3.
The importance and relevance of dealing with the complex issues of midlife
lesbian identity within and beyond the psychotherapy community are discussed in
chapter 5. The applicability of the conceptual model developed in chapter 4our is
demonstrated by viewing portions of my own life story (as a member of the cohort
under study) through that kaleidoscopic lens. The usefulness of the model for
psychotherapy practice and its potential value for training psychotherapists in order
to enhance their competence in service delivery to this population are also
explored.
Midlife lesbians have much to share with the world regarding the creation
of meaningful, fulfilled lives. Overcoming multiple prejudices and their attendant
obstacles, 500 of these courageous women have shared portions of their life stories
with previous researchers, sharing aspects of their identities, including a positive
view of being lesbian. By collecting and analyzing these life story portions, I have
displayed a collage of their life wisdom and created a kaleidoscopic conceptual
model through which others may view their own life experiences.
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CHAPTER 2
REVIEW OF LITERATURE
The purpose of this literature review was to organize several bodies of
literature that have informed my exploration and description of the issues faced by
the cohort of North American self-identified lesbian women bom between 1940
and 1965 as they formed a positive sense of their lesbian identity.
First, some of the literature from psychotherapy-related fields regarding self
and identity is reviewed to give a context for the discussion of identity in general
and to set the stage for the particular domains of identity being explored. This
section is framed by the tension between the two poles of self-discovery and self
creation, with a potential integration of these two opposing positions presented in
the work of Paul Ricoeur (1991, 1992).
Second, to organize the large and somewhat confusing literature regarding
specific types of identity, several identity domains are reviewed (including multi
cultural, feminist, racial, disability, and gender identities) and their intersections are
explored. All of these identities can also have a bearing on the struggle for positive
lesbian identity as experienced by this cohort of women. The concept of lesbian
identity is then reviewed in the psychotherapy-related literature, including the
tension and integration noted in the first body of literature and adding a feminist
critique.
The third body of literature reviewed concerns narrative and life story as
both theory and methodology. This discussion provides the rationale for the use of
published life story portions as the data for the exploration of identity in midlife
lesbians, as elaborated in chapter 3. It also forms the backdrop for the discussion of
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the domains of life (e.g., social, spiritual) termed worlds in chapter 4, where the
processes of both discovering and building a lesbian identity take place, and for the
use of portions of my own life story in chapter 5, to demonstrate the usefulness of
the conceptual model that is the contribution of this dissertation.
Theories o f Identity and the Self
In discussing the realms of self and identity in this project, I take the posi
tion that the sense of self is a function of creating one’s identity (D. Hart et al.,
1987; Polkinghome, 1988); that is, the self is what one wishes to know about and
identity is how the knowledge of self comes about (Erikson, 1968). Put another
way, the problem to be solved in a discussion of identity is how to know about
one’s self and one’s life, and how to share with another person about these domains
to increase the potential for intimacy and awareness.
There are several traditions of scholarship regarding identity research,
leading to a debate between those who see identity as reflecting internal, essential
qualities and those who focus on the larger social context as creating the identity
categories into which the individual must then fit (for a more thorough discussion
of this split, see Halwani, 1998). For example, Bhavnani and Phoenix, in the
introduction to their book Shifting Identities, Shifting Racisms: A Feminism and
Psychology Reader (1994) postulated that the complex interrelationships of identity
could be framed as “the site where structure and agency collide” (p. 6).
Polkinghome (1988) noted that the sense of identity shifts across the lifespan,
partly due to “inconsistent patterns of response across individuals [that] promote
within the same person innovative and creative responses over time to the same
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stimulus” (p. 114). The complexity of identity requires conceptual models that can
reflect these shifting tides of self-response.
S e lf Versus Self-Concept
The study of self and identity are inextricably bound together (D. Hart et al.
1987), as this quote from Erikson (1956) shows: “The term identity covers much
of what has been called the self by a variety of workers, be it in the form of self-
concept, a self-system, or in that of fluctuating self experiences” (p. 102).
Polkinghome (2001) distinguished between the experience of self and conceptual
knowledge about the self. As he noted, direct perceptions (as well as recalled and
imagined perceptions) comprise the experienced self (also, “real” or “core” self),
while understandings and interpretations about those experiences of self make up
the self-concept. The social sciences (including psychotherapy-related disciplines)
have embraced the need to study the changing nature of the self, realizing that
tensions within the experiential self can result in behavior changes (De Vos, 1990;
Polkinghome, 1992b, 1994c). It should be noted as well that cognitive interpreta
tions of experience (part of the self-concept) can and do distort reality (Gopnik &
Meltzoff, 1997; Rogers, 1951). (This is discussed further in chapter 5.)
Philosophy, closely related to psychology and other psychotherapy-related
fields, has been the historical ground in which discussions of identity have taken
place (Polkinghome, 1995c, 1996b). Because a sense of personal identity (especi
ally as related to the sense of unity and self-sameness into the future) provides the
underpinnings for morality and self-interest (Parfit, 1971), it has been of particular
interest to philosophers. To the degree that psychotherapy can be seen as a process
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by which an individual’s self-interest becomes more fulfilled, personal identity
becomes salient for psychotherapy-related fields as well.
The realm of self and identity is woven throughout the history of ideas,
embodiment, experience, emotion, phenomenology, interaction, mythology, and
epistemology, all of which are of interest in psychotherapy. Plato and Aristotle
spoke of the essence of living things (psyche for the latter), which Lakoff and
Johnson (1999) interpreted as the pattern of change through which development
toward maturity takes place. However, it is important to note that, despite holding
a central role in philosophical enquiry, the self is not usually a topic of direct study
in psychotherapy-related fields; rather, it is the self-concept, that is, ideas and
perceptions about the self, that is explored. The self-concept is credited with
preserving a sense of personal continuity over time and of distinctness from others
(D. Hart et al., 1987). These are two senses of self that are seen as key for personal
action and motivation toward self-interest.
Self-Discovery Versus Self-Creation
There is a critical arena of debate among theoretical positions regarding the
self, concerning whether the self is already formed, internal, stable, waiting to be
discovered, or whether the self is created, layer by layer or at one point in time,
embedded in and affected by the social milieu. The former choice is referred to as
essentialism and the latter as social constructivism. In the literature reviewed here
and elsewhere in this study, the terms social constructionism and social construct
ivism are used to represent this latter view.
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Essentialism
The essentialist position grew out of Western thought about the soul, which
was seen as static, unchanging, and knowable upon self-reflection. The soul was
thought to be made of different material than the body and to exist in pure (spirit)
form both before and after life within the human body. Even during embodiment
for life on earth, the soul was viewed as separate from the body and by far more
important. The conception of self and identity bom of this worldview is that the
self is already intrinsically present within the person, containing certain qualities
that are “just how one is” across time and situations. The term essentialism came
about because certain characteristics concerning whatever the variable of dis
cussion may be at the time (e.g., sexual orientation) are seen as being both part of
the internal, stable “essence” of the individual and “essential” to the individual’s
membership in the class or group containing that variable. In academic psychology
research, the concept of a stable “core” self (discovered, not built) is found in trait
theory, which purports to study inborn dispositions.
The reasons behind the “essence” of lesbianism (as the variable of interest)
being present in a particular individual under study are sometimes presented as
biological givens, as in the realm of genetics, or the study of the action of
hormones. Some research on homosexuality has taken this position, interpreting
genetics, brain structure sizes, or hormonal substrates (Burr, 1993; LeVay, 1991) as
the biological imperative for homosexuality. This realm of research is not yet
clarified, with many contradictory findings (Byne, 1994; Pattatucci & Hamer,
1995). Finger length, fingerprint ridges, hearing, and handedness have also been
explored as possible genetic links for biological, essential homosexuality. How
ever, despite a lack of empirical clarity, the popular assumption that this position
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has some validity has been influential in changing social attitudes toward homo
sexuality, both positively and negatively.
On the positive side of the ledger, this position has been used to argue for a
lifting of social sanctions against homosexuality, since it is perceived as unfair to
castigate one for an inherited quality, presumably through no fault of one’s own.
The argument runs that, if there is a biological “cause” for homosexuality, gay men
and lesbians would not be seen as making a choice to be deviant or deliberately
creating an identity of difference; they would merely be seen as living out their
biological essence—a difference that they neither chose nor could erase. A point
could be made regarding the necessity of biological diversity for our survival as a
species, making homosexuality in a minority of the population a part of the normal
evolutionary pattern.
At times, religious arguments have been made using the essentialist position
to support rather than censure homosexuality. Such censure is often interpreted as
self-evident in the Judeo-Christian worldview that is so influential and ubiquitous
in America (for alternative interpretations, see Boswell, 1980). This condemnation
is predicated on the homosexual making a choice to disregard (at best) or rebel
against (at worst) God’s plan for heterosexual marital union as the only acceptable
form of human sexual contact. Unfortunately, even making a convincing essential
ist argument that “God made me gay” does not always lead to acceptance of
lesbians and gay men. Homosexuality can still be seen, from this quasireligious
perspective, as a bodily evil to be overcome in order to live a chaste life pleasing to
the Almighty, transcending “wicked” sexual desires for the same sex. By this line
of reasoning, it is not seen as the homosexual’s fault to be “bom that way,” but a
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distinction is still made in how it is acceptable to live, essentialism notwith
standing.
Nonreligious groups have also used the essentialist position in negative
ways, judging homosexuality (and other forms of human variety) as being not
merely statistically deviant from the norm but genetically defective. This view of
biological determination was used by the Nazis to justify horrific genocides in the
service of eugenics (Gilbert, 1998). Essentialism has been used to say that homo
sexuals are not just different, they are inferior—the core of heterosexist doctrine.
One of the main goals of this study is to celebrate the difference—not inferiority or
superiority, just difference—between midlife lesbians and their peers from the baby
boom cohort.
Essentialism has been used to support other aspects of the dominant power
structures. In the arena of gender, for example, the essentialist position would hold
that women as a class possess certain traits such as emotionality inherently differ
ent from men’s qualities or traits (Brown, 1994). As with the arguments about
essential differences between homosexuals and heterosexuals, positing essential,
nonconstructed, individually (not socially) referenced differences between genders,
even ascribing binary opposition between two gender poles rather than a flexible
gender performance continuum, is fraught with danger (Connell, 1987). This is
addressed further in the section on gender identity.
Other types of causality have also been associated with the essentialist
position. In Medieval times in Europe, for example, the essence of an individual
was seen as having been given and determined by God (Tamas, 1991). The per
son’s responsibility was to be the best person that he or she could be, in whatever
category of life, presumably by divine assignment.
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Social Constructionism and Social
Constructivism
Both social constructionism and social constructivism represent an oppos
ing view to essentialism, with its conception of identity as predetermined and static,
resident without significant change within the individual, awaiting discovery.
Giddens (1991) noted that the self “is a reflexive project and the focus of an ongo
ing dialogue that individuals sustain with themselves in relation to their changing
lived experiences” (as cited in Coupland & Coupland, 1995, p. 89).
The distinction between the two terms (social constructionism and social
constructivism), both of which represent a self-identity that is recursively formed
through social interaction, is a fine one and is not always consistently applied in the
literature. For the purposes of this project, social constructionism posits society as
primarily acting upon the individual, regardless of the individual’s choices or will.
For example, this position can be used to ascribe deviance to an individual’s sexual
preference, so that the self that is constructed by society for the individual contains
a sense of difference that is “less than” and unacceptable.
From a constructionist perspective on identity, Shorter and Gergen (1989)
postulated,
Persons are largely ascribed identities according to the manner of their
embedding within a discourse—in their own or in the discourses of others.
In this way cultural texts furnish their inhabitants with the resources for the
formation of selves, (p. ix)
Identity is assigned by the social world, dictated by the “other” in this position.
McNamee and Gergen (1992) viewed language as guiding and structuring the way
in which we have discourse about our lives within our social contexts. In their
viewpoint, the self is seen not only as knowable only through language but also as
“empty” and created by language (Cushman, 1990).
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The social construction position represents a turn toward seeing roles as
socially defined, which can allow for more individual freedom than the view that
something essential within the person “makes” that person the he or she is. How
ever, Bhavnani and Phoenix (1994) noted that social constructionism can also be
used to create narratives that are just as totalizing as the previous essentialist dis
courses. Radical constructivists, for example, see the person as totally creating his
or her own world, regardless of the power dynamics present in the context. To
feminist psychotherapists, ignoring power dynamics increases the likelihood that
“power over” an individual or group will be internalized as “one’s own fault,”
without the critique of social justice commentary (Brown, 1994, 1995; Browning,
1984; Dambrot & Reep, 1993; Enns, 1993; Greene, 1994).
By contrast, social constructivists reserve more of a sense of agency for
individuals embedded in their social contexts. According to Lyddon (1999),
“Contemporary constructivist thought has its roots in a philosophical and psycho
logical tradition that draws attention to the active role of the human mind in
organizing and creating meaning—in literally inventing rather than discovering
reality” (p. 69, emphasis added). Constructivism requires that one always take into
account one’s position as both observer and knower. In the social constructivist
position, society provides the building blocks while the individual chooses what to
construct using that raw material. Both the social constructionist and constructivist
positions emphasize the continual dynamic processing creating the self, influenced
by the environment and social world. In the sections that follow, the psycho-
therapy-related literature on self and identity is marked by membership in one of
these two dichotomous camps, with movement toward a synthesis of these two
positions being explored through the work of Paul Ricoeur.
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Mahoney (1991) disapproved of a radical constructivist view (that the
individual completely creates a personal world with no “givens”) and put forward
his own conception: critical constructivism. Mahoney saw the individual as a co
creator of her/his own world, influenced by an unknowable yet inescapable “real
world.” “We are the way we are because our history of interactions with our
worlds is not a ‘past’ history at all, but rather an ever-present, forward-leaning
‘preparedness’ to perpetuate ourselves” (p. 394). As Thomas (1996) noted,
contextualist theories have helped to normalize the unpredictable and nonlinear
way in which individuals develop relationships within their multiple contexts,
transcending previous organismic and stage models of psychological development.
The essentialist position fit well into modernist discourse but has since been
challenged under postmodernism (Polkinghome, 1992a, 1997a). Laura Brown
(1994) noted that the tension between “essential” and “socially constructed” posi
tions is not likely to subside and that both views of self and identity are helpful in
different ways. For example, she pointed out that essentialism often intuitively
“feels” right, as reflected in statements of women who “knew they were different”
before they had a conceptualization of gender, sexuality, or lesbianism. However,
the self-creation camp emphasizes that the environment (including the sociocultural
milieu) helps to create the self.
Postmodern feminism, according to Brown (1994), critically addresses the
illustration (or at times, caricature) of the essential qualities of women put forward
in society. The differences that essentialism purports to be resident within
“women” as a class would be viewed (by postmodern feminists) as being created
instead by social interactions and the sociocultural milieu. Such factors as andro-
centrism and patriarchal hierarchies of power (which can lead to gender oppression
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and other forms of domination over women) are visible through this identity con
ception and therefore subject to change in a way that essential, internal qualities
belonging to individual women would not be.
Social constructivism holds that all categories and divisions of human
behavior such as gender or race are arbitrary, creations of a particular social
discourse at a particular time and place, subject to change as the defining
variables of the discourse are modified, (p. 58)
This identity position is discussed in greater detail in chapter 5.
Social constructivism is valuable, then, partly because it helps people
(including psychotherapy clients) to frame the ways in which their life choices were
impacted by their sociocultural surroundings. This framing capacity is highlighted
in chapter 4, where the domain of the “social world” is explored as one of the
lifeworld lenses in the kaleidoscopic conceptualization of midlife American lesbian
experience.
Postmodern M iddle Ground or
“ Both/And ” Positions
Rather than assuming that the self or identity is completely determined
(whether by biology or other factors) or that there are no givens at all and no core
self or disposition, a more complicated position is that people are bom with certain
characteristics (traits or tendencies) that they then have to find a way to incorporate
into their identities over time. These traits may or may not be stable (or perhaps
stable at times and shifting at others) and they may be out of the person’s aware
ness at a given time. The individual is seen, in this framework, as having both
internal “givens” influencing identity and sociocultural influences shaping identity
over time.
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In a postmodern, or even post-postmodem world, conceptualization of self
does not need to be bound by the either/or dichotomy of the essentialist versus
social constructivist approach (W. T. Anderson, 1997; Monk, 1996). The use
fulness of a middle ground position, not locked into modernist dualities or adrift on
a postmodern sea, appears attractive. An integration of biological “givens” into a
psychological understanding of the self accounts for the strongest part of both sides
of the debate. Such a model sees existence as recursive, forming and being formed
by interaction with society and the environment. As Mahoney (1991) stated,
“Existence as we know it is an ongoing pattern of recursive activity. The order
inherent in form, living and otherwise, requires the operation of dynamic self-
stabilizing processes” (p. 113). This implies both the presence of a self to stabilize
and recursive social interaction in ongoing, fluid, co-constituting processes with
that self.
Self and identity in this middle ground are therefore seen as arising out of
the interaction of internal, individual patterns with external, social ones. For
example, Herman and Kempen (1993, as cited in Hoskins & Leseho, 1996) related
their model of self as both independent and interdependent, contingent on the
model of dialogue used (e.g., dominant, intersubjective, polyphonic) and therefore
highly contextual. Their theory emphasized “the complexity and multivoicedness
of self-organization” (p. 249). Mahoney (1991) stated, “At the psychological level,
the lifelong becoming of a human self is complexly interpersonal and intraper
sonal” (p. 246), emphasizing the blend of internal and external forces impacting the
ongoing identification process. Other psychotherapy-related fields, such as career
development theory, also recognize the “embeddedness” of identity, that is, the
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interdependence between the social, cultural, historical, and psychological contexts
and the individuals within them (Blustein, 1994).
Lax (1996, p. 195) also advocated for a moderate postmodern view, allow
ing meaning making within social contexts, achieved through narrative means. The
individual then becomes more than the site of the problems of self and such issues
are dealt with through language and by social interactions. Rosenbaum and
Dyckman (1996) posited another middle ground position. In their view a fluid,
connected, relational self adopts shifting positions, reflecting embodied action and
therefore including more than mere language. “The actual experience of living is
broader than the way we represent our experiences to ourselves in language . . .
much of the self exists outside the realm of verbal experience” (p. 255). This is
similar to the embodied, felt meanings (Gendlin, 1997; Varela, Thompson, &
Rosch, 1991) of the self, discussed below.
The debate between the essentialists and social constructionists will not be
solved here, but a middle ground position underlying narrative identity theory is
offered in compromise between the two poles. In that middle ground, experience
of the self is seen as embodied and always present (Earle, 1997; Varela et al.,
1991). Gendlin (1962) took just such a position, noting that felt meanings exist in
the body and are experienced even prelinguistically. While Gendlin did not
directly addressed self-knowledge, Polkinghome (2001) made that linkage based
on the bodily experience of the self. This prelinguistic, bodily knowing of the self
is experienced internally and seen as intrinsic to the self-story narrated by the
developing person (McIntosh, 1995; Polkinghome, 1996b).
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S elf and Identity in Psychotherapy
Practice Research
Two theoretical traditions within psychotherapy practice, self-psychology,
and humanistic psychology are examined next as models of identity-related
research. While many traditions found in the literature deal with issues relating to
identity, in this review the brief historical tracing of clinical practice literature is
focused predominately on these two traditions, both of which are closely linked to
psychotherapy practice in the area of identity. Understanding these two traditions
helps to set the stage for the later discussion of several dimensions of identity,
including cultural, gender, and lesbian identity. Narrative identity, which is used as
a framework for understanding the life story portions that provided the data for this
project, also draws on roots in humanistic psychology.
In the early work of Freud the focus was not on the self per se. Freud was
fascinated with the bestial sexual and aggressive impulses in humans, using his
psychoanalytic case studies to explore how those impulses are brought under
control. As psychoanalysis progressed under Anna Freud, it shifted from id
psychology—the exploration of the impact of these impulses on the human
psyche—to ego psychology (Mitchell & Black, 1995). The latter theoretical model
was concerned with the development of a secure and distinct sense of self in
individuals. Other researchers, such as G. H. Mead (1934), maintained an interest
in this field of study. An influential pioneer in the study of psychology, William
James, also did work on the topic of self, especially the sense of “me” versus
“others” (James, 1910). William James’s student, Mary Whiton Calkins (notably,
the first woman to become president of the American Psychological Association, in
1905), was the first to use the term self-psychology, later taken up by Heinz Kohut.
Later theorists (e.g., Klein) moved into object relations, hypothesizing that
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relationship with other human beings is central to the sense of a healthy self
(Mitchell & Black).
However, the psychological community (in what was seen as a move to
follow more “scientific” methods) shifted the focus from researching the clinical
experience of psychotherapy to the academic study of behaviorism for 50 years.
This shift of focus came to be known as the “second force” in psychotherapy, after
Freud and before humanism and multiculturalism, the third and fourth forces,
respectively (Kottler, 2004). Although academic psychology still used the term
self, it was related to the study of self in a behavioral sense, as opposed to the way
in which psychotherapy-related research used the term. This scientist versus
practitioner debate is still a controversial topic in psychology, with middle ground
positions being sought by training paradigms.
Self-Psychology
Two main neo-Freudian theorists, Erik Erikson and Heinz Kohut, developed
theories that have implications for the study of identity and are considered off
shoots of ego psychology. Along with Winnicott, whose conceptualization of the
“false self disorder” (Winnicott, 1971) described a psychopathology emanating
from a disturbed sense of self, Erikson and Kohut reintroduced the exploration of
personal subjectivity and the creation of meaning as problems to be addressed via
psychotherapeutic research.
Erik Erikson. Erik Erikson is a pivotal figure in the study of self and
identity in psychotherapy-related fields, especially regarding the salience of
narrative data from life histories. According to D. Hart et al. (1987),
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More than anyone, Erikson (1950,1968) has been responsible for the
emergence of the concept of identity in the clinical literature. Through the
life histories of both well-known and unknown individuals, Erikson con
vincingly communicated the value of the construct of identity for interpret
ing and understanding the actions and thoughts of adolescents and young
adults, (p. 121)
Erikson’s conception of identity related to the sense of unification, or
oneness of the self. This is an outgrowth of the “me versus others” work conducted
by William James half a century earlier. Erikson purposely used the term identity
in a fluid and elastic way, reflecting his interdisciplinary interests and total life span
approach.
By letting the term identity speak for itself in a number of connotations, at
one time . . . it will appear to refer to a conscious sense of individual
identity, at another to an unconscious striving for a continuity o f personal
character, at a third, as a criterion for the silent doings of ego synthesis', and
finally, as maintenance of an inner solidarity with a group’s ideals and
identity. (Erikson, 1959, p. 102, emphasis in the original)
Erikson (1959) envisioned the individual as affected by (and affecting)
personal historical and cultural contexts, a recursion that positions his work to
contribute to a narrative sense of identity, discussed below, and connects to the
findings presented in chapter 4. In his view, no sector of the psyche was
inaccessible to social influences. This way of thinking about human development
enabled Erikson to have cross-disciplinary influence, perhaps more than any other
psychoanalytic author. According to Connell (1987, p. 194), Erikson continued to
expand his theories of development throughout his life, incorporating the rise of
role theory in the field of sociology into his conceptualization of “identity as a
coherent core to personality or sexual character.” This conceptualization is
discussed later under the topic of gender identity. Erikson moved beyond the
shapeless biological potentials posited by Darwinian theory, taking into account the
formative influences of culture and the historical contexts of lives-as-lived. He saw
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the interpenetration and co-creation of individuals and their cultures as reflecting a
dialectical, rather than reductive relationship, thereby moving beyond a traditional
psychodynamic framework.
The dialectical relationship Erikson presented was between two centers:
the core of the individual and the core of his/her communal culture, in a kind of
“psychosocial relativity” (Erikson, 1968, pp. 22-23). The stages of his develop
mental theory are best understood as reflecting dialectical tensions between these
two centers, with the titles of the developmental stages reflecting the outcome of
working through those tensions (e.g., intimacy versus isolation). Erikson saw
beyond the scope of Freud’s drives to a push/pull with the socializing culture.
“Something in the ego process, then, and something in the social process is—well,
identical” (p. 224).
From this push/pull Erikson’s most widely known concept developed, that
of adolescent “ego identity,” formed at the intersection of individual and social
worlds during the transition from childhood to adulthood (Erikson, 1968). Suls
(1989) noted that, for Erikson, identity involved cognitive, evaluative, and action-
oriented pursuits in service of the creation of a consistent self-image. Identity
formation, with its shifts from questioning to decision making (resulting in identity
achievement) occurs mostly in late adolescence, that is, the college (versus high
school) years. For Erikson, this underscored the building of a sense of self and
identity, rather than the discovery of what is already inherently (essentially)
present.
Heinz Kohut. Twenty years after Erikson’s work began, Kohut also broke
ranks with traditional Freudian drive theory and began to explore the
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phenomenology of selfhood. Concerned with feelings of isolation and alienation,
Kohut’s theory of self reflected the existential search for personal meaningfulness
present in his historical and cultural context, recapturing the more positive side of
human nature. He conceived of the individual as having a “subjective sense of
self-realization and the underlying experience of himself [sic] as well-put-together,
of a piece, holding a sameness over time, containing and balancing varied
emotional states” (Mitchell & Black, 1995, p. 164). Moving beyond
psychoanalysis, ego psychology, and object relations theory, Kohut eventually
hoped to highlight the process involved in therapy, which he considered central.
This brought him to investigate the patient’s unique experience in analysis. It is
this focus on process and experience that positions Kohut’s work in harmony with
narrative identity and narrative therapy.
Kohut’s phenomenological understanding of the self was composed of two
components (an overarching ambition and idealistic goals), which became the
crucial focus of his work. Self-psychology was conceived as a way of helping
people not only to be human but also to feel human, thus transcending the tragedy
of living a life devoid of meaning. This was accomplished, Kohut posited, by
forging the ability to feel joyful and proud of eras (the human capacity to love and
to work), which had been central for Freud. This point of view was more com
patible with humanistic psychology, bringing a renewed popularity to psycho
analytic theory (Gelso & Fassinger, 1992).
Through empathic immersion and vicarious introspection Kohut attempted
to enter patients’ phenomenal worlds, not to make interpretive pronouncements but
to facilitate the process of patients becoming themselves. Kohut hoped that this
process would help patients to become aware of the “core of their personality,” by
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which he meant the self that they had built (Kohut & Wolf, 1978, p. 414). Kohut
stressed, speaking of the self, that “only its introspectively or empathically
perceived psychological manifestations are open to us” (Kohut, 1977, p. 311),
apparently relying solely on the perceived experience of self rather than the
interpretive self-concept discussed above. Kohut’s theory does not specify how the
self becomes organized but does indicate that it forms at a point in time (Corbett &
Kugler, 1989). This acknowledgment of temporality forms a further link with
narrative identity, discussed below.
Humanistic Psychology
It was not until the 1950s and 1960s, with the rise of humanistic psycho
logy, that the self again became a focus for mainstream psychotherapy-related
disciplines in America (Polkinghome, 2001). After Kohut’s ideas had emerged, the
study of self and identity again became the focus of developmental, social and
humanistic psychology. It should be noted that humanistic psychology does not
fall in the self-discovery theoretical camp, as discussed above. As Polkinghome
(2001) noted, the founders of humanistic psychology did not believe that there was
a self inside the individual, waiting to be discovered; rather, they conceived of an
actualizing potential, a push to create one’s self. The goal in humanistic psycho
logy is for the individual to actualize this potential, to become authentic (and
therefore fully human), not just go through life being the self that others (i.e.,
society) have created. The founders of humanistic psychology took the “position
that people act and respond on the basis of their understandings of how things are
rather than how things actually are” (Polkinghome, 2001, p. 83, italics added).
This position relates to the self-concept, as discussed above.
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During the same half century between Freud’s demise and humanism’s rise,
Anglo American philosophy similarly abandoned the study of the self. This was
not the case for Continental philosophy. European existential philosophers (e.g.,
Husserl, Merleau-Ponty, Sartre) had explored the unique complexities of being
human and pioneered the methodology of experience—phenomenology—that
allowed psychotherapy-related fields to transcend the logical positivist paradigm
previously embraced by behaviorism (Hoshmand, 1994; Polkinghome, 1995c,
2001). Sartre (1957), in opposition to Husserl’s position on unification via a
transcendent ego, envisioned consciousness as achieving unification by “lying
across” past moments of consciousness (a transversal function), without solidifying
into any particular one. Thus, for Sartre the participle form (-ing) of the construct
(selfing, identifying) rather than the object noun form (identity, self) best describes
a unifying (not unified) consciousness.
In a similar vein, Allport (1955) framed the self as a “becoming,” neither
static nor fixed, and Bugental (1965) defined self as “pure process, pure subject I”
(p. 213). Carl Rogers equated “this natural tendency or force to actualize the
fullness of an individual’s personhood” (as cited in Polkinghome, 2001, p. 82) with
the self. For the founders of humanistic psychology, “the essence of self is a
tendency to grow to fullness, and it is the essential characteristic of humans”
(Polkinghome, 2001, p. 82).
In humanistic psychotherapy, the experience of self unfolds as a story,
recounting the movement toward and away from authentic “be-ing.” The participle
verb form reminds one of the process nature of self—always creating, maintaining,
and expressing. May (1958) and Bugental (1965) were influential in incorporating
existential philosophy back into psychotherapy via the methodology of
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phenomenology. The be-ing of humans (not just their do-ing) became the territory
of psychotherapy research once again. Such research emphasized the creation of
self, rather than its discovery. Speaking of these founders of humanistic
psychology, Polkinghome (2001) noted:
The self became a cornerstone in their view of the development of the
inherent possibilities of human existence and of the process through which
positive changes occurred in their psychotherapeutic work with clients .. .
[they] understood self not as a mind or thing, but rather as a propensity. . .
the urge to develop the fullness inherent in one’s existence . . . to become
the person one truly and authentically can be. (p. 82)
Dimensions o f Identity
Identity comes in many “flavors,” such as racial, class, or ethnic identities,
with more descriptors being distinguished as society continues its dynamic flow.
The preceding discussion has referenced the unity of identity, the sense of a
holistic, consistent (yet not unchanging) self. The multiple aspects or dimensions
of identity (Bridwell-Bowles, 1998; Espiritu, 1994), analogous to the colorful
segments that distinguish the view of one’s lifeworld through a kaleidoscope rather
than a telescope, are laid out in the following sections. It is this multiplicity of
identity dimensions that necessitated the creation of a conceptual model capable of
viewing identity as a collage rather than as a photograph or even a slide show.
(This model is presented in chapter 4.)
Other authors have presented conceptual models of multiple dimensions of
identity. For example, Deaux (1993), a social psychologist, explored the internal
and external aspects of identity formation, similar to the discussion of essentialism
and social constructionism above. The social interaction of identity creation and
the varying importance of overlapping aspects of identity have also been high
lighted (e.g., Finley, 1997; Reynolds & Pope, 1991).
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Susan Jones and Marylu McEwen (2000) created a sophisticated conceptual
model “representing the ongoing construction of identities and the influence of
changing contexts on the experience of identity development” (p. 168). Their
visual representations incorporate a core sense of self—with personal attributes,
characteristics, and identity (Jones, 1997)—integrated within multilayered contexts
(e.g., family background, sociocultural conditions). The Jones and McEwen model
allows the fluid, dynamic processes of identity to be represented at a given point in
time while accessing the temporal flow of narratives contributed by the research
participants.
To set the stage for a discussion of lesbian identity, several other dimen
sions of identity are reviewed in this section. Each dimension has a bearing on
some lesbian lives, while attitudes toward all of the dimensions are reflective of
larger social trends that constantly shift through time. The first three dimensions
presented—gender identity, racial identity, and disability/ability identity—are often
seen as biologically based with essential, physical characteristics. At times there
may be bodily, even genetic components affecting all three dimensions of identity,
with concomitant visible physical differences. However, the wide variation within
categories such as racial groupings, the choice aspect of whether to identify as
belonging to a particular ability/disability group, such as deaf culture (Luczak,
1993), or to be comfortable with one’s supposedly genetic gender shows the
complexity of identity even in dimensions that might be taken for granted by
observers or theorists. The last two identity dimensions discussed are largely
theoretical and continue the representation of multiple, contextually overlapping
identities. These dimensions are multicultural (or multiple issue) identity, meta
phorically termed “rainbow” identity, and feminist identity.
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The last identity dimension discussed—lesbian identity—highlights the
intersection of the essentialist and social constructionist worldviews. Both of these
dimensions are recursively affected by, and have an effect on, the internal and
external (contextual) domains of the self. This aspect of identity is dealt with in
somewhat greater detail, although the discussion is by no means exhaustive.
Gender Identity
The notion of gender identity is particularly tied to the discovery/creation
debate discussed above. Gender is a fairly central notion for organizing one’s
conception of the world (Lakoff, 1987). One’s overall sense of identity is con
structed in major ways around messages regarding gender, yet both society and
biology clearly play determining roles in the outcome. The construct of gender
identity has been examined in some detail by the psychotherapy-related fields of
research.
Gender identity was explained by Weinrich (1987) as a blend of three
components: (a) core gender identity—’’ the innermost experience of oneself as
male or female”; (b) gender role—’’ the sex role or social role prescribed for
females and males by society”; and (c) sexual orientation—’’ the readiness . . . to
pair erotosexually” with a member of their own, or the other, or either sex (p. 20).
As Fassinger (2000) noted: “Attitudes about homosexuality and social responses to
LGB [lesbian, gay, bisexual] individuals are so completely linked to assumptions
about gender and gender role attitudes (e.g., insisting that lesbians want to be men
and believing that all gay men are effeminate)” (p. 121) that the study of gender
identity is solidly linked to any study of lesbian identity. In self-stories of identity,
gender plays a major role (Bern, 1993; Connell, 1987). Simply put, gender identity
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can be defined as one’s internal sense of being a man, woman, neither, or both
(Wishnik, 1996). The complex interaction of the person, the person’s sense of self,
and the person’s relationship with the world over time creates the phenomenon of
gender identity.
The concept of gender and the experience of sexuality arise out of the
domain of the self as it interacts with and is influenced by society (Bern, 1993).
Gender schema theory (Bern, 1987), sex roles (Connell, 1987), and the resultant
sex typing (Bern, 1987) can be seen as describing a person’s sense of gender and
the degree to which society perceives the person’s conformity to that sense.
The notion of a “gender identity” at the core of femininity and masculinity
is the psychological counterpart of the notion of a “sex role” into which one is
socialized. Indeed, its basis seems to be the act of recognizing oneself as the kind
of person that conventional images of femininity and masculinity define (Connell,
1987, p. 194).
The hegemonic nature of gender, intimately connected to the development
of a sense of sexuality, is displayed in Connell’s (1987) analysis of the power
discourses within which discussions of gender identity take place. Bern (1987)
noted the prescriptive power of sex typing, a developmental process through which
children are encouraged to match the templates that society has erected around sex
and gender roles. So powerfully ingrained are these templates that children “come
to construe and organize reality in terms of gender” (p. 251).
Children are socialized to recognize that their culture views the male/female
polarity of sex as one of the most important features of life, affecting every sphere
of human experience. Cross and Markus (1993) indicated that gender can have an
impact on the content of the self-concept as well as on the types of social
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interactions experienced by the self-system, recursively. Many lesbian identity
issues have some overtones of gender identity concepts within them (e.g., butch/
femme role dynamics) that can be seen as (at least partially) a result of the
enforcement of dualistic gender roles (Nestle, 1992; Penelope & Wolfe, 1993).
The womanness of lesbians can be seen as an issue here, particularly for “butch”-
identified lesbians (see Butch/Femme section below). Earlier conceptualizations of
the causes of homosexuality, such as inversion theories, likely had an important
impact on the way in which gender norms are applied to lesbians.
Several theorists of lesbian identity have presented political views of gender
construction, espousing feminism in particular, notably Phelan (1993), Kitzinger
(1987), and Browning (1984). With Ponse (1978), many theorists have opted for a
social constructionist view of gender and the related area of sexual identity. How
ever, a strict constructionist viewpoint on gender misses the inherent, unlanguaged
knowing that one has about oneself, which transcends any external view. This
“knowing” aligns more readily with the essentialist worldview, discussed above.
According to McIntosh (1995), as the self develops, “gender attribution . . .
will be enriched, enlarged and perhaps modified into a gender identity that con
forms to social standards and yet constitutes a genuine expression of the person’s
own individuality”(p. 107). Nielsen and Rudberg (1994) stated that “there is no
rigid line of division between gendered subjectivity and gender identity” (p. 93),
noting that the latter is the prerequisite for the former, demonstrating the fluidity of
recursion.
Bern (1993) described “three gender lenses embedded in the culture:
gender polarization, androcentrism, and biological essentialism” (p. viii).
Essentialism has long been an influential force in the study of gender schemas.
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Cross and Markus (1993) took a counter position, noting that gender schemas can
be, and often are, changed. Likewise, the gendered component of lesbian identity
is not monolithic but fluid and responsive to sociopolitical and cultural contexts, as
are notions of the self in general. Connell (1987) noted that an accurate theory of
gender formation (leading, presumably, to gender identity) would need to be able to
account for creativity and resistance, for social contradiction as well as contra
diction within the personality and for power differences affecting gender assump
tions (p. 196). Themes drawn from the life stories of midlife lesbians reflect all of
these gender positions (see chapter 4).
The concept of a social identity was salient for many midlife lesbians in the
literature. Even so, identity in this theoretical frame is seen not as stable but as
diverse, fluctuating, and even contradictory (Rutherford, 1990). Essed (1994)
preferred instead “to speak of ‘multiple identifications’ in order to emphasize that
subjectivities are not static but always in the process of being constructed in
relation to perceived material, political, or social interest” (p. 100). In this post
modern era, care must be taken to transcend the external application of identity
frameworks onto the individual or group in question from the researcher’s stand
point and to acknowledge and incorporate both a personal and socio-cultural-
political context for any notions of identity subsequently advanced (S. Allen,
1994). This is particularly salient for underresearched groups, such as midlife
lesbians.
Racial Identity
Another dimension of identity that is useful to explore in the context of
discussing lesbian identity issues is racial identity. The destabilization of racial
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categories by the acknowledgement of the social and historical construction of
those categories (rather than their inherent, essential presence/reality) has opened
the door to other destabilizations/decenterings (Irvine, 1996; Omi & Winant, 1986).
Racial identity, according to S. Hall (1989), Irvine, Omi and Winant, and others, is
created (not discovered or inherited as a given) through a process of ongoing
identification that may have little to do with the outward (skin color) or internal
(genetic) factors.
In a realm of identity that was previously taken for granted as biologically
essential and immutable, social justice concerns have produced scholarship that has
opened multiple dialogues regarding the construction of race. It is interesting that
the embodied experience of race and ethnicity is an unremarkable naturalness. In
most tribal groups, for instance, this is reflected by the speaker’s own group being
referred to simply as “the people.” The feeling of “difference,” the building block
for the leverage of “othering” inherent in racism is primarily socially constructed
(Baca Zinn & Thorton Dill, 1996).
Multiracial feminism addresses these concerns, noting that a matrix of
domination (Collins, 1991) or set of interlocking inequalities (Baca Zinn & Thorton
Dill, 1996) is constructed by the majority powerbrokers in society, affecting the
lives of women in multiple identity domains. “Race, class, gender and sexuality
are not reducible to individual attributes to be measured and assessed for their
separate contribution in explaining given social outcomes” (Baca Zinn & Thorton
Dill, p. 327); therefore, how women experience these dimensions depends on their
social location within these interlocking matrices.
In a parallel process with lesbian identity (see below), racial identity is
argued to be “a claim, a choice, a decision” (Carter, 1993, p. 79), yet one that exists
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within the confines of what the dominant society sets out as possibilities. Unfor
tunately, society, not the individual or family, chooses whom to label as belonging
to a certain race and whom to exclude. Transgression of socially imposed racial
boundaries is often met with oppression, even violence. Interracial relationships
can problematize identity issues (Holmes, 1988), as can multiracial backgrounds
(Bhavnani & Phoenix, 1994). Close ties between these two domains of identity
were also formed as civil rights activism led the way for gay liberation in the 1960s
and 1970s (see chapter 4).
Disability/Temporary Ability Identity
The presence of an identity around levels of physical and mental capacity
represents another level of difference that can be stigmatized and persecuted. The
lives and identity issues of those for whom “temporary able-bodiedness” (so-called,
since all entered life drooling and crawling, and if alive long enough, will likely
depart in the same condition) has either departed or was never present are under
represented in the literature of psychotherapy practice. As Greene and Sanchez-
Hucles (1997) noted, “Disabled women form another group of women whose
special psychological needs are frequently ignored” (p. 177). The impact of
“disability” or physical challenges on the embodied sense of personal and group
identity is enormous, as can readily be imagined. Issues of competence, gender
role, vulnerability, productivity, and pain management strategies are just a few of
the dimensions that would impact the identity stories of “differently-abled” women.
Solomon (1993) estimated that in the 1990 census there were approximately
5.8 million women in the United States dealing with physical challenges or dis
abilities. Applying the same formula, Gershick (1998) estimated that about
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464,000 of those differently-abled women would be lesbians. Including their
voices in research and theory development regarding lesbian identity issues is an
important step. Several of the 500 midlife lesbians whose life story portions were
examined for this project discussed this aspect of their life and identity.
Multicultural, Multiple-Issue, “ Rainbow ” Identity
This dimension of identity most readily displays the overlapping,
kaleidoscopic nature of these aspects of life. Multicultural, “rainbow” identity is of
great interest to researchers and practitioners in psychotherapy-related fields
(Phinney, 1990; Pope-Davis & Constantine, 1996; Sue, Ivey, & Pedersen, 1996).
The issue of privilege in terms of deciding (or producing) the intersection of
culture, sexuality and identity is a “hot topic” in today’s headlines. Irvine (1996,
p. 213) outlined some of the pertinent questions about the “authenticity and
definition of culture,” including how entitlement to claim cultural status is created
or recognized, and how the interaction of history, social agents and representation
‘invents’ cultures. She noted that the term culture has been utilized in increasingly
broad venues, driven by an interdisciplinary conversation about multiculturalism
as containing the “intersections of race, ethnicity, gender, and sexual identity”
(p. 214), that is the legacy of the civil rights movements of the past quarter century.
Although the influence of culture is ubiquitous, the nature, degree, and mechan
ism^) of culture’s influence on individuals are the matter of much debate
(Cushman, 1995; Pope-Davis & Constantine).
Feminist Identity
From a feminist perspective, the stabilization of identity can be seen as an
enterprise of Western capitalism—a worldwide industry (Bhavnani & Haraway,
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1994). “Consequently, identity—including feminist identity—is probably best
described as plural, fragmented, and with a propensity to shift contextually and
over time” (Henwood, 1994, p. 42). Feminist identity as a dimension of both
personal and social worldviews has had an impact on psychotherapy-related fields,
as noted by many authors (Brown, 1994, 1995; Browning, 1984; Dambrot & Reep,
1993; Downing & Rousch, 1985; Enns, 1993; Greene, 1994; McNamara &
Rickard, 1989).
The sense of feminist identity is perhaps most consistent with social identity
theory formulated by Tajfel (1978,1981) and Tajfel and Turner (1979). Social
identity theory holds that a sense of social identity (and cause for social action) is
formed by categorizing persons socially and locating one’s own place within that
pattern. Such identification with a group becomes important for the development
of a sense of community with like others and as a basis for concerted political
action on behalf of one’s group (Rupp & Taylor, 1999), consistent with feminist
ideals such as “the personal is political.”
Lesbian Identity
To describe and understand the development of a positive lesbian identity, it
is necessary to explore that construct in some depth. This section addresses many
of the issues that arise in negotiating lesbian identity and shows some of the theo
retical debates about it. It should be noted that, although the preceding identity
domains may coexist with any woman’s lesbian identity, those domains are not
equal to it. In other words, while some lesbians may also experience gender
identity issues, those issues are not the sum total of their lesbian identity. Simi
larly, while some women may identify as lesbian because they are feminist, those
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notions are not equal; many feminists are not lesbians (or even women) and many
lesbians are not feminist. For racial identity, the clash of issues seems to be
whether one’s race or sexual orientation is the primary affiliation, with the second
place finisher losing out altogether in too many cases. Identifying as lesbian and a
person of color, or as a differently abled woman, often compounds one’s loss of
privilege, making the issue of whether to identify on a construct that could be
“hidden” a painful debate for some women.
Historical Definitions
Lesbian identity has had multiple definitions over the years, depending on
the context and power dynamics of the defining social conversations (Allen, 1990;
Esterberg, 1997; J. B. Miller, 1995). Although historical references to women
loving women extend in Western culture back to Sappho on the Isle of Lesbos
(circa 580 BCE), the concept of lesbianism is a fairly recent development (Brown,
1995; Faderman, 1991; N. Miller, 1995). Cultural constructs greatly impact the
definition, recognition, and regulation of any form of identity, particularly a
minority sexual identity (Kennedy & Davis, 1993; McCam & Fassinger, 1996;
Penelope, 1992; Weinrich & Williams, 1991; Williams, 1986). In North America,
Western Eurocentric ideas about sexuality condition and constrain the definitions
of lesbianism through which lesbian identity is viewed (Brown, 1995; Chan, 1989,
1996; Greene, 1994). Especially salient are the twin forces of heterosexism:
(a) “the explicit or implicit assumption that everyone is heterosexual” (C. Stewart,
1999, p. 184) and that being heterosexual is automatically superior (Sears, 1997);
and (b) homophobia, “a term developed by behavioral scientists to describe varying
degrees of fear, dislike, and hatred of homosexuals or homosexuality” (Mallon,
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1998, p. 276). Resisting these ubiquitous cultural forces makes the claiming of a
sexual identity a potent political act (Chan, 1996). (A discussion of identity politics
is presented in chapter 4; see also Yolanda Retter’s [1999] critical review of the
topic.)
Certainly, other cultures and time periods have viewed women’s affectional
and affiliative bonds in a spectrum of ways. For example, Lillian Faderman (1981)
noted in her history of “romantic friendships” between women that intimate
(although not necessarily sexual) relationships between women have existed in
many cultures over time, without necessarily being perceived as part of lesbian
identity. As Imbra (1998) noted, “Identity. . . refers to lesbian community and
lesbian culture, or how we identify and claim each other and our history” (p. 41).
Laura Brown (1995) explored many concepts and issues regarding lesbian
identity, some of which are briefly recapped here. Her working definition of
lesbian identity is “primarily a self-ascribed definition held by a woman over time
and across situations as having primary sexual, affectional, and relational ties to
other women” (p. 4), including a sexual minority identity. Brown made it clear that
this inner perception of being lesbian may not be congruent with outer behavior and
that both (the inner and outer) may fluctuate from background to foreground of the
woman’s life over time. Consonant with Rich’s (1980) theoretical “lesbian con
tinuum,” Brown included in her discussion of lesbian identity those women who
are identified by others as being lesbian yet do not view themselves as such.
Other definitions that encompass lesbians include “a woman whose sexual
and romantic orientation is directed toward women” (Tracey & Pokomy, 1996,
p. 14), also called women who love women or women-oriented women (A. A.
Anderson, 2001, p. 11). Card (1995) noted that “self-identification as a lesbian is
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not simply on the basis of significant lesbian experiences but usually indicates
having made lesbian relationships central to one’s life” (p. 34). A variety of other
terms may also be used to connote lesbians, including dyke, which is “usually
considered as a positive term if used among lesbians but a negative term if used by
outsiders” (Darty & Potter, 1984, p. 305), and queer or Q, which “started out as a
‘pejorative’ but are now being reclaimed by both younger and/or radical gay men
and lesbians of the late eighties and early nineties” (Tracey & Pokomy, p. 14).
According to Nelson (1996), using the term lesbian woman “underscores the fact
that lesbianism is a characteristic some women have in common (although its
meaning varies among individuals), but not their sole identifying characteristic”
(p. 3).
With the influence of postmodernism and especially feminism, definitions
of lesbianism have moved beyond the pathologized, male-dominated, phallocentric,
heterosexist, patriarchal models to more inclusive, multilayered conceptions of
women-identified women, including many areas of life (e.g., culture, social insti
tutions, political solidarity; Brown, 1995). Faderman (1991) stated that “not even a
sexual interest in women is absolutely central to the evolving definition of lesbian
ism” (p. 5), rather “you are a lesbian if you say (at least to yourself) that you are”
(p. 8). She further noted that “for many women ‘lesbianism’ has become some
thing vastly broader than what the sexologists could possibly have conceived of -
having to do with lifestyle, ideology, the establishment of subcultures and insti
tutions” (p. 4).
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Identifying as Lesbian
Identifying as a lesbian has an aspect of rebellion against the status quo,
since it is a life course neither often approved of nor widely demonstrated in popu
lar culture. Heterosexism and homophobia are potent cultural forces, unfortunately
alive and well in America, defining the sexually “other” as not merely different but
inferior (Sears, 1997). “Society does not even perceive lesbians per se, but rather
continually redefines lesbianism and lesbian in heterosexist terms” (Spaulding,
1993, p. 233). Imbra (1998) hypothesized that this lack of social support for
lesbianism has its roots in patriarchal social structures:
Lesbians threaten the very fiber of patriarchal society by not needing males
in their lives, as they do not rely on men for emotional, physical, sexual, or
economic support. This independence is deemed unacceptable, requiring
the total elimination of the group by silencing them or erasing their
existence, (p. 36)
However, social support is crucial for the healthy assumption of an identity,
especially a minoritized, stigmatized one. For example, when Sharon Raphael
completed her doctoral dissertation in 1974 on the topic of coming out, she noted
the importance of social support in the process of identifying as a lesbian:
If the Lesbian “comes out” into a community that consists of secret bars and
social cliques of women who lead one life in public and another in private,
her identity as a Lesbian is likely to be that of a deviant masquerading as
“normal” in a “straight” society. On the other hand, if the Lesbian “comes
out” into a community where her Lesbianism is supported and valued and
where she sees Lesbians who are unafraid to express their Lesbianism
publicly, she is more likely to see herself as a member of an oppressed
minority group possessing positive qualities of which she can be proud.
(p. 15)
Raphael asserted that, over time, the adoption of the minority group identity would
help lesbians to view their behavior as “perfectly natural” (p. 33) in much the same
way that racial and ethnic groups take pride in their differences and thereby cele
brate their community.
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Robinson (1979) also explored this concept (i.e., identity and community)
in her Master’s thesis with 20 lesbians, ages 50-73, with a goal of highlighting the
coping skills used by older lesbians to adapt to their aging. She also noted that, as
society’s views on lesbianism shifted, so did the capacity for the individual lesbian
to see herself in a more positive light (p. 144). Robinson’s findings regarding the
importance of friendship ties (rather than kinship ties) for this population under
scored the importance (and costs) of forming a positive lesbian identity and forging
supportive community relations by breaking down myths and stereotypes about
aging, older women, and lesbians over 50.
The alternative to building a society that is more accepting of lesbianism,
according to Robinson (1979), is continued discrimination of three varieties:
harassment perpetrated by strangers, social ostracism by acquaintances, and the
loss of friendships after the disclosure of “coming out” (pp. 148-150). The loss of
jobs or lack of access to housing were seen as a separate type of discrimination by
Robinson, yet the larger societal view of lesbian civil rights is clearly still at issue.
The experience of oppression becomes, in the lesbian community, a shared
background and point of bonding, albeit a problematic one. This, in turn, leads to
another sense of identity: as a member of an oppressed, stigmatized minority.
More recently, other authors (McFarland, 1998; Reynolds & Hanjorgiris, 2000)
have stressed the fact that society’s hostility toward and oppression of lesbians,
gays, and bisexuals should be looked at causally when exploring reasons for the
increased incidence of mental health problems in this community. Coping with
social stigma and establishing a positive lesbian identity require adequate social
and emotional support, without which psychological adjustment is negatively
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affected and with which it is improved (Vincke & Bolton, 1994; Wayment &
Peplau, 1995).
Another issue that arises when speaking of lesbian identity is the concept
that “gayness” is only part of one’s self and may not be seen as a primary (or even
important) identification to make. This is consistent with the view that multiple,
overlapping, and even conflictual dimensions of identity may be salient for an
individual in a given context, yet less so in others or at other times in life. Gershick
(1998) shared the perspective of one of her interviewees, Trudy Genovese:
They see me as a human being, and I am a human being. I am a functioning
human being who happens to be gay. I am not a gay woman who may or
may not be a human being. And to me that is very important, (p. 163)
A decade after Robinson’s (1979) thesis, Monica Kehoe published her
study, “Lesbians Over 60 Speak for Themselves” (1988). Building from her
research in the mid-1980s, she described lesbianism as “not primarily a sexual
relationship at all, but a much wider female interdependence” (p. 1). Katz (1983)
had called for women “to radically remake the meaning of our lives and restructure
the social organization of our bodies” (p. 173), and going directly to women to hear
their views was liberatory praxis for Kehoe.
Other perspectives of lesbian identity were flourishing in the 1980s. For
example, Ferguson (1981) offered this definition:
A lesbian is a woman who has sexual and erotic-emotional ties primarily
with women or who sees herself as centrally involved with a community of
self-identified lesbians whose sexual and erotic-emotional ties are primarily
with women and who is herself a self-identified lesbian, (p. 166)
Lesbian identity was defined by Kitzinger (1987, p. 90), as “a woman’s
subjective experience or intrasubjective account of her own lesbianism,” while
Richardson (1981) described the subjective process of adopting and defining a
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personal lesbian identity. Bourne (1990) noted that “lesbian identity is . . . an
aspect of sexual identity but not wholly synonymous with it [nor] with lesbian
sexual behavior” (p.l 1).
As working definitions of lesbianism changed, so did the conception of how
one becomes, identifies, notices, or deals with the attitude, choice, or reality of
being a lesbian. However, as Sang (1989, p. 93) pointed out, “Because lesbianism
has been traditionally examined from both a sexist and heterosexist perspective,
lesbians need to define for themselves who they are.” Unfortunately, this has not
always been recognized, as Eliason (1996) noted:
According to Ponse (and others), when the world is organized according to
a rigid sex-and-gender identity constancy, the only possible explanation for
homosexuality is gender inversion. That is, a woman who desires other
women must be more like a man: her gender was “inverted.” The inversion
model is a result of heterosexism, the inability to conceive of any other
model but heterosexuality, (p. 4)
Reporting and analyzing the actual stories of women who have come to
identify as lesbian is one way for the option of self-definition to be expanded, and
this project is designed to build on the tradition begun in the lesbian studies
literature. By organizing the themes that previous authors had drawn from the life
story portions collected from midlife lesbians about the creation of their sense self
and lesbian identity, a model was formed for understanding the identity challenges
faced at midlife for the baby boomer generation.
Accounts of American lesbian herstory (Gershick, 1998; Faderman 1991;
Kennedy & Davis, 1993) from the 1930s to the 1960s show a variety of identifica
tions depending on class status, urban social opportunities, and gender role per
formance, especially during war time. Oral herstories (Adelman, 1986; Kehoe,
1988) reflect the cohort effects of growing up in a world where a positive lesbian
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identity was not available in the smorgasbord of choices that women had available
to them. For some of these women, choosing to see themselves as the inversion of
the dominant sexual orientation paradigm was inevitable.
In contrast, Phelan (1993) argued eloquently for a theoretical shift away
from lesbianism as a polar opposite of heterosexuality and toward a critique of
heterosexism, which so narrowly defines socially acceptable sexuality. Categoriz
ing people and thus prescribing (rather than describing) their experience adds to the
domination and colonization already enacted in patriarchal society (Espin &
Gawelek, 1992). Johnston (1973) noted the effect of this prescription by describing
the concept of identity as “what you say you are according to what they say you
can be” (p. 58), which has constructivist overtones.
Essentialism and Lesbian Identity
Such categorization is also evident in the essentialist versus social con
structionist debate, herein discussed regarding lesbian identity. Essentialists basic
ally support the position that lesbianism is innate, possibly even genetic in origin
(Browning, 1984; Card, 1995; National Museum and Archive of Lesbian and Gay
History, 1996). “The raw fact that some of us are attracted to the opposite sex,
some of us to the same sex, some of us to both sexes, and that some of us switch
positions cannot be denied” (Abramowitz, 1997, p. 240). This corresponds to the
essentialist position that the self is really “in there,” waiting to be accurately
discovered. In this view, a lesbian is bom, not made, and discovers this fact early
or late. She may be true to her innate nature, acting openly or secretly upon it, or
she may deny and repress that nature; yet it is still present, an essential part of her
being. Card, a feminist philosopher, puts a positive spin on this position, positing
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the existence of an essential, objective “lesbian essence” (p. 17) that lesbians share
in common and that sets them apart from their nonlesbian sisters.
Frye (1996) also made a case for an inherent, essential draw toward being
lesbian:
The suppression of lesbian feeling, sensibility, and response has been so
thorough and so brutal for such a long time, that if there were not a strong
and widespread inclination to lesbianism, it would have been erased from
human life. (p. 56)
Essentialism can also be seen as a political strategy (C. A. Anderson, 2001;
Faderman, 1991), a way of creating unity among stigmatized “others” in times of
oppression and a justification for community building among “people like us.”
From the theorists who posit a stable formation of self-concept over time,
some stage models of lesbian identity have evolved, showing similarities to each
other (Atkinson, Morten, & Sue, 1979; Cass, 1979; Chapman & Brannock, 1987;
Espin, 1987; Gramick, 1984; Troiden, 1989). Sophie (1987) found that many
women avoided identifying as lesbian (even to themselves) until that identity had
become positive, or at least neutral, which could account for some of the simi
larities of such models.
As stage models were conceived, a distinction was sometimes drawn
between lesbian activity and lesbian identity (e.g., Bass & Kaufman, 1996). Savin-
Williams and Cohen (1996) reflected the question of whether “sexual identity [is]
present before or after sexual behavior or enlightened by it” (p. 169). This question
attempts to highlight the debate over the “essential” characteristics of being a
lesbian, which Eliason (1996) found occupied many women’s thoughts on the
subject. The coercion of the dominant culture may explain the “pull” of essentialist
views, discussed earlier regarding gender schemas.
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Social Constructionism/
Constructivism and Lesbian
Identity
Contrasting with essentialism, Weinrich (1987) laid out the arguments for
and against the social constructionist view of homosexuality, as well as some
sociobiological theories. The belief that certain conditions in society allowed the
concept of “lesbian” to develop and find varied forms of expression is backed by
research from a social construction standpoint (Foucault, 1978; Weinrich &
Williams, 1991). This standpoint commented on the power relations inherent in
society’s prescribed, dichotomous sexual categories (heterosexual vs. homosexual)
that serve to privilege heterosexuality’s dominant position (De Cecco & Elia,
1993). Adrienne Rich (1986) explained this standpoint:
When those who have power to name and socially construct reality choose
not to see you or hear you, whether you are dark-skinned, old, disabled,
female, or speak with a different accent or dialect than theirs, when some
one with the authority of a teacher, say, describes the world and you are not
in it, there is a moment of psychic disequilibrium, as if you looked into a
mirror and saw nothing. Yet you know you exist, and others like you, that
this is a game with mirrors, (p. 199)
The dangers inherent in the social construction of lesbianism within hetero
sexist, misogynist cultures were explored by Kitzinger (1987). She also described,
with Wilkinson (Kitzinger & Wilkinson, 1995), the discursive production of
lesbian identities after living a heterosexual life.
As the social constructivist position began to evolve theoretically, a less
toxic view of homosexuality was put forward. Browning (1984) noted, “There is
nothing inherently deviant, pathological, immoral, destructive, or dysfunctional
about lesbianism as a sexual preference” (p. 21). In a similar vein, Markowe
(1996) wrote,
It is the dominant notions of gender and human nature, within a particular
era, and specific to the particular culture, that have shaped what has been
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understood as lesbian identity within our society.. . . This century, for
example, has seen movement from the medicalization of lesbianism, to gay
liberation, and radical feminist perspectives of lesbian identities, (p. 29)
Wishnik (1996) conceptualized “sexual identity mapping” as a means to
track the social construction process. Faderman (1991) asserted that the “possi
bility of life as a lesbian had to be socially constructed in order for women to be
able to choose such a life” (p. 9). Epstein (1987, p. 11) summarized the issues
being debated by “essentialists” and “constructionists,” noting the tension between
the view that something within the individual is inherently lesbian versus the
acknowledgement that cultures create labels that get applied to individuals intern
ally as well as externally. This conceptualization avoids the trap of either/or, in
favor of the potentially more balanced view that, for some women, at different
stages of their lives, they may feel “different” and they may feel constrained,
liberated, or unaffected by society’s view of their growing lesbian identity.
Anderson (2001) favored a combination of the two positions, positing that there is
an “essence of desire for the same sex” that is not biological in basis but that
transcends the language available to speak of desire (p. 24).
O’Connell (1999) also discussed the tension between essentialist and social
constructionist positions. The simplest level of this debate concerns how those
with a same-sex orientation should be treated, based on whether such an orientation
is chosen or determined. However, the downside of engaging at that level of
debate affects both sides of the question, that is, either biology or the cultural
environment could be manipulated to eradicate the unwanted “difference”
(Sedgwick, 1990).
There is a well-known (and often mythologized) dynamic within the lesbian
community, visible both within and beyond the boundaries of that community, in
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the roles of butch and femme lesbians. In addition to affiliating as women-loving
women, some lesbians may also identify as being butch (taking on aspects of a
traditionally “masculine” role) or femme (identifying as a “feminine” woman).
Neither butches nor femmes are to be seen as uncomfortable with their lesbianism
(Tracey & Pokomy, 1996) but rather as expressing preferences of style or gender
performance within a woman-identified community.
Admittedly, there are aspects of social constructionism and/or constructiv
ism that can be interpreted as influencing the presence and choice of roles available
to women as scripts for behavior. If society dictates that couples may consist only
of one male and one female, some of that pressure may find its way into the
identity of individual lesbians. However, to take the position that all lesbians see
themselves in terms of butch or femme roles (or as Van Gelder and Brandt [1996]
put it, answering the question “Which one of you is the man?”) is to overstate the
social constructionist case. For example, Tracey and Pokomy (1996, pp. 12-13)
considered butch/femme role playing a further distinction in erotic identity some
times made within lesbian communities, but they did not see it as a lesbian
requirement.
Relationships between butches and femmes are generally not interpreted as
intentional replications of male/female relationships (Darty & Potter, 1984; Nestle,
1992), although the risk of discrimination and violence against women who partici
pated in these roles was increased by the visibility that the roles produced (C. A.
Anderson, 2001). Yet, even within the supposedly binary role structure of the
butch/femme dynamic, there is room for middle ground. The National Museum
and Archive of Lesbian and Gay History (1996, p. 85) noted that a crossover term,
kiki (used primarily in the 1940s and 1950s), referred both to a lesbian who was
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indecisive about which role to select and to lesbian couples of matching roles (i.e.,
two femmes or two butches together), contrary to the usual structure of the butch/
femme world.
“ Middle G round”Models o f
Lesbian Identity
As with the earlier discussion of essentialism versus social constructionism
and social constructivism, models reflecting more moderate, middle ground posi
tions have been created to theorize lesbian identity. For example, in contrast to the
notion of stage theories, Browning (1984), Eliason (1996), and Rust (1992, 1993)
have all posited a more fluid and flexible continuum of identity, neither exclusive
nor stable, evolving from both societal and developmental contexts. Specifically,
Eliason proposed “a nonhierarchical, cyclical model of identity assumption [that]
assumes identity formation is a lifelong process and that modifications in self-
identity to accommodate the changing social and historical environment are a sign
of psychological health” (p. 18).
Eliason’s model includes a time of pre-identity, based on a feeling of being
“different”; an emerging identity process wherein aspects of the identity are tried
on and reworked until a “goodness of fit” is created; the experience and recognition
of oppression (which heightens the importance of identity); and the reevaluation/
evolution of identities throughout the remainder of the life span—elements that
sound remarkably similar to the narrative process of identity construction discussed
earlier. Unlike the earlier stage models, this model does not posit a smooth, uni
directional, or complete transition from one stage to the next, preserving instead a
multilayered, co-constructed process operative on the individual and societal levels
simultaneously.
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As discussed above, a conceptual model that recognizes and accounts for
the complex and contextual nature of multiple dimensions of identity was created
by Jones and McEwen (2000). In their model the core category was “defined as the
contextual influences on the construction of identity” (p. 167). Their conceptual
model was “intended to capture the essence of the core category as well as the
identity stories of the participants” (p. 167). The ability of the model to capture the
flow of time through narrative data along with a relatively stable sense of self
(displayed by the core category) proved useful in capturing the complexity of the
identity development process. The multilayered, contextual nature of the Jones and
McEwen model provided a springboard for my own conceptual model of identity;
however, while their model addressed identity in general, mine focused specifically
on lesbian identity (see chapter 4).
Other authors in the literature have found the need for more complex
models of identity development borne out by their data. For instance, Bennett
(1992) stated,
The identity development of the ten lesbians who participated in this study
was found to be a cyclical, multidimensional process that involved a life
long process of coming out and was affected by the psychosocial context of
each individual’s life. The most significant component of identity develop
ment discussed by all of the participants regarded connection with other
people, (p. viii)
Models that incorporate the “middle ground” principles of narrative con
struction (i.e., recognizing the construction of a story within the limits of pre-set
“givens”) are discussed in more detail in the next section. There are several
advantages to narrative conceptualization, including the ability to embrace both the
“givens” of an individual’s life and the social context that recursively influences (or
constructs) that life. For instance, applying a narrative construction framework
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avoids the (artificial) modernist dichotomy between individual and group identities
(Cox & Gallois, 1996; Kitzinger & Wilkinson, 1995). Instead, multiple and diverse
layers of personhood and interaction regarding identity are acknowledged (Sands,
1996). This leads to a broader range of information being included in the life story.
Utilizing a narrative conceptual framework to view lesbian identity, Lillian
Faderman (1991, pp. 3-4) described four reactions that a woman could have (during
most of the 20th century) to the reality of feeling “passionately attached” to a
woman. These reactions are similar to the “plots” described in chapter 4 as part of
the cultural story/stereotypes that the baby boom cohort of lesbians had to negotiate
on the path toward their self-identification as lesbian. The four potential plotlines
that Faderman explored were (a) denial (I love a woman but I’m certainly not one
of them—i.e., a lesbian); repression (ooh, that’s disgusting, so I won’t go there);
hiding in the “closet” (I love her, but no one must know); or acceptance, with or
(hopefully) without internalized homophobia and self-hatred (I’m lesbian, so I need
to be self-supporting and create a culture where I belong). Faderman noted that, as
the society that had constrained these reactions began to loosen its sexual mores,
the roles and rules by which women described their lives began to shift.
Narrative
With so many theoretical positions regarding identity and so many dimen
sions of identity to be integrated and reflected for each individual, how is one to
understand the nature of self and identity? Some social scientists (Bruner, 1986,
1987; K. J. Gergen & M. M. Gergen, 1986; M. M. Gergen & K. J. Gergen, 1993)
have posited that narrative recursively provides the pattern for lived experience.
In this narrative conception, then, the self is constructed through the creation of
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stories, and the stories one tells of oneself further develop the sense of self.
Personal meanings and a sense of identity are developed primarily through
narrative, since life is experienced primarily as temporal (Polkinghome, 1988).
Polkinghome noted that “we achieve our personal identities and self concept
through the use of narrative configuration, and make our existence into a whole by
understanding it as an expression of a single unfolding and developing story”
(1988, p. 150). Qualitative inquiry via narrative means is therefore particularly
useful in exploring issues of identity. An understanding of narrative is essential for
psychotherapists, since “psychotherapeutic work with individual clients is centered
in narrative statements” (Crossley, 2000, p. 58). The experience of life-as-lived is
interpreted through story (Epston, White, & Murray, 1992; Rennie, 1994), with
aspects of temporality and plot, as discussed below.
Life Stories
According to Polkinghome (1996a), identity stories (also known as life
stories) are “holistic, emotionally informed, metaphorical, analogical, and integrat
ive” (p. 365). The relation of life stories to the sense of self is expressive. Through
life stories we can talk about who we feel ourselves to be, describe how we got to
be that way, validate our claim to group membership, negotiate for good standing
within the group, and convey the assumptions about social norms that contribute to
coherence (Linde, 1993). In American culture, life story can be assumed to be
something that most people have, and have created, for themselves. An additional
assumption (which is culturally warranted and nonproblematic, according to Linde,
p. 4) is that the coherence of a life story is necessary for both personal and social
comfort.
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Of course, possible accounts of one’s life can be discrepant, even contra
dictory, as demonstrated by some of the women’s life story portions in chapter 4,
where self-identification as a lesbian is made in some social circles, such as
friendship networks, but denied in others, such as the workplace. The problem of
coherence, given the possibility of conflicting storylines, is dealt with by the aspect
of time. As long as both self-stories are not told at the same time and place,
coherence may be comfortably maintained. For some immigrant groups, this has
been a pattern of cultural accommodation: to be “American” at work and of one’s
ethnicity at home. These accounts appear contradictory, yet they are livable as a
coherent story, providing the separate worlds do not fraternize too closely. The
complexity of identifying in apparently contradictory ways was discussed above
under multiculturalism, where race, ethnicity, gender, and sexual identity intersect
(Irvine, 1996).
All living systems, including human beings, have a tendency to categorize
(Lakoff & Johnson, 1999). According to Polkinghome (2000b), categorization of
experience is a requirement for the learning process. Narrative (or “storying,” to
maintain a participle form of the concept, as discussed above) is at one level a
categorization schema, as evidenced by the use of plotlines to organize the flow of
the story across time. For example, through narrative discourse, the disparate
elements of life experience can be meaningfully integrated and unified
(Polkinghome, 1996a).
Life story, according to Linde (1993), is an oral, social unit told in
discontinuous portions over time. It is the movement of the life story through time
that both necessitates and facilitates its revision, providing a link with narrative
theory. Old meanings are dropped and new ones inserted, depending on the context
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and membership desired at the time. To accommodate these shifts, Linde posited a
multitiered model for linguistic analysis utilizing life stories
that moves from the level of the individual construction of sentences,
through the form of narratives and the social negotiation of narratives, up to
the social level of belief systems and their history, and finally to their effect
on the construction of narratives, (p. 3)
Forged and reproduced though the power discourses of the dynamic agency/
structure dyad, “identity emerges as a kind of unsettled space . . . between a number
of intersecting discourses” (S. Hall, 1989, p. 10). This conceptualization goes
beyond the academic psychology literature, which treats identity as basically
equivalent to a personality trait while ignoring its structural features (Bhavnani &
Phoenix, 1994). Mahoney (1991) spoke to these interrelationships: “One’s identity
development is not only inseparable from one’s past and present human intimacies,
but, moreover, inseparable from all of those ‘related’ lives that participate in the
lives that most significantly influence our own” (p. 246). Life story is a vehicle
that can incorporate all of these elements.
Life stories are, as Linde (1993) described them, “a particularly important
discourse unit whose use constitutes a widespread social practice that has major
consequences for the individual and for the group” (p. 3). “In order to exist in the
social world with a comfortable sense of being a good, socially proper, and stable
person, an individual needs to have a coherent, acceptable, and constantly revised
life story” (p. 3). The sense of revision and social change as potentials for life story
is particularly important for a feminist conception of older women’s lives, as this
quote shows:
Biographers often find little overtly triumphant in the late years of a
subject’s life. Once she has moved beyond the categories our available
narratives have provided for women. Neither rocking on the porch, nor
automatically offering her services as cook and housekeeper and child-
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watcher, nor awaiting another chapter in the heterosexual plot, the old
woman must be glimpsed through all her disguises which seem to preclude
her right to be called a woman. She may well for the first time be woman
herself. (Heilbrun, 1988, p. 131)
According to Linde (1993), there are three demands made on life stories,
influencing their coherence and goodness of fit in the social environment where
they are shared. The first demand is that the degree of intimacy reflected in the
story portion correlates with other known details of the person’s life story. An
example of meeting this demand would be that, as the intimacy of a relationship
increases, the level of details shared in the life story increases correspondingly.
The second, related demand is that, while certain kinds of facts need to be included
in the life story portions shared between people, other kinds of facts cannot be
shared without damaging the relationship. Either oversharing or undersharing life
details feels out of place if it is not based on the depth and timing of the relation
ship in social context. The third demand is that the teller’s story must support (or at
least not challenge) the hearer’s own story, relative to their relationship. In other
words, hearing the details of your life must not threaten my own identity in the
relationship, and preferably it will reflect to me a sense of self with which I am
familiar.
In a theoretical conception that can affect psychotherapeutic action,
McAdams (1993) posited that, as life changes, stories must change, so the emphasis
in studying the self ought to be on creating good stories by and through which to
live. Viewing the self as a fluid, ever-changing process, Polkinghome (1988) and
White and Epston (1989) advocated taking a narrative position. In this position, if
the self-story is problematic, it can be edited and rewritten, creating life changes.
This is not to say that any random story may be created by an individual to change
his or her life, since the story as created must fit the “givens” of that person’s life.
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However, a story that takes into account the realities of the individual’s social
world can still be reedited to create movement around formerly daunting obstacles.
Clinically, Howard (1991) used this view to argue against the presence of patholo
gies—only “stories gone awry” are responsible for the pain in people’s lives. This
concept is useful in psychotherapy for issues of identity, and it is revisited in
chapter 5.
Emplotment
“Plot is the narrative operation through which people frame and describe the
relationship among human actions and events” (Polkinghome, 1996c, p. 77). Since
Ricoeur posited that “time becomes human to the extent that it is articulated
through a narrative mode” (1983, p. 85), the emplotment of life events into narra
tive form can be seen as contributing to the sense of making oneself human, or
contributing to one’s sense of identity. This is of value in discussing identity
because, as Williams (1991) pointed out, the study of life stories can provide
insight regarding the pursuit of meaning and purpose in life as lived, often central
issues in psychotherapy (Polkinghome, 1991b, 1996c).
For the construction of identity, emplotment offers a variety of benefits.
“The construction of a narrative plot integrates diversity, variability, and discon
tinuity into the permanence in time” (Reagan, 1993, p. 11). Polkinghome (1996c)
described the four contributions of plot to a story: setting its temporal limits,
guiding the selection of events for inclusion, ordering events through time toward a
denouement, and clarifying each event’s contribution to the total story. Stories
enable the disparate events and experiences of life to be linked together through (or
across) time (McNamee & Gergen, 1992). Ricoeur (1983) held that stories are
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ideal mechanisms for structuring accounts of experience so that a representation of
“lived time” is conveyed, which in turn allows for a sense of life as changing to be
felt and communicated.
While postmodernism may have left no place for a “self as knower,”
through the narrative construction process described above there is room to see the
“self as story” (McAdams, 1993; Polkinghome, 1996a). According to Ruth and
Kenyon (1996), “Life stories provide a picture of the self, including . . . their self-
concept [and] the factors that give meaning to their life.... The individual not only
tells us who they are, but also who they are not” (p. 4). This makes life stories
particularly valuable as resources for psychotherapy research.
Among emplotted narratives, self-stories hold a unique place. McAdams
(1993) described them as “a special kind of story that each of us naturally con
structs to bring together different parts of ourselves and our lives into a purposeful
and convincing whole”(p. 12). It is the self-story aspect of identity with which this
study is most interested, for the purposes of exploring lesbian identity issues. This
self-story conception holds a middle position between the poles of the self as an
illusion and as an impermeable substance (Ezzy, 1998).
The question of how narrative integrates life experience, including non-
languaged, felt meanings (Gendlin, 1962,1997), brings up philosophy’s under
standing of the role of language since the so-called “linguistic turn” (Rorty, 1967).
This “turn” led through structuralism, with all human meaning severed from the
world and locked in language systems (Polkinghome, 1996c, p. 80), to post
structuralism, where meaning was not seen as resident in the text per se but as
“floating” in its temporal context and made accessible only through the process of
deconstruction (Derrida, 1978; Polkinghome, 1995b). The relationship of language
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to experience is seen as akin to understanding or relating to art and poetry via
figurative interpretations rather than via direct, literal descriptions (Polkinghome,
1996c). Understanding this relationship is foundational to building theory
reflective of lived experience and therefore useful to psychotherapy.
Narrative Structure
Two opposing views developed regarding how narrative structures life
experience, divided on their positions as to whether narrative and experience are
two discontinuous processes (the life versus narrative position) or continuous (the
life as narrative position; Polkinghome, 1996c). The discontinuous position
reflects the decentering of the self as agent, holding that persons are passive con
duits for culture expressed through language (McNamee & Gergen, 1992). This
view is also present in Mary Gergen’s work (M. M. Gergen, 1992) as a social
constructionist, who sees the self as being fragmented. The decentering of self is
fundamental to this view. The continuous position regarding narrative structure
(“life as narrative”) holds that life itself is innately structured narratively
(Polkinghome, 1996c). Bruner (1990) stated this position strongly: “Narrative
structure is even inherent in the praxis of social interaction before it achieves
linguistic expression” (p. 77).
By analyzing narrative’s organizing powers artistically, rather than literally,
Ricoeur (1995) sought to negotiate the dichotomy between these two positions,
thus integrating lived experience and languaged conceptualization (Polkinghome,
1996c). “Ricoeur proposed that while language neither describes reality nor is
severed from reality, it does serve to re-describe reality” (Polkinghome, 1996c,
p. 86). His sense was that life unfolds through the three types of imitation of action
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(mimesis) that Aristotle had described as types of narrative emplotment. To
paraphrase Polkinghome (1996c), these types (a) refer back to prelinguistic/felt
action, (b) refer back to poetically described action, and (c) refer to the new lived
understanding accomplished by narrative composition, thereby representing three
perspectives on “who” an individual is and contributing to the individual’s life
story. This stresses the view that we are not empty containers to be filled up by
culture through language but selves reconstructing self-knowledge (and, through
this, identity) throughout the journey of our lives. Narrative allows the temporal
flow of this journey to be highlighted and celebrated (Reagan, 1993). This view of
temporality is consonant with the reflections produced at midlife (e.g., Sang et al.,
1991), which are the focus of this project.
Narrative Analysis
One way to apply this theoretical conception of “life as narrative” is
through discourse analysis, which “has the potential to explain the means by which
a sense of continuity is molded from the disparate events of lived lives” (Coupland
& Coupland, 1995, p. 93). Narrative analysis can be seen as an independent realm
of study within discourse analysis (Coupland & Coupland). This analytic frame
work is consistent with how life intuitively feels, for as Bruner (1990) noted,
“People do not deal with the world event by event or with text sentence by
sentence. They frame events and sentences in larger structures” (p. 64). While I
did not conduct narrative analysis of the life story portions gathered from the
literature to create one large narrative, I used the same principles to create the
outline collage through which to view those portions. The exploration and analysis
of narrative data is especially pertinent in the study of older lives, where metaphors,
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images, and interpretations of life events form the self-perception and vice versa
(Ruth & Kenyon, 1996). Both the essentialist and social constructionist position
are reflected in the application of narrative analysis as the internal and external
worlds are seen as influential, with neither being the sole determinant of how one’s
life will progress. As Ruth and Kenyon noted, “We are co-authors of the ‘stories
we are’ by virtue of our capacity for creating and discovering meaning” (p. 5).
Narrative Identity
Since we do not see ourselves as “a succession of ‘psychic’ acts . . . but one
single experience inseparable from itself, one single ‘living cohesion’” (Merleau-
Ponty, 1962, p. 407), some mechanism must be employed by which past events are
accumulated into coherence. Narrative identity is a plausible solution, since it
arises from the lived experience of life and incorporates both temporality and self
continuity as foundational. Maines (1993) stated that a “person is . . . defined as a
self-narrating organism” (p. 23) and Widdershoven (1993) noted, “Personal identity
is the result of a hermeneutic relation between experience and story, in which
experience elicits the story, and the story articulates and thereby modifies experi
ence” (p. 9). Linde (1993) went so far as to note that “narrative is among the most
important social resources for creating and maintaining personal identity” (p. 98).
Without the modernist conceptualization of “self-as-substance,” and since
the postmodern position had left no room for self (W. T. Anderson, 1997), some
way of formulating coherence for the lived experience of identity (without merely
waiting for culture to inscribe meaning onto the self-story of individuals) is needed.
Ricoeur’s (1991) vision of narrative identity may be used to fill this gap (see also
Polkinghome’s [1996c] discussion of “good enough knowledge”). Such a narrative
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identity is “fluid and changeable, historically grounded but ‘Actively’ reinterpreted,
constructed by an individual but constructed in interaction and dialogue with other
people” (Ezzy, 1998, p. 246). Ricoeur’s narrative hermeneutics construct a
“middle ground” between a modernist view of self as impermeable and invulner
able to the effects of others and a deconstructed self that relies so heavily on the
linguistic sources of self that it is obliterated (Dunne, 1995). The unfinished,
integrative, dynamic, and processual nature of narrative identity highlighted by
Ricoeur’s hermeneutics allows persons to make sense of lived experience in a
coherent self-story that evolves as they do. Ricoeur argued that the self comes into
being only in the process of telling a life story, which he saw as central to the
conceptualization of narrative identity (1983, p. 132).
Widdershoven (1993) called “the unity of a person’s life as it is experienced
and articulated in stories” (p. 7) narrative identity. Story forms are inherent in
human processing. The interpretation of the spatio-temporal-social-interpretive
framework is central to the meaning of any past event (Ezzy, 1998). This interpre
tive framework allows the Active and historical senses of past events to be uniAed,
thus preserving present self-continuity. According to Epston et al. (1992), “A story
can be deAned as a unit of meaning that provides a frame for lived experience” (p.
96). The interaction between life stories and life experiences creates a sense of
ongoing, uniAed identity that can be observed in texts portraying self-reAection,
life histories, and autobiographical statements.
Narrative exhibits the self-as-process by way of discourse production
(Polkinghome, 1996a, 1996c), resulting in identity stories. Ricoeur (1995) noted
that this process is inherently social but only hinted at the power dynamics that it
unleashes (Ezzy, 1998). Others (e.g., Bruner, 1990; Goffman, 1976) have focused
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more directly on the sociocultural constraints concerning self-constructed narra
tives, which are highly susceptible to the “politics of storytelling” (Evans &
Maines, 1995). Narrative analysis of self-reflective writing (which informs the
themes outlined in chapter 3) can facilitate exploration of the differences between
identity stories as they are lived and as they are told (Polkinghome, 1996a, p. 365).
Understanding this difference is useful in the psychotherapeutic setting, where
contradictions between the living and telling of stories can account for the “stories
gone awry” (Howard, 1991) that produce discomfort and dysfunction for clients.
Conclusions
The psychotherapy-related literature addressing self and identity in general,
and lesbian identity in particular, has shown a wide variety in how women conceive
of this fluid, ever-changing process. Women’s lives, especially older women’s and
lesbians’ lives, have been underrepresented in the literature (Sang et al., 1991);
however, some significant sources of narrative information about these underre
searched lives are available.
Identity issues of various kinds have been related to the views of internal,
stable identity versus externally modulated, context-driven identifications. A
partial resolution to this tension between social constructionism and essentialism
regarding identity has been proposed in the form of narrative identity, drawing on
Ricoeur’s hermeneutics (Polkinghome, 1994a, 1995a).
Sources of midlife lesbian voices exist in the literature, although they repre
sent mainly White, middle-class standpoints. Highlighting the voices represented
in these varied collections by applying the lens of narrative identity theory makes a
further contribution to the body of knowledge about older lesbians’ lives, which in
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turn enriches not only psychotherapy-related fields but everyone. Each of the
lesbian elders contributing to these varied sources has personal wisdom to share
with the succeeding generations about how she saw her life and made changes
within it. The empowerment of self-narration is a potent force for healing and
transformation (Polkinghome, 1991b). A kaleidoscopic conceptual model for
understanding the process of creating a positive lesbian identity at midlife is
presented in chapter 4, built on the foundation of narrative empowerment through
steps laid out in chapter 3. The model’s utility in psychotherapeutic practice with
clients experiencing a wide range of “difference” is explored in chapter 5, along
with implications for education and training in psychotherapy-related fields.
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CHAPTER 3
METHODOLOGY
This chapter addresses the method used in this study to accomplish its
purpose of exploring and describing the issues regarding the formation of a positive
lesbian identity faced by the cohort of midlife North American lesbian women who
were bom between approximately 1940 and 1965. The first section of the chapter
deals with the overall rationale for the study. This includes the need for this type of
research, descriptions of my research philosophy, and the ideals of feminist
research to which I have adhered. The story of how this project evolved, passing
through different stages of evolution methodologically, is also recounted in this
section. The second section deals with gathering the data, beginning with a
description of the baby boom cohort that is experiencing midlife at the turn of the
21st century, since the contributors of the life story portions analyzed for the study
belong to that generation. An account of the data selection process is included,
along with a discussion of narrative identity theory and methods, to show the
relevance of the type of life story data used to answer the research question. This
section concludes with a detailed description of the sources used (summarized in
Table 1) which gave access to life story information gathered from approximately
500 midlife, North American self-identified lesbians. The last section of this
chapter gives a narrative view of the procedures used to analyze these narrative
data.
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Rationale
Purpose o f the Study
The purpose of this study was to answer the research question, What were
the issues regarding the formation o f a positive lesbian identity faced by the cohort
o f midlife North American lesbian women who were born between 1940 and 1965?
The goal of the study was to examine the narrative recollections of these women for
information about the challenges that they faced in forming their identity and how
they met and overcame them. From this examination of the data a number of
commonalities emerged, which resulted in the creation of a conceptual collage of
sorts, a kaleidoscopic representation of the midlife lesbian lifeworlds pictured in
life story portions gathered in the sources used (see chapter 4). Viewing the life
experiences of these midlife North American lesbians through this conceptual
kaleidoscope was intended to build an increased understanding and raise awareness
regarding the challenges that they had to meet in forming a positive lesbian
identity. This “lifeworld collage” model is intended for use within and beyond the
psychotherapy community, giving others a broader understanding of self and
identity issues for older women in general and midlife lesbians in particular. The
presentation of examples where midlife women met multiple challenges to identify
positively with a population group that is often stigmatized and marginalized can
empower others who face similar challenges.
To answer the research question, I integrated information from life story
portions available in popular media and academic literature from psychotherapy-
related fields (e.g., counseling psychology, sociology) regarding this cohort’s
identity issues. Life story recollections contributed by approximately 500 self
identified North American midlife lesbians and gathered in this literature (see Table
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1) were used as sources of data. Information from these women’s stories, some of
which had been analyzed by previous researchers, was examined to gain a sense of
these women’s experiences, with a view toward commonalities and differences that
emerged. These similarities and unique outcomes were examined iteratively, which
gave rise to the conceptual “kaleidoscope” or “collage” described in chapter 4.
Viewing the life experiences and self-reflections of identity issues recol
lected by this generation of midlife North American lesbians through this concep
tual model gives greater understanding of and empathy for the challenges they have
faced successfully. The variety of the four categories of sources (discussed below)
of narrative data about midlife lesbians’ lives gives a range of ages, classes,
ethnicities, abilities, and experiences that would be both difficult and expensive for
a single researcher to gather, especially given the time constraints of dissertation
research. The richly storied textures of many older lesbians speaking for them
selves paint a realistic, varied backdrop for the research question concerning the
issues involved in positive self-identification as a lesbian at midlife. Because I am
also a member of this cohort, I checked the applicability of the conceptual model
developed from this narrative data (see chapter 4) by applying it to life story
portions from my own identity development (see chapter 5).
Need fo r the Study
As a clinician and academic in counseling-related fields (marriage and
family therapy and counseling psychology), I am sensitive to the need for first-
person stories as vehicles of understanding about diverse lives, for by this under
standing empathy and compassion for the “other” are increased. In this time of
expanding multicultural awareness, psychotherapists in training need conceptual
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models to help them to connect to the inner world of clients from a broad range of
backgrounds.
Qualitative research, with its emphasis on privileging the voices of the
participants in a study (not just the researcher’s perspective), is ideally suited to the
pursuit of increased multicultural understanding, a project so important as to be part
of ethical codes in psychotherapy-related fields (e.g., American Psychological
Association, 2002). Such research also helps to illuminate the tension between
internal or essentialist theories of difference and social constructionist/constructiv
ist views. Viewing individual lives as taking place in larger social structures that
influence those lives is vital to expanding psychotherapists’ understanding of
cultural differences, including those regarding sexual orientation (Irvine, 1996).
Life stories from diverse populations provide a rich resource for therapists and
others who seek to understand and celebrate diversity, building bridges of
connection between their differing worldviews (Polkinghome, 1997b). The need to
examine the sociopolitical context in which such differences are “created” and
expressed is also highlighted by social justice concerns in the many disciplines
supporting psychotherapy practice, such as marriage and family therapy, counsel
ing psychology, social work, and sociology.
The experiences of women, in general, receive less attention in research
than do the lives of men (Enns, 1993). It is to be expected, then, that in the study of
identity issues, women’s voices have not been as present as men’s voices, as
pointed out in the review of the literature. Reflections of women’s experiences at
midlife and beyond are even more rare, as are stories of women who identify as
lesbian (Jacobson & Grossman, 1996; Kehoe, 1986a). With life expectancies
lengthening, the life experience of women over 40 is of increasing relevance in
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social science research, especially relative to psychotherapy. One goal of this
project is to privilege the life experiences of midlife women, shared in their own
voices. The combination—older women’s experience of being lesbian—merited
further, detailed inquiry to expand multicultural awareness about this segment of
the population and to inform the practice and training of the psychotherapy
community.
Evolution o f the Study
This project went through many formulations along the way, as is common
with dissertation research. When I began my doctoral program, I knew that I
wanted to learn more about how other North American lesbians formed a sense of
themselves within their social milieu. Realizing that the sense of identity is
constantly shifting throughout the life course and varies in different contexts
(Espiritu, 1994; Jones, 1997; Polkinghome, 1991a, 1991b, 1996c; Reinharz, 1994),
I selected narrative research with midlife North American lesbians as the means of
exploration. Originally, I decided to gather my own case studies and conducted a
pilot study (as my final project for an advanced qualitative research methods class)
with five southern Californian midlife lesbians. My in-depth qualitative interviews
focused on the theme of how they felt that their lesbian identity contributed mean
ing to their lives. Initial findings from this work were presented in a paper at the
American Psychological Association’s 109th annual convention in San Francisco
(Read, 2001).
As I reviewed the multidisciplinary psychotherapy-related literature for that
project, it became clear that there were a number of case studies on the population
of interest already available, with more being conducted each year. Also, life story
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methods were being employed with more frequency, capturing the lived experience
of a few of these women in some detail. While this fact does not outweigh the
general erasure of women’s (and especially lesbian women’s) experience in an
androcentric society (see chapter 1), it freed me to look beyond that initial, explora
tory medium of case studies to a more analytical approach.
Since case studies of lesbian lives were already represented in the literature,
I turned to the methodology of auto-ethnography, whereby an in-depth case study
of one’s own experience is examined (C. Ellis & Bochner, 2000). As I wrote about
my own experiences in a series of pieces I called “musings,” I was continually
drawn back to my original interest of how other women of my age cohort dealt with
the issues raised by embracing an alternative identity. In a move back toward case
study research methods, I delved into original data from interviews conducted by
other researchers and preserved on audio and videotapes. A number of such taped
interviews exist, conducted with a broad spectrum of lesbian participants and stored
in several archives specializing in lesbiana. Two of these archives are located in
southern California: the ONE Institute in Los Angeles (a few blocks from the
University of Southern California) and the June L. Mazer Lesbian Archives in West
Hollywood. Staff members at both archives were very helpful, particularly
Yolanda Retter at the One Institute, to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for her time
and guidance toward sources.
From these explorations into information collected about lesbian lives and
experiences it became clear that analyses of life history/life story interviews already
existed in published literature and in the data bank of doctoral dissertations (see
Table 1). Doing another narrative analysis to create one story with a common plot
about lesbian identity would have been a valuable project; however, from the
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researched data sources it was apparent that I could produce a more unique and
useful analysis. By creating a conceptual model based on a thematic organization
of the common issues that midlife lesbians generally encounter on the path toward
a positive sense of self-identity, I highlighted commonalities while retaining differ
ences evident in the life story portions collected from the literature. This balance of
shared issues encountered by unique means, portrayed in their own voices, emerged
from the data (as described in the analysis section). This synthesis led to the
formation of a kaleidoscopic conceptual model describing midlife North American
lesbians’ identity issues, presented in chapter 4.
Feminist Ideals fo r Research
As noted in chapter 1, being lesbian may render a woman invisible
(Pearson, 2003), so sensitivity as to how to respond to this “hidden minority”
(Dworkin, 2000) should be included in training for therapists as a multicultural
dimension/framework (M. Pope, 1995). Consistent with feminist ideals, this
training ought to be grounded in the experience of women themselves (Millman &
Kanter, 1987; Reinharz, 1992); therefore, the analysis of personal accounts of
lesbian lives contributes to psychotherapists’ sensitivity to diversity and multi
cultural competence.
Having voice is seen as crucial to empowerment (Brown, 1994; Dworkin,
2000; Enns, 1993; Reinharz, 1994), as is seeing oneself reflected in the outer world.
Polkinghome (1996a, p. 366) noted that the purpose of therapeutic work is to help
people to move from passive plots to more empowered stories of their identity,
where they act as agents in their own behalf. Empowerment is central to feminist
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ideals. Presenting research that helps psychotherapists to relate to the life experi
ence of their midlife lesbian clients contributes to this empowerment motif.
Philosophically, I have followed feminist principles of research, which
helped to guide the initial formation of the methodology selected for the project.
Rather than assuming that identifying as lesbian indicates an “essential” quality,
feminist research ethics privilege the individual’s own meanings as valuable and
real (Eichler, 1980; Millman & Kanter, 1987; Reinharz, 1992). The empowerment
inherent in giving voice to a woman’s experience also reflects a core value in
feminist research (Harding, 1987). The sources all drew from narrative data in life
stories gathered by their authors through various interviews. This process empha
sized the phenomenological view that human beings (and the meanings that they
create) are not substances or things but activities (Polkinghome, 1988) taking place
in cultural contexts (Chambers, 2000). Personal stories, complete with contextual
information, are powerful tools for change. Such stories give a face to the “other,”
making discrimination and devaluation less likely (Phillips, 2000)—another
important feminist ideal. This project thus became research fo r women rather than
merely about women (K. R. Allen & Baber, 1992; Harding) by providing a basis to
increase tolerance and make a difference in the lives of women, older or younger,
lesbian or not.
Data Gathering
To look at the identity issues for North American lesbians at midlife, I
focused on the baby boom cohort, described below. To frame the issues that these
women faced in developing a positive sense of lesbian identity, I examined their
narrative identity as expressed in life story portions selected from both published
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literature and unpublished doctoral dissertations (Table 1). The relevance and
importance of using narrative identity as a means to explore the diverse dimensions
of identity and provide a means for their reintegration are presented, built on the
discussion of narrative identity theory from the review of literature. Descriptions
of the sources from which the life story portions of approximately 500 midlife
North American lesbians were obtained are presented next, followed by an account
of both the rationale and methods employed in the data selection process.
Cohort
To define the limits of the cohort under discussion, I studied the experiences
of North American women who self-identifies as lesbian and were bom between
1940 and 1965. This roughly corresponds with the so-called baby boom genera
tion. The baby boom cohort is influential in North American society, partly due to
its numbers. While much has been written about this generation, relatively little of
it has focused on the experience of lesbians (Faderman, 1991). There is a need,
therefore, for research focused on expanding understanding of this group’s life
experiences at midlife.
Some of the researchers whose works were used as sources had conducted
their life story interviews in the late 1980s, roughly 15 years ago. Women who
were around 50 at that time would be approximately 65 now and would have been
bom in the late 1930s. A few women who had been interviewed more recently and
had already turned 40 would have been bom as late as 1965. So the cohort under
study consists mainly of women bom in the 1940s and 1950s, whose coming of age
was in the mid-1960s to late 1970s. However, these cohort boundaries are not to be
taken strictly, as some of the historical context for the cultural milieu in which
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midlife lesbian identities were formed are examined from women older than 65—
for example, Betty Berzon, who was 76 at the time of this writing (2004).
Narrative Identity Expressed in Life Stories
The review of the literature suggests that the characteristics of an individual
giving rise to a sense of identity involve a complex interaction of personal and
sociocultural features (Polkinghome, 1988, 1990, 1994b; Ricoeur, 1992). The
ideas presented in chapter 2 began with the study of existing theories about self and
identity in general, as a unified (or unifying) construct. Next, several aspects or
dimensions of identity were examined, including racial, cultural, gender, and
ability/disability identities. The dimension of lesbian identity was paid particular
attention, especially as older women relate to that aspect of their lives. The last
domain of the review of literature explored narrative identity as expressed in life
stories as a vehicle for reintegrating these diverse dimensions of identity.
Within the larger theories of identity development is situated narrative
identity theory, that is, the notion that people “story” themselves into a sense of self
and identity, and that they are innately structured to do so (Polkinghome, 1996a).
Since narrative is “a mode of phenomenological and cognitive self-experience”
(Eakin, 1999, p. 100), it represents not only the expression of narrative identity but
also its content (Lieblich, Tuval-Mashiach, & Zilber, 1998) and is applicable to the
study of real-life issues (Bickman & Rog, 1998). Life stories are often the form
that this content takes, through which “identity activities” (Read, 2001) are con
ducted. The use of narrative is helpful in examining “the relation between the
external, socially exchanged life story and the internal sense of having a life story”
(Linde, 1993, p. 51). The central role of self-narration in identity formation may be
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seen through the lenses of multiple life stories that serve as field texts (Clandinin &
Connelly, 2000). In this study those field texts consisted of life story portions
drawn from different sources and representing a variety of identity aspects of older
lesbians’ lives.
Although there is tremendous variety in the details of individual life
recollections, seeking commonalities across identity stories helped to highlight the
process of integrating a positive sense of identity in the lives of midlife lesbians.
The metaphor of collage was suggested as a way to describe the effect of viewing
multiple stories with varied details that contributed to a rich, complex picture of an
intimate part of life, a sense of lesbian identity.
Coming to see that dimension of their lives in a positive way was not a
universal outcome for all North American women of the baby boom generation
facing the prospects of identifying as lesbian. Voices from women who chose not
to reveal their negatively perceived lesbian identity are understandably absent from
the literature (Sophie, 1987). This project focused on the stories of women who, at
midlife, saw their lesbian identity positively.
Studies that have included the voices of lesbians over 40, 50, and 60 (see
Table 1) have provided rich narrative details about how the women who were inter
viewed had come to see their lives as lesbians. Gathering the words of elders, and
privileging the views of older women especially, is the heritage of life story
research (Birren, 1996), here focused on the task of illuminating the kaleidoscope
of identity worldviews for lesbians over 40.
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Data Selection Process
Since my interest for this study was broadly in the realm of lesbian identity,
that is where the search for data began, after conducting the review of literature. I
used the search engine PsychLit primarily; however, a literature search under the
key words lesbian identity yielded a breadth of material far too large to cover
adequately in one project. Because of my interest in narrative identity as a possible
integration of the artificial dichotomy between internally and externally created/
discovered identity, I focused on works that would grant access to life story
information about North American midlife lesbians’ lives.
Limiting the search for source material to narrative data collected from
women who self-identified as lesbian and were bom between 1940 and 1965 (baby
boomers) produced a broad range of available literature, divided into four cate
gories, discussed above. My aim in choosing which literature to select for analysis
was to choose a variety of types of sources from a range of disciplines closely
connected to psychotherapy (psychology, sociology, counseling). Some of the
remaining literature from this (ongoing) literature search is cited peripherally in this
project but not used as actual sources for life story analysis.
The data selection process was also guided by the desire to include litera
ture dealing with the integration of a positive sense of lesbian identity for midlife
lesbians baby boomers. To do so, it was also necessary to gather contextual data
that displayed the historical and cultural antecedents of the gay liberation move
ment, which was particularly salient to the identity formation of this cohort.
During a time of great social change, the project of construing a minoritized,
stigmatized identity (as lesbianism is in a heterosexist, homophobic society) as
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positive is a noteworthy task. The value of the insights gained from analyzing the
accomplishment of this task by the population under study can be enriching for all.
One of the goals was to analyze themes drawn from the life stories of
women who were not only of the baby boom cohort (and thus experiencing midlife
at the turn of the 21 st century) but were also at least 40 years old at the time that
they had been interviewed by the various researchers whose data were used, thus
reflecting a midlife perspective. This was not always strictly possible, as some of
the authors did not specify the ages of their participants, although contextual clues
often indicated a level of life experience consonant with midlife. Also, some of the
authors created themes from narrative data that had been gathered from women
representing a variety of ages and developmental stages. As long as a midlife
perspective was visible at least in part (often from contextual clues), themes from
these authors were included for analysis. When the themes were clearly identified
(or identifiable) as being drawn from the life experiences of lesbians who were not
at midlife, that fact was also noted, as with Bennett’s (1992) seventh and eighth
themes.
Sources o f Narrative Data About
Mialife Lesbian Lives
To explore the dimensions of identity in midlife lesbians’ lives, multiple
sources of life story information were gathered and examined. These sources fall
into five categories (see Table 1): (a) topical books about lesbian lives and issues
giving the author’s perspective and retaining midlife lesbians’ worldview through
brief quotations in the text, (b) autobiographies of self-identified lesbians,
(c) collections of brief self-reflections made by midlife lesbians about their lives,
(d) works focusing on a particular aspect of midlife lesbians lives (such as having
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been married or in a religious order) and shared through life story portions, and
(e) unpublished dissertations containing significant self-reflections from midlife
North American lesbian lives about one or more dimensions of lesbian identity.
Topical Books Containing Quotes
The first identified source material category contains collections about
lesbian lives and issues, which are predominately filtered through the lens of the
author’s perspective. Even so, they retain portions of the actual voices of the
women who contributed to the material (Faderman, 1991; S. E. Johnson, 1991;
Kehoe, 1988; Kennedy & Davis, 1993). These are presented as brief quotations in
the text, usually citing which contributor’s voice is speaking. For example, Monica
Kehoe (1988) recapped her survey (one of the first to address aging lesbians’ con
cerns) in “Lesbians Over 60 Speak for Themselves,” with direct quotes drawn from
responses written into either the essay portions of her survey or in its margins.
Another entry in this source category, Susan Johnson (S. E. Johnson, 1991), pre
sented her interviews with seven long-term lesbian couples to help increase the
availability of role models for healthy, lasting partnerships. Short stories from each
couple are interspersed with Johnson’s own analyses, which also contain brief
quotes from her interviewees.
Both Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers by Lillian Faderman (1991) and Boots
o f Leather, Slippers o f Gold by Elizabeth Kennedy and Madeline Davis (1993), are
histories of lesbian communities containing quotes from individuals about their
own life experiences embedded within the ethno-historical analyses of the authors.
Kennedy and Davis indexed 31 of their 45 contributors of oral history information,
although the narrators’ ages were not specified. In Faderman’s (1991) history,
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quotes are used liberally but individual contributors are not profiled. For this
reason, contributors to her work are not counted in the tally of life story contri
butors to the data used, although Faderman’s work was valuable to this study,
particularly in setting the historical context against which North American baby
boomer lesbians came to self-identify.
A utobiographies
The second category of source material was composed of autobiographies
(Berzon, 2002; Faderman, 2003; Nestle, 1987) in which lesbian elders told their
own life stories. Rich in detail but relatively few in number at this point, these
books paint a phenomenological picture of the life course of these lesbians from
which narrative identity issues may be surveyed. In these types of documents the
sense of the older lesbian speaking about her own life is transparently preserved. In
one example from this category, Betty Berzon’s Surviving Madness (2002) gives an
historical overview of the process by which some in the mental health community,
following in the footsteps of the civil rights activists in the early 1960s, worked to
remove the stigma of mental illness from identification as homosexual. Berzon’s
personal journey toward self-acceptance and pride as a lesbian woman is painted
against the backdrop of her participation in this movement and her career as a
psychotherapist.
Autobiographies provide a unique view of the lifeworld of a representative
of a segment of the population. In this project the historical tone and personal
details of identity struggles preserved in the self-authored texts enrich both the
content under analysis and the context through which that content is viewed.
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Collections o f Brief Life Story
Recollections
The third category of source material used for this project was composed of
collections of older lesbians’ brief self-reflections about their own lives. An
example of this category is Gay Old Girls by Zsa Zsa Gershick (1998), which is a
series of life history interviews with older American lesbians. This book explores
the lesbian past that set the stage for the Free Love era of the 1960s to mid-1970s in
America, when Gershick’s own lesbian identity explorations began. To contextual-
ize her own experience, Gershick wondered how her lesbian foremothers learned
about themselves and met other like-minded women.
Having interviewed Monica Kehoe about her 1988 work “Lesbians Over 60
Speak for Themselves,” Gershick decided (with Kehoe’s encouragement) to inter
view 9 of the lesbian pioneers who had originally responded to Kehoe’s survey.
The recollections of these lesbian elders (in their 60s, 70s, and 80s at the time of
Gershick’s interviews) painted a picture of the formation of lesbian community and
culture from the 1930s and forward. While the life experiences of these lesbian
foremothers fall outside the cohort of the baby boom generation, the lifeworlds
represented in those experiences helped to set the tone for the environment in
which the population under study developed their own worldviews.
Gershick made a point of stating that her interviews were in no way repre
sentative of all lesbians. By combining the 1990 Census Bureau figures for the
projected number of women over 60 in the United States and Kinsey’s (Kinsey et
al., 1953) finding that approximately 8% of adult women are lesbian, Gershick
estimated that there were over 2,000,000 lesbians over age 60 at the time of her
interviews. She did not give the demographics for her participants, so information
about ethnicity, social class, and education was included only incidentally, when it
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was relevant in some way to the individual’s story. From sheer numbers alone,
nine stories drawn from over 2,000,000 million cannot give voice to a breadth of
experience; however, the depth of information about the cultural messages being
imparted to and lived out by these pioneering women is instructive.
Marcy Adelman edited a similar work (Long Time Passing: Lives o f Older
Lesbians, 1986) in which she collected first-person self-reflections written by older
lesbians. Adelman conducted about 200 interviews with these community elders,
which were then transcribed, edited, and (if selected for the book) transformed into
brief chapters by the interviewees themselves. Although the women whom
Adelman interviewed in the early 1980s were bom before the baby boomer cohort
being studied here, their life experiences helped to shape the world in which later
lesbians would engage in creating narratives of their lives.
Details and personal perspectives make the relatively short life story
passages presented in this category of sources useful to the thematic analysis
conducted in the present project, despite the fact that most of the women inter
viewed by these authors (Adelman, 1986; Gershick, 1998) were older than the age
cohort of midlife lesbians currently explored. The rich sense of lesbian herstory
(see chapter 1) captured from the firsthand experience of American lesbian elders
provides important contextual background against which to view the current
project. Each generation builds on those before, and glimpses of the cultural view
of lesbians from the generation immediately preceding, gathered from the voices of
older lesbians themselves, offer valuable insights. This material is used primarily
in chapter 4 to describe the historical world of lesbians who are now in the 40- to
65-year-old age range.
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Issue-Related Collections o f Life
Story Portions
The fourth category of source material used in this project included collec
tions of lesbian self-reports gathered about specific issues. The life course of
lesbian women demonstrates remarkable diversity, and various authors have chosen
to focus on specific life experiences as they gathered life story information. I
selected a variety of such collections from which to draw self-reflective comments
to enrich the lifeworld collage being created through which to view midlife North
American lesbian lives (see Table 1).
In the works included in this category, some (but not all) of the respondents
in the collection of stories were over 40 at the time that they were interviewed.
Even when the ages of the women at the time that they were interviewed were not
specified by the editor(s) of the collections, it was often possible to infer from
details within the narrative (e.g., partnered for 35 years, in the convent for a given
period of years) that the interviewee was 40 or older when the life story material
was gathered.
Two of the sources used in this category related to women who married
men before coming to a sense of lesbian identity. Cassingham and O’Neil (1993)
collected brief autobiographical responses from 36 women (28 of whom were 40 or
older) regarding having been married and then “choosing” to be lesbian. Abbott
and Farmer (1995) also gathered “stories of transformation” from previously
married lesbians. These first-person essays, interviews, and poems reflect the
different paths by which women come to know that they love women and live out
alternative lifestyles after having lived for a time in the social norm of heterosexual
marriage. Since some women know early on that they are lesbian and others come
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to experience this later in life, including the voices of previously married lesbians
added to the richness of perspective for the later analysis.
This fourth category of sources also included a collection (Curb &
Manahan, 1985) of narrative data from women who entered religious orders under
a variety of vows before coming to an awareness of being lesbian. Rosemary Curb
and Nancy Manahan, both former nuns, gathered life story portions from other
lesbian nuns. Some of their interviewees had left their convents (voluntarily or
involuntarily) after discovering their sexual orientation or having had it exposed by
others. A few of the contributors to Curb and Manahan’s work chose to remain
inside their spiritual communities, either working for change from within the
organizations or reframing their worldview to allow more choice regarding the
interpretation of their vows. Several of the contributors in this collection belonged
to the baby boom generation, while others were beyond midlife, having already
been living under vows by the mid-1950s. The cultural, historical, and spiritual
worldviews of American lesbians aged 40-65 at the start of the 21st century were
formed at a time when these older lesbian nuns were serving their communities and
making their self-discoveries.
Two collections focusing on the area of coming out (defined in chapter 4)
were included in this category of source material. Sarah Holmes (1988) collected
over 20 coming out stories from women, some of whom were in their mid-20s at
the time, which would place these contributors in the age cohort under study even
though their reflections were not made from a midlife perspective. Penelope and
Wolfe (1989) created an expanded edition of their collection of more than 40
coming out stories, originally published in 1980. Their contributing authors were
among some of the more famous names in the lesbian community, including Alix
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Dobkin, Cherrie Moraga, Terri de la Pena, Sarah Hoagland, and the editors them
selves. These coming out collections both form and reflect part of the backdrop for
the cultural shifts that the baby boom cohort of American lesbians inherited and in
which they participated as they developed a sense of themselves.
Julia Penelope was the editor of another work in this source category, Out
o f the Class Closet: Lesbians Speak (1994). Contributors of segments to this
collection included their own voices in their writings, along with theory and
analysis in some cases. The “notes on contributors” section was penned by each
writer and displayed remarkable diversity. The issue of class is one that has
historically been difficult to discuss, both in “majority” and “minority” cultures,
particularly for women. Self-reflections on this dimension of identity offered depth
and context to the conceptual model in this study.
One source included in this fourth category of sources containing brief,
issue-related self-reports focused exclusively on the life experience of midlife
lesbians. Sang et al. (1991) edited a collection of older lesbians’ reflections on the
creative transition to midlife, including their changing relationships to their bodies,
mothers, spirituality, and inevitable losses.
There we were, three women over 50, and none of us could find anything to
tell us what to expect as lesbians who were aging. There are no Passages,
no developmental stages for lesbians, no indication that we exist at all,
much less that we change and grow. (p. 1)
Material from this collection provided rich context and detail illuminating the
lifeworld of the midlife lesbian. The contributors’ focus on creativity also helped
to anchor a sense of positive identity development, even in a life stage often seen as
both containing significant losses and foreshadowing more loss to come.
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Unpublished Doctoral Disserta
tions on Lesbian Identity
The fifth category of source material for life story data reflecting the life
experiences of midlife North American lesbians was the ever-widening pool of
doctoral dissertations. Seven dissertations that were selected to use as sources are
described in more detail shortly. This selection is by no means exhaustive; rather,
the dissertations were chosen because they highlighted various aspects relating to
lesbian identity, such as occupation or being single. The dissertations come from a
variety of academic disciplines relevant to the practice of psychotherapy (e.g.,
sociology, education, counseling psychology, social work). The selected studies
span a period covering the past 15 years, with copyright dates from 1990 to 2001.
One commonality linking the representatives in this category of research is
that all were located using the keywords lesbian identity in PsychLit, a preeminent
search engine for psychotherapy research. Another shared characteristic is that
each of the dissertation authors constructed an analysis of the narrative data drawn
from the life story information collected from self-identified lesbians via inter
views. These analyses helped to inform the construction of the conceptual kaleido
scope through which the life story portions (contained in these dissertations and in
the popular literature described above) were then viewed. (This analysis is pre
sented in chapter 4.) A highly significant commonality shared by four of the
dissertations (five if the present dissertation is included in the total) is the guidance
of Dr. Walter L. Williams on each author’s dissertation committee at the University
of Southern California (Bourne, 1990; Jackson, 1995; Pedersen, 2000; Silberkraus,
1995). The community of lesbian scholarship at this university provides a
supportive, creative environment for the production of further collegial
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collaborations, enhanced by the proximity and resources of the prestigious ONE
Institute, also nurtured by Walter Williams’s guidance.
Following is a synopsis of each of the selected dissertations, presented in
alphabetical order of authors, along with an overview of the themes generated by
each author in her own analysis of the life story data from her participants.
Anderson, 2001. In her dissertation The Voices o f Older Lesbians: An Oral
History, Carolyn A. Anderson (2001) framed her analysis of oral history data
against the sociopolitical context of North America in the 1960s and 1970s, noting
especially the debate between the social constructionist and essentialist viewpoints.
Her information was gathered from 15 women over age 47 who self-identified as
lesbian and lived in Calgary (in Alberta, Canada) during that time frame. The
study was presented from a social work perspective.
Six themes were identified and organized in two groupings: (a) “the parti
cipants’ search for self’ (p. 15), and (b) “making peace with lesbian identity”
(p. 15). The first group of themes demonstrated a pattern of growing awareness by
the participants that they were different from their peers. This dawning awareness
was followed by the search for other women like themselves, which led them to
face the positive and negative ramifications of “difference.” The second grouping
of themes spoke to relationship issues of various kinds, such as parenting and
occupation, including coming out and connecting to a sense of lesbian community.
C. A. Anderson’s six themes were as follows: a growing awareness
(p. 105), looking for the lesbians (p. 114), the impact of being lesbian (p. 127),
relationships (p. 146), coming out (p. 172), and the lesbian community (p. 185).
Anderson included long narrative portions from her participants under each of these
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thematic headings, consistent with her choice to “analyze the women’s stories by
listening for recurring themes presented in their own words” (2001, p. 81). These
life story portions provided rich (or “thick”) descriptions of midlife lesbian’s life-
worlds for analysis in the present study.
Bennett, 1992. Elizabeth Bennett (1992) asked three main questions of her
participants in her dissertation entitled The Psychological and Developmental
Process o f Maintaining a Positive Lesbian Identity. “What do you like and love
about being a lesbian? What struggles and difficulties have you experienced in the
maintenance of your lesbian identity? What are the sources of strength that you
have drawn on to maintain a positive sense of self?” (p. vii). Ten participants from
ages 32 to 50 (4 of whom were 40 or older) were interviewed using a subjective life
history approach. The author defined this approach as a qualitative research
method, appropriate to the subject because there was little published on her topic at
the time that she was writing (the late 1980s and very early 1990s).
Bennett also subscribed to feminist principles, noting that qualitative
research is particularly useful to empower populations previously underrepresented
in research. Life history methods are empowering because these approaches
privilege the participant’s own voice. According to G. J. Neimeyer and Resnikoff,
(1982), “The life history method assumes that the person is best suited and under
stood from his or her own perspective” (p. 79). Bennett’s choice of method
reflected this assumption.
In Bennett’s work, identity development was shown to be multidimensional
and cyclical, influenced by the psychosocial context of participants’ lives. Coming
out was viewed as a lifelong process. Consistent with previous identity theorists
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(Erikson, 1950; Gilligan, 1982), connection with others was seen by Bennett as
central to identity development in general and positive lesbian identity specifically,
for all participants.
With regard to Bennett’s first question (“What do you like and love about
being a lesbian?”), three main “aspects of lesbianism” (Bennett, 1992, p. 97) were
identified: physical/sexual, relational/social, and self-affirming. Also, two other
aspects of lesbian identity were identified by some of Bennett’s participants, in
response to this question: political aspects and aspects of reclaiming deviance
(pp. 97, 109), or enjoying a sense of being different.
Six categories were established for the responses to the question “What
struggles and difficulties have you experienced in the maintenance of your lesbian
identity?”: coming out, dealing with family, employment, experiencing discrimina
tion, dealing with the lesbian community, and issues of race and class. The first
five themes were examined separately, with the last one interwoven throughout the
discussion of the preceding five. This interlocking, recursive interaction of life-
world categories became important in the conceptual model for the present study.
Bennett’s third question (“What are the sources of strength that you have
drawn on to maintain a positive sense of self?”) generated eight themes (1992,
pp. 152-153). However, only six of these themes were endorsed by participants
who were over 40. In order of the frequency discussed, they were: (a) connection
with other people, (b) the participant’s belief system or sense of spirituality, (c) the
historical moment or epoch in which participants came out, (d) participant’s race
and ethnicity, (e) taking an active role in coming out, and (f) maturing or “growing
up.” The other two themes (generated from participant’s life histories but not
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espoused by the women over 40 regarding sources of strength were leaving one’s
home community and taking holistic care of the body.
The themes that Bennett developed from life story portions regarding all
three of her questions contributed to development of a kaleidoscopic conceptual
view of the multiple dimensions of lesbian identity (or “aspects of lesbianism”) at
midlife for the present study. Themes from her third question contributed to this
study’s chapter 5 in the discussion of the implications of the findings.
Bennett also critiqued Erikson’s theory of identity, noting in particular a
lack of women’s life experience regarding psychosocial development reflected in
his theories. Beyond recognizing the limited applicability of Erikson’s stages for
women and other minority groups (including lesbians), Bennett also called for
lesbian-affirmative psychotherapy to counter the negative images and messages
given to women of alternative sexuality from the dominant culture.
Bourne, 1990. The third dissertation in this source category is the oldest,
encountered before beginning my doctoral studies. Kate Bourne wrote By the Self
Defined: Creating a Lesbian Identity in 1990, after interviewing 18 lesbians
between the ages of 20 and 57 from diverse ethnic, socioeconomic, and educational
backgrounds. She looked at the lesbian identity formation (A. Martin, 1982) of
these women and compared their stories about self-identifying as lesbian to a
theoretical rubric drawn from the stage models of lesbian identity available in the
literature at that time. Comparing those stage models, she identified commonalities
and differences among the stage model theories (pp. 68-69, Table 2) and between
the models and the experiences of the women whom she interviewed (pp. 256-258).
Experiential differences were reported by two of the participants, including
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skipping “stages,” a lack or retrospective reinterpretation of former events after
identifying as lesbian, and seeing lesbian relationships as a choice rather than an
essential or individual identity.
From her in-depth, open-ended interviews, Bourne (1990) compiled 14
separate themes and grouped them in four stages that she posited women pass
through on the path toward self-identification as lesbian. These stages were then
used as the organizational framework for her emergent themes. Central to
Bourne’s view of lesbian identity formation is the “double-edged sword” of cultur
ally ingrained heterosexism (which can translate to internalized homophobia and its
attendant problems with self-esteem) juxtaposed with the empowerment gained by
critiquing and resisting that marginalizing message.
The first stage of Bourne’s (1990) model, retrospective early awareness
(p. 98), contained six themes generated in response to a prompt for early memories
related (eventually) to the development of a lesbian identity: (a) Certain youthful
characteristics are incongruent with female gender-role stereotypes, (b) certain
youthful attractions are incongruent with cultural assumptions of heterosexuality,
(c) a supportive external context for lesbianism does not exist, (d) confusion is
experienced in perceiving and labeling lesbian feelings, (e) shame is internalized
about the self, and (f) a tangential perspective begins to form. This tangential
perspective was seen as the adoption of a parallel (but not marginalized or stigma
tized) position in society that fosters the development of positive personality traits
useful in challenging the oppression of the dominant cultural view of lesbianism. It
was the identification and elaboration of this “tangential perspective” that Bourne
considered her most original and exciting finding.
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Upon receiving a message that something about oneself is unacceptable, it
is possible either to internalize shame or alternatively to reject the message and
affirm the truth as experienced by the self. Affirming rather than denigrating one’s
culturally incongruent characteristics was labeled in this study the creation of a
“tangential perspective,” or developing self-supportive beliefs and attitudes that are
tangential to those espoused by the majority culture (1990, pp. 126-127).
The second stage of Bourne’s (1990) model, questioning and weighing
identity alternatives, was composed of three themes: (g) The self is questioned for
lesbian connotations (awareness of same-sex attractions, experience of same-sex
sexual contact), (h) inhibition strategies are used to manage conflict over lesbian
identity alternatives (denial, rationalization), and (i) exploration strategies are used
to explore lesbian identity alternatives (exploring lesbian behaviors and relation
ships, contact with lesbian role models and information about lesbianism).
Identification as a lesbian came in stage three of Bourne’s (1990) model,
where (j) a lesbian identity is accepted. Stage four, creating a personal lesbian
identity, contains the final four themes: (k) healing the shame of the lesbian self,
(1) defining social and sexual roles within the context of a lesbian peer group, (m)
managing and grieving the loss of status and safety within the culture, and (n) the
tangential perspective continues to develop. The development of Bourne’s theo
retical model of lesbian identity significantly informed the conceptual kaleidoscope
laid out in chapter 4 of this dissertation.
Imbra, 1998. Christine Imbra wrote the dissertation Lesbian Leaders in
Higher Education (1998). Imbra used life story methodology to study four lesbians
in leadership positions in higher education in the United States. Three of her
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participants self-identified as White and 1 as Chicana; all 4 were in their 50s at the
time of the interviews. Imbra included complete transcriptions of the phenomeno
logical interviews as a separate component of the study, followed by analysis of the
raw narrative data. This format gives other researchers access to her full life story
texts.
Imbra’s (1998) analysis of these interviews was divided into five sections,
each containing one of her research questions, with themes drawn from each one.
The first section, the beginning, contained three themes: grandmothers, the role of
athletics and sport, and men and marriage. In the second section, the ascent, the
fourth theme of unplanned efforts moving women into leadership positions was
noted, along with recognition of homophobia, both internalized and societal. In the
third section, the academy, answers to questions regarding how being lesbian had
affected each participant in her leadership position(s) were given. These answers
produced the following themes: lesbian administrators, the importance of being
out, the myth of a lesbian agenda, and closeted lesbians. In the fourth section, the
lesbian experience, participants noted the difficulty of separating their feminist
identities from their affectional (or even racial/cultural) identities, which became
the next theme. The politics/climate of a work setting was also an emerging theme
from this section. In the fifth section, the lessons, lesbian leaders reflected that
being out in their careers was the best thing that they could do to support the next
generation of future lesbian leaders. Being oneself, knowing one’s strengths and
weaknesses, and working within the system to create change were all described as
valuable advice to share with upcoming lesbian educational administrators. The
two themes in this section were that, given a chance to “do it all again,” each
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lesbian leader stated that she would come out sooner, and the stressed the import
ance of finding support.
Imbra (1998) made recommendations for changes in institutions of higher
education that are used in the discussion section (chapter 5), including instituting
curricular changes to highlight the history of lesbians and their presence on
campus, encouraging (through acknowledgement and reward) scholarship on
lesbian issues and existence, and an equality of position for lesbian leaders in
higher education, beginning with a welcoming campus environment.
Jackson, 1995. Jeanne Jackson’s (1995) study Lesbian Identities, Daily
Occupations, and Health Care Experiences explored two themes among 20
lesbians (11 of whom were over 40): (a) the beliefs that people create meaningful
lives by engaging in occupations significant to them on several levels, and (b) that
appropriate occupational therapy must include the multidimensionality of clients.
Half of her participants were occupational therapists and half were consumers of
occupational therapy due to having disabilities. In addition to those two themes,
Jackson explored two main domains: (a) “how lesbians created and nurtured their
lives by weaving together their lesbian identities and occupations” (p. xi), and
(b) constructive versus hindering therapeutic environments for occupational treat
ment practice. From this exploration seven key findings (similar to the construct of
themes in studies previously discussed) emerged, including the primary recognition
that being lesbian affected women’s lives in multiple dimensions, such as leisure,
political, and spiritual. The idea that occupations could be expressions of lesbian
identity was noted, with the caveat that occupations, like the larger social structures
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in which they are framed, are usually heterosexually oriented and therefore some
what uncomfortable for lesbians.
Jackson (1995) also found a theme of lesbians longing to be authentic
within their occupational identity, to experience a goodness of fit between these
important domains of their lives. Against a backdrop of heterosexist/homophobic
climates in occupational therapy clinics, lesbians described the coping skills that
they had developed, such as the use of rituals to honor their identities. When such
authenticity was not advisable, other coping skills (e.g., passing, censoring, and
strategically using anger) were employed. Jackson drew the conclusion that
“occupation-centered occupational therapy is one way that occupational therapy
clinics can become more lesbian-sensitive” (p. xii).
While occupational therapy is not the same as psychotherapy, it is a related
helping profession, located in the health care field. The life experiences and coping
skills of lesbians in this milieu contribute to the kaleidoscope of worldviews
through which other midlife lesbians and the psychotherapists who serve them can
view their own lifeworlds.
Pedersen, 2000. Holly Pedersen (2000) is the author of Singled Out:
Exploring Lesbians ’ Experiences Being Single. Using a life cycle framework,
Pedersen conducted semistructured interviews with 40 unpartnered lesbians over
the age of 30 years, 19 of whom were 40 years or older. Although she did not use
the word themes, Pedersen organized her empirical findings into three chapters the
subheadings of which were similar to themes noted elsewhere in this literature.
Pedersen’s fourth chapter was entitled “Cultural Imperatives and Inner
Devils: Lesbians’ Reasons for and Experiences of Being Single.” Areas discussed
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included (a) reasons for being single: sexual identity, ambivalence and shifting
preferences; (b) the drawbacks and related losses of singlehood; (c) the rewards and
opportunities of singlehood; and (d) the social context of lesbian singlehood.
[In the view of the] larger social context, creating a satisfying and reward
ing life as a single lesbian involves being able to deflect rather than internal
ize social pressure to partner and stigmatizing messages about being single
and lesbian, and to de-center partnership in order to experience the advant
ages and opportunities of being single, (p. 117)
Due to the heterosexism of the dominant culture, and since they lack the
buffer of a primary relationship, single lesbians need to develop alternative support
relationships. The potential for and importance of these relationships were dis
cussed in Pedersen’s (2000) fifth and sixth chapters, entitled “Participating in a
Family System: Unique Challenges and Opportunities for Single Lesbians” and
“Singlehood as Social Isolation or Social Opportunity: The Role of Social Support
in the Lives of Lesbian Singles,” respectively. The fifth chapter contains informa
tion about her fifth theme, the family of origin. Here she discussed the impact of
being both single and lesbian, which can push women to the margins of family life
(p. 121). Also presented in this chapter were two subheadings/themes: the
obstacles to establishing an adult identity in the family life cycle that single les
bians may encounter, and the significance of finding and developing a “chosen
family” (Weston, 1991) to create the “feeling of family” for the unpartnered
lesbian. The sixth chapter describes the theme of the choice that a lesbian who is
single faces regarding whether to see singlehood as “social isolation or social
opportunity” (p. 147), linking the outcome of this choice to “the role of support in
the lives of lesbian singles” (p. 147).
Pedersen then linked all of her themes into a larger collage of understanding
single lesbians’ lives and put forward her recommendations (as a sociologist and
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family therapist) to the psychotherapy community, calling for increased under
standing of and sensitivity toward this multiply marginalized population.
Silberkraus, 1995. Sally Silberkraus’s dissertation is entitled A Sapphic
Sojourn: Evolution o f a Lesbian Identity (1995). Through interviews with 5
lesbians (3 of whom were over 40) using grounded theory methods, Silberkraus
developed “a set of 15 themes organized into a developmental feedback-loop model
which emphasize the life long, recursive, unending, and fluid nature of forming,
and re-forming lesbian identity” (p. vii). These themes were arranged chronologic
ally “to parallel the developmental process inherent in maturation” (p. 200).
Silberkraus clarified her standpoint: “Lesbianism is a natural variation in human
sexuality rather than a deviation” (p.l 1) and neither pathological in itself nor the
cause of psychopathology.
Silberkraus’s (1995) themes are (a) rebellion from, and conformity to,
stereotypic gender roles as a hallmark of early experiences; (b) youthful and young
adult attractions as incongruent with “compulsory heterosexuality”; (c) attempts to
conform to heterosexual values; (d) initial confusion over emerging lesbian feel
ings; (e) the absence of role models for young lesbians; (f) emergence of an initial
tangential perspective (see Bourne, 1990); (g) engagement in active questioning of
identity and weighing alternatives; (h) denial strategies employed that preclude
self-labeling as lesbian; (i) strategies that increase investigation of lesbian identity
awareness; (j) accepting a lesbian identity and self-labeling lesbian; (k) a renewed
tangential perspective; (1) forming and re-forming a personal lesbian identity;
(m) integrating a lesbian identity into a heterosexual culture; (n) strengthened and
continued belief in living one’s life as it was meant to be; and (o) integrating
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balance into one’s life. These themes were discussed not as covering all potential
courses of lesbian identity formation but as reflecting the narratives gathered from
the specific study participants. These narratives, three of which came from the
population under study, contributed to the kaleidoscopic vision of lesbian identity
set out in chapter 4 of this dissertation. Silberkraus’s themes, along with Bourne’s
(1990) themes, on whose work Silberkraus expanded, also informed the conceptual
model of multiple dimensions of midlife lesbian identity in North American women
used in this study.
Summary o f Sources
Five categories of sources were used to draw data for the study. From these
sources, narrative life story portions were available from approximately 500 self
identified, North American, midlife lesbians of the baby boom cohort. While I did
not have direct access to the raw interview data, through direct quotes (sometimes
sizable), a sense of each participant’s perspective filtered through her life story
portion. In some cases, whole, largely unedited transcripts of the actual interviews
conducted with midlife lesbians about some aspect of lesbian identity were avail
able in the text or appendices of the cited sources (Imbra, 1998). In other types of
sources, brief edited story-portions were collected by an author and presented
without analysis, as in the work of Gershick (1998) and Kehoe (1986b). Thematic
collections of life story portions such as those of Curb and Manahan (1985) and
autobiographies such as that of Berzon (2002) were also used as sources of data
about lesbian identity. The range of life experience and diversity of worldviews
displayed by the 500 contributors to the sources used in this study made the
selection and analysis of the data a profitable, enjoyable task.
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Data Analysis
The data used in this study were self-reflections of and stories about midlife
lesbians’ lives gathered (and, in some cases, analyzed) by a number of researchers
in different contexts, both academic and popular. The current project built on the
foundation of hearing women’s voices in the literature, adding an integration of
their life story portions to form a kaleidoscopic view of identity issues for midlife
North American lesbians. From the life story data selected, gathered from roughly
500 members of the baby boom cohort who participated in various kinds of
research, commonalities of development, life stage, and cohort became apparent.
While the focus was particularly on the issues involved in having, at midlife, a
positive sense of lesbian identity, I did not impose this constraint on the data. I
sought, through reading and rereading life story portions, and by immersing myself
in the lesbian studies literature for contextual richness, to hear what each woman
had to say about her own lived experience.
To work with the data, I began by marking sections that I thought would be
important to include in the three realms of the literature review: self and identity,
multiple dimensions of identity, and narrative identity as a synthesis of the either/or
identity debates (see chapter 2). I used color-coded tabs to organize sources and
sections into these categories. Later, I expanded my color coding to include the
sense of various lifeworlds that were bubbling up, including the personal, social,
and political domains.
At one point in the analysis I had identified five lifeworld domains of
interest: historical, personal, social, political, and spiritual. However, further
analysis made it clear that, although gay and lesbian history set the context for
multiple dimensions of lesbian identity to form/be discovered by the baby boom
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cohort, the data did not actually constitute a separate lifeworld domain. Accord
ingly, material that had been tabbed for that “world” was absorbed into the remain
ing domains to set their context.
Similarly, what I had originally identified as the spiritual domain of lesbian
identity coalesced eventually not as a separate lifeworld but as a thread of relating
to religious practices in the personal, social, and political worlds. While a sense of
spirituality is often important to women at midlife (Sang et al., 1991), the data did
not support the inclusion of that sense as a separate domain of identity. Some
reasons why the realm of religious practices and doctrines seemed at first to be a
whole separate world became apparent in chapter 5, as I applied my conceptual
model to portions of my own life story. A further exploration of spirituality as it is
expressed in the lives of midlife lesbians is also needed, as called for in the final
chapter.
As recommended by Ely, Anzul, Friedman, Gamer, and Steinmetz (1991),
I kept a record of internal conversations in which I engaged during the analytic
process in order to track “what has occurred in the research process, what has been
learned, the insights this provides, and the leads these suggest for future action”
(p. 80). The insights gained from the process of analyzing the data were also
incorporated into chapter 5. I returned to the data, building the chapters to reflect
the insights that were emerging from my immersion in the process. At times,
segments of life story data required more than one color of tab in order to locate the
material in more than one analytical compartment. Eventually, the outline
(Figure 1) took shape, refined by ongoing feedback from outside readers.
The narrative data under analysis in chapter 4 were drawn from previous
research studies (outlined above) and the rubric under which I organized them was
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I. Historical Context and Generational Cohort
II. Personal World—Where Difference is Noticed and Integrated
A. Life Cycle Effects on Identity
B. Progression of Identity
C. Self-Concept and Related Identity Plots About Lesbianism
1. Lack of Lesbian Role Models: Denial—” I’m Not Lesbian”
2. Dealing with Shame, Stigma and Self-Doubt: Nonacceptance—
”I’m Lesbian and Therefore Defective, or Sick or Sinful”
3. Coming Out to Oneself: Acceptance—’’I’m Lesbian, So What,
I’m OK and Will Live With It”
4. Honoring a “Tangential Perspective”: Celebration—”Yes! I am
Lesbian, and Proud, Glad to Be”
III. Social World - Where Difference is Processed and Expressed
A. Sexuality
1. Exploration and Development of Lesbian Sexuality
2. Lesbian Sexuality Absent in Cultural View
B. Family Life
1. Family of Origin
2. Family of Choice
C. Work Life
1. Closeted at Work
2. Out at Work
IV. Political World - Where Difference is Enacted and Celebrated
A. Building Lesbian Community
1. Enjoyment of “Like” Others
2. Alliances Across Differences
3. Reducing Heterosexism and Homophobia
B. Celebrating Diversity
1. Addressing Issues of Race and Class
2. Making a Contribution
Figure 1. Outline of conceptual model.
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informed by them as well as by their critique. I also drew from the other portions
of the literature (described above) that did not contain analysis in the strict sense,
except as a feature of editing what portions of the raw data to include in a topical
collection of life story portions. To adequately reflect the patterns of commonali
ties apparent in the data, I created my own conceptualization of the overlapping
lifeworlds sketched in the life story information presented. The collage of the
narrative data about midlife lesbian lives was then viewed through this shifting,
fluid, contextualized model, metaphorically described as a kaleidoscope.
The conceptual kaleidoscope assembled from the narrative data supplied by
approximately 500 midlife, North American self-identified lesbians links across
commonalities found in the narrative analyses of previous authors while also leav
ing room for the variety and irregularity that narrative voice preserves. Retaining
the richness of individual differences was important to me as a principle of feminist
research (Reinharz, 1992). By utilizing the metaphors of collage and kaleidoscope
when referring to the data and conceptual model, I have attempted to remind
readers of the emphasis for which I strove: unity among differences, rather than
sameness and universality in identity issues.
The model (Figure 1) drew on the multidimensional identity conceptualiza
tion put forward by Jones and McEwen (2000) and others (Blustein, 1994; Deaux,
1993; Eliason, 1996; Rupp & Taylor, 1999). This type of model allows for a
correction to the former stage models (Cass, 1979,1990; Troiden, 1989; see also
Bourne, 1990) in that it does not posit a simple, linear progression through phases
of identity but rather allows the richness of narrative identity to be examined
through multiple dimensions. The importance of this freedom from linearity is
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reflected in the findings from the review of the literature and is revisited in
chapter 5.
One of the values of this lifeworld conceptual collage of multiple dimen
sions of identity lies in its use within the psychotherapy community for producing a
deeper, more accurate understanding of older lesbian lives, first and foremost.
(This benefit is discussed in greater detail in chapter 5.) Potentially, the lives of
older nonlesbian women will also be positively affected by an increased under
standing of this particular cohort of women. Looking at a collection of sources and
seeing both the convergence and divergence of identity dimensions and worldviews
from midlife lesbians utilized the richness of life story information already
collected about these extraordinary, courageous women.
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CHAPTER 4
RESULTS
The purpose of this project was to describe and understand the issues
surrounding the formation of a positive lesbian identity for North American women
of the baby boom cohort, bom between approximately 1940 and 1965. Through
the process described in chapter 3, portions of life story information from approxi
mately 500 self-identified midlife lesbians were analyzed. While viewing the data,
a number of similarities of experience among members of this cohort emerged, and
categories (worlds) were formed from the data to show their organization. At the
same time, retaining a sense of individual differences and unique outcomes was
made possible through the richness of the narrative data from approximately 500
contributors (see Table 1). From this retrospective data a collage of sorts emerged,
revealing a richly complex picture of midlife lesbian identity. To more accurately
view this data collage, I constructed a kaleidoscopic conceptual model through
which to view narrative accounts of life experiences from this cohort. The shifting,
fluid, and contextual nature of the landscape of lesbian identity was better accom
modated by this conceptual format than through the linear, stage-oriented models
presented in the literature (chapter 2).
This conceptual collage of the intersecting lifeworld domains inhabited and
experienced by the cohort of interest was created through an iterative analysis of
the narrative accounts and life story portions gathered from earlier interview
studies, autobiographies, and topical collections used as data sources for this
project (see chapter 3 for a detailed description of these sources). Multiple analyses
of the context in which the identity activities of this cohort of North American
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lesbians took place were also used to inform the construction of the conceptual
collage. These analyses were drawn from the sources in the life story data pool
(see Table 1) and from the works cited in the review of literature. Included with
each section of the collage of findings presented below are a few direct quotations
drawn from these sources, as examples of the lifeworld domain being illustrated.
The kaleidoscopic conceptual model through which this collage is viewed is
intended for use within and beyond the psychotherapy community to increase
understanding and raise awareness regarding the challenges met by these midlife
North American lesbians in forming a positive lesbian identity.
Imagery o f “Worlds” and “Difference”
as Organizing Constructs
The contextual nature of identity, stressed in the review of literature, is
demonstrated in this conceptual model by the incorporation of the historical epoch
that the baby boom cohort of lesbians experienced. The imagery of worlds (per
sonal, social, and political) reflected the recursive processes between the various
domains of midlife lesbians’ lifeworlds where identity is formed and re-formed also
carries that contextual connotation. The boundaries between the lifeworld domains
are somewhat arbitrary, an organizational pattern imposed on complex data to
facilitate creating a recognizable picture of midlife lesbian identity. These domains
are naturally salient in everyone’s identity formation, not only that of midlife
lesbians. However, these domains form the arenas where the struggles for a
positive identity as a member of a stigmatized community are played out. Each
woman needed to undergo a process of lesbian identification in each domain,
exhibiting a wide variety of responses in each arena. As such, these lifeworld
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domains merited careful attention and multilayered description about how they
applied, individually and collectively, to this unique cohort of women.
In addition to the personal, social, and political worlds that recursively
affected midlife lesbian identity for this cohort, I noticed a distinction about their
particular identity processes, as reflected in the collage of narrative data from the
500 contributors of life story portions. This distinction was that the experience and
perception of difference was a common thread in many contributors’ life story
portions, more centrally placed than in identity stories from the general population.
For most contributors, the differences by which they felt impacted were those
between them and nonlesbian women or men, either gay or straight. For other
midlife lesbians in the data collage, the feeling of difference extended even
between the life that they experienced and how they saw other lesbians’ lives.
Therefore, I used the two constructs of worlds and difference to reflect the simi
larities that unified the shifting, overlapping, contextual experiences depicted in the
narrative data in the conceptual analysis. Feelings of uniqueness were also pre
served by including the actual voices of many of the 500 contributors to the data.
Feelings of “difference” (stated in the life story data) were a factor that
arose consistently in the negotiation of lesbian identity. The various lifeworlds that
the data reflected offered, among other options, venues in which to process that
identity negotiation. A positive identification as a lesbian was complicated (and
enriched), for many of the life story data contributors, by feeling different from
nonlesbian women. For some of the contributors, the feeling of being different
from other women extended even to other lesbians. Depending on the availability
of acceptable lesbian role models, baby boom cohort lesbians felt similar to other
lesbians or different from everyone else they knew. Many women spoke of feeling
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as though they were “the only one” feeling the way they did about other women.
Often, this was expressed developmentally; as the woman increased her identifica
tion as lesbian, she became more aware of other, similar lesbians, entering and
forming community relationships.
Limits o f the M odel
Since the life story portions used as data were gathered from interviews
with self-identified lesbians, and since that identification was positive enough for
each woman to volunteer to be a part of research on lesbian lives, it is possible that
voices of lesbians who felt “set apart” from other lesbians are underrepresented;
women who felt that way would not have been likely to respond to researchers’
calls for participants. This potentially affects the findings of “difference” identified
in the data. The use of artistic imagery (e.g., collage, kaleidoscope) used in this
dissertation to describe these conceptual domains or worlds intentionally represents
the multiple perspectives, overlapping views, and ever-changing experiences
displayed in life story recollections from midlife lesbians. It also allows for the
possibility of interpretations within and between the lifeworld images presented, as
in blank spaces left open in a collage or moments of silence within a musical
composition. The lives and experiences of women whose voices are not in the
literature can still be honored in this process.
Although all lesbians (whether or not from this cohort) do not necessarily
move through the domains of their lifeworlds in the same way nor all arrive at
similar conclusions, these organizational headings reflect similarities that arose
from the data, capturing a nearly universal recollection of elements of baby boom
lesbians’ life experiences. Even with these similarities among the voices captured
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in the retrospective data, the domains of identity (represented here by the three
“worlds”) do not imply exclusivity; for example, a particular lesbian may first
discover her difference from others in the social world and then reflect on it in the
personal one, rather than the reverse. This may reflect a sequential or develop
mental progress, although these constructs are not to be applied in a strict, linear
fashion. Or these two aspects of dealing with difference (personal and social) may
be experienced as so entwined that they are indistinguishable. Alternatively,
insights regarding difference may flood several worlds simultaneously, as reported
by some participants during what they described as an “aha!” experience of first
awakening to a lesbian identity (Cassingham & O’Neil, 1993, p. 74). What stood
out as most important from these data was that these worlds (or issues) must be
dealt with at some point, and that there is an inexorable recursion between them.
Domains o f the Conceptual Model
To organize the self-reflections from the large pool of midlife lesbian
contributors of life stories found in the literature (see Table 1), a conceptual outline
was constructed based on commonalities found in the data (see Figure 1) as a
flexible gathering point for the quotations and analyses selected through the process
just described. The process of immersing in the data to see how it naturally
reflected organizational categories (laid out in chapter 3) yielded the structure of
the conceptual model that was constructed. Each area of the model represents an
aspect of identity or issue that must be dealt with to identify positively as lesbian at
midlife. Like a partial image in a collage or a portion of a kaleidoscope’s reflective
medium, each lifeworld domain reflects a segment of the whole life story and was
chosen for inclusion in the conceptual model based on a goodness-of-fit with the
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data as described in chapter 3. These conceptual worlds bubbled up from the life
story data through the analytic process outlined there.
Accordingly, the worlds and their corresponding aspects of difference are as
follows: (a) the Personal World, where difference is noticed and integrated; (b) the
Social World, where difference is processed and expressed; and (c) the Political
World, where difference is enacted and celebrated (see Figure 1). There is a pro
cess, a movement through the worlds in a recursive flow as issues in each category
are dealt with over time. The narrative aspect of the life story recollections
gathered at midlife preserves this sense of movement, through both time and issues.
While any one individual’s life course demonstrated unique features along this
identification process, what was clear from the data was the presence of these
interactive identity domains.
It is important to note that the conceptualization of lifeworld domains
presented here (as reflected by the data) is neither exclusive nor exhaustive, yet it
represents commonalities present in the flow of the life story data from 500 midlife
lesbian contributors. This presence is evidenced by the quotations used to demon
strate each particular world, chosen from among many possible self-reflective
statements contributors made about a particular world/issue. Inclusion of a quote in
a conceptual category was based on the fact that it recounted an experience or
attitude frequently expressed by the participants in a particularly clear way or that it
displayed a unique perception expanding the conceptualization of that lifeworld
segment for midlife lesbians.
The first two lifeworld domains uncovered in the data, the personal world
and the social world, reflect the inseparable, recursive interactions between indivi
duals and their community contexts. The debate between essentialist and social
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constructionist (later constructivist) viewpoints influenced the primary positioning
of these conceptual domains, since they have been central components in the dis
cussion of identity issues (see chapter 2). It is not possible to separate individuals
from their social context, so the boundary between the social and personal worlds is
fluid and flexible. For the purpose of showing how the data fell into categories and
reflecting the statements of the contributors as accurately as possible, I followed the
pattern of placing statements under the Personal World when they reflected a
primarily internal focus or point of origin, such as a private feeling being debated
but not yet shared. Narrative portions and analyses that referenced an external
starting point, for example, a comment from a relative leading to new insight, were
viewed as falling under the Social World heading.
The intimate, recursive ties between the personal and social lifeworlds are
also reflected in their connections to the unifying theme of the feeling of difference.
As noted above, the order of events regarding noticing, integrating, processing, and
expressing difference in the personal and social domains is usually distinguished as
separate only upon reflection, and therefore open to flexible interpretation.
The last lifeworld domain in the conceptual model, the Political World,
interacts recursively with the Personal World and the Social World and represents
an arena for individual and collective action about and celebration of lesbian
identity. While some women whose life story portions were used as sources did
not directly label themselves as politically active, I use the feminist construction of
“political” to mean taking personal action and making choices that ultimately affect
the lesbian community (even from the closet) and thus society as a whole. The
Political World is revisited in chapter 5, when the implications for future action
based on this study are discussed.
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Conceptually, the collage-like outline moves from giving an historical con
text to the realms of personal and social experience, including actively expressing
and integrating the identity issues contained in those contextualized experiences.
This conceptual flow also mirrors processes that have been associated (in a general
but not universal way) with women’s midlife transitions (Sang et al., 1991).
Middle-aged women may develop a heightened sense of the flow of history, deepen
personal and social connections, and engage in a broader range of political and
spiritual activities as avenues for continued connection with and contribution to the
ongoing flow of life. The lesbian women of the baby boom cohort have embodied
midlife in their own unique ways, as alluded to in several of their life story portions
and other authors’ analyses.
Historical Context and Generational Cohort
As I organized the results of the data analysis, I realized that I needed to set
the stage for understanding the lifeworlds of midlife baby boom lesbians in North
America by giving the historical context. To do this, I began from the point of
setting the scene to discuss identity issues for this cohort of women, giving a brief
historical background of the epoch in which their sense of themselves was formed.
Since several of the life story portion contributors referenced their historical con
text, and since most analyses of earlier collections of data did so as well, dealing
with a sense of historicity shared by this cohort was important for understanding
the data analysis and results.
This historical dimension of the life story data also represents one of the
motivations for the selection of this dissertation project, as this generational cohort
of midlife lesbians participated in a unique, potent time in history, bringing about
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many changes in the social fabric of North American life (Brown, 1995; Penelope
& Wolfe, 1993; Seidman, 1993). In a century that “has seen movement from the
medicalization of lesbianism, to gay liberation, and radical feminist perspectives of
lesbian identities in . . . the United States” (Markowe, 1996, p. 29), studying
lesbians of the baby boom cohort grants a glimpse into the lives of many unique,
courageous women. The usefulness of an integrative conceptualization of the
lesbian identity processes that these women experienced is discussed further in
chapter 5.
The historical context in which this cohort of now-midlife lesbians has
evolved is important in considering identity issues, for it sets the tone surrounding
the feelings of “difference” these women eventually identified as “being lesbian.”
Since the life story data analyzed for this study were composed of reflective
recollections, the sense of events and attitudes about each contributor’s experience
of lesbianism being both embedded in an historical flow and subject to change with
each retelling is magnified. The world, the women, and the sociocultural view of
lesbianism in North America have all greatly changed since the 1940s, when this
generational cohort began. Speaking of their own lives as well as their contributors
Sang et al. (1991) wrote in the introduction to their edited book Lesbians at
Midlife: The Creative Transition that
these midlife lesbians are part of a generation which has never before
existed and will never exist again. We are the only generation of lesbians
whose adolescent and young adult years, the time when most of us became
conscious of our lesbianism, were spent in the fearful, hidden and self-
hating world before the women’s movement and gay liberation and whose
later adult years and midlife are being spent in an era totally revolutionized
by these liberation movements, (p. 3)
Just prior to the entrance of the baby boom cohort, world events collided in
the Great Depression and World War II. During such times of crisis, traditionally
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accepted social roles are “de-differentiated” (Lipman-Blumen, 1984, p. 160),
allowing radical (albeit temporary) shifts in access to privileges previously allo
cated based on class, race, gender, or other stratifying markers. When the crisis
subsides, so do the privileges, but not all the way down to the precrisis baseline
levels. The social changes that are the hallmark of the baby boom generation are at
least partly attributable to this post-World War II legacy (Lipman-Blumen). With
the men in many families gone from home for 4-5 years, many women worked
outside the home and socialized more often with other women. The preeminence
of the nuclear family was temporarily eclipsed by the support offered by coopera
tive communities and the solidarity of sisterhood in ways that had not been
accessible to most women. The mothers of the cohort under study were affected by
these shifting social roles and by the growing importance of female friendships and
connections, at least until the post-war years.
The sociocultural world in which lesbians bom between 1940 and 1965
faced childhood and adolescence was a turbulent time in America, with many
changes that have echoed through the present day. Life story portions dealing with
the effects of the social milieu on one’s identity reflect the factors influencing this
cohort of American lesbians, such as the societal shifts of the 1960s and 1970s,
especially regarding the sexual revolution and the civil rights movement. The
cultural story of difference and shame prescribed by the stereotypic views of the
heterosexual majority and passed on to these courageous women complicated the
issues that they had to process to achieve positive lesbian identities.
The generational cohort nicknamed the baby boom has been described as
having certain characteristics in common, albeit with room for individual differ
ences. Beginning their lives at the end of World War II, members of this cohort are
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seen as holding strong ideals and beliefs. The general view is that baby boomers
tend to be family oriented, politically conservative but socially liberal, and fearful
of the future. It is interesting that these are values often associated with midlife
(Sang et al., 1991), so that baby boomers moving through their middle years may
find their generational tendencies amplified.
While a thorough analysis of how these traits came to be imprinted on this
generation is beyond the scope of this discussion, it is useful to describe some of
the historical and cultural context of baby boomers’ lives. The focus of these brief
descriptions is on the features that were likely to impact the lifeworld perspectives
of the baby boom lesbians whose life story portions are in the literature used for
analysis in this project.
The 1950s
The general cultural story in America at the end of World War II (the
beginning of the baby boom generation) was strongly influenced by a conservative,
idealistic, gender-bound ethos (Smith, 1987; Van Gelder & Brandt, 1996). Women
who had joined “Rosie the Riveter” in traditionally male-dominated occupations to
keep America’s production lines and war efforts active were now expected to return
home (vacating the job for the man who “rightfully” held it) and raise babies
(Lipman-Blumen, 1984). Situation comedies of the 1950s revealed the “white
picket fence” life, while McCarthyism destroyed lives and careers, even in
Hollywood.
Homosexuality was included in the McCarthy witch-hunt as part of the
“demonology” (D’Emilio, 1983, p. 48) threatening America, along with commun
ism. Beginning in 1950 with charges that the State Department was “riddled with
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communists” (D’Emilio & Freedman, 1988, p. 292), and the subsequent disclosure
that several dozen State Department employees had been let go for the suspicion of
homosexual activity, McCarthy wed the two issues in the so-called “homosexual
menace,” a concept that became the cornerstone of his rhetoric. Homosexuals were
officially labeled “moral perverts” (D’Emilio, p. 42), and presumed to be of
unstable, unreliable character, and weakened moral fiber. They were not to be
trusted in government service due to a supposedly higher susceptibility to black
mail (ostensibly to hide their “perversion”) and the capacity to “pollute a Govern
ment office” (D’Emilio, p. 42). As a result, “in April 1953, President Eisenhower
issued an executive order barring gay men and lesbians from all federal jobs
throughout the country” (Bern, 1993, p. 98).
This culture of fear and repression, with the threat of being reported for
activities that were not only seen as sexually deviant but un-American, left its
imprint on the women who were the leading edge of the wave of baby boom
lesbians, coming of age in the late 1950s. Joan Nestle (1991) described the
intolerance of this period of American history, citing the harassment of the vice
squad that “made sure we never forgot we were obscenities” (p. 180). Nestle
viewed her coming out (in 1958) as relating to the freedom to have control of her
own body and stated with pride, “I have used every day of my lesbian life to
exercise this independence of desire” (p. 181).
Gender roles were tightly prescribed in this era of American history. It was
culturally assumed that the “little woman” wanted to wear a strand of pearls with
her starched, white apron, and did not want to reach beyond the boundary of her
home for satisfaction, unless it was to chair the Parent-Teachers Association (PTA).
By contrast, the women’s liberation movement, led by Betty Freidan, began to send
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alternative messages to women about homemaking, femininity, and motherhood.
These roles were to loosen greatly in the decades that followed, granting lesbians,
other women, and ultimately all gender “flavors” more flexibility of lifestyle
choices.
The 1960s
The reactionary 1960s produced a counterculture condemning/resisting the
“Establishment” mentality described above, including a sexual revolution. In the
increased cultural freedom of this period, the civil rights movement sought to
change the cultural scripts regarding race and privilege in America. Women in this
decade drew on the prior experience of their foremothers who had created social
change, “hold[ing] up the mirror of social conscience” (Lipman-Blumen, 1984,
p. 181) to racist society. Participation in the civil rights movement helped to build
a coalition of solidarity among women who could then turn to other social justice
concerns, such as ecology, fair labor practices, and peace.
By the end of the 1960s a feeling of permission had developed in the baby
boomer generation: permission to transcend (or transgress against) the social
boundaries that had held sway for their parents’ generation. The gay liberation
movement also dates from this decade, culminating in the Stonewall Riot in 1969
(Blumenfeld & Raymond, 1989; Williams & Retter, 2003). Retter (1999) noted
that, while the actual events of Stonewall were not necessarily viewed as a water
shed moment in their immediate context, “for the Baby Boom generation of
activists and their older allies, the aftermath of Stonewall was a catalyzing process”
(p. 366).
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The 1970s
Against the background of the political unrest and activism of the 1960s,
more women became politically active during the 1970s. For example, Connell
(1987, p. 33) noted that “there was a reconfiguration of a wide intellectual field
around the themes of power and inequality” around 1970, reflecting a connection
between academic theory and radical politics. The second wave of feminism, in the
early 1970s (led by Gloria Steinem and others), embodied this connection, analyz
ing previously dominant theories in light of power relations and locating the main
site of women’s oppression within the family (Connell). The freedom to question
the traditional nuclear family as the only appropriate venue for women’s contribu
tions to society helped lesbians to challenge the heterosexual norms of marriage
and childbearing. The solidarity of feminist sisterhood greatly advanced the social
discourse about lesbian life as a workable alternative to heterosexist, patriarchal
norms, within and beyond the lesbian community. The sense of solidarity with
women and an increased sensitivity to androcentrism also contributed to the grow
ing differentiation between “lesbian” and “gay” issues, as lesbians resisted having
their concerns become invisible under a gay (male) liberation agenda (Retter, 1999,
p. 366).
Stereotypes in the Cultural Story
The view of lesbianism present in the dominant culture during the years the
cohort under study were growing up had, and continues to have, influence on their
self-concepts and identities. One of the autobiographies used as source material
(Berzon, 2002) gives a rich view of the pervasive cultural view operative in the
1950s through 1980s. Although Betty Berzon was bom before 1940 and therefore
was not technically a member of the cohort under study, her autobiography is
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important for its sense of the historical context, particularly in terms of cultural
stereotypes.
Dr. Berzon was both a witness to and participant in many of the changes
within the mental health disciplines regarding the status of homosexuality during
this time frame. As a psychologist, she was intimately familiar with the sociocul
tural mores and ideals of this period, during which homosexuality was predomin
ately viewed by the mental health community as a mental illness—an aberration
and pathology to be healed, or at least repressed, not expressed and integrated into
the whole, healthy person. Her experience of coming to know that she is lesbian
(and viewing that positively after a time of struggle) gives insight into the cultural
story that was dominant in North America during the period when the baby boom
generation of lesbians was coming to consciousness.
Several of the persistent myths about lesbians—that we are all man haters,
abuse survivors, lonely (or ugly, or fat) love rejects, or women-who-want-to-be-
men, abundant in the cultural story about lesbianism—affected the identity issues
faced by midlife North American lesbians. Certainly, some women in this cohort
are in each category, and a few may identify with all of them, simultaneously or
serially. These sociocultural stereotypes reflect the biases present in the theories of
sexuality and identity that influenced the baby boom generation.
Stereotypes about lesbians confuse and conceal their lived realities based on
the dominant paradigms of heterosexism and androcentrism. However, some of the
confusion regarding lesbian identity was displayed in the data as being related to
butch/femme role-playing, once a “given” in the lesbian community. Phyllis Lyon,
one of the lesbian community’s foremothers, recalled playing femme to her part
ner’s (Del Martin) butch in this way:
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I didn’t mind [wearing high] heels so much in those days. . . and you had to
do all that if you were lesbian, it’s just how it was. See, everyone was into
butch/femme then [the 1940s], and couples had one of each. So I didn’t
have much choice, since Del had decided earlier on she was a butch. (Van
Gelder & Brandt, 1996, p. 151)
Del Martin added, “One thing about looking more masculine, doing the butch stuff,
it was like we were advertising” (p. 151).
Given the assumption of heterosexuality inherent in a heterosexist society,
and given the danger of daring to ask another woman if she shared an attraction to
women (for which both parties could be despised and persecuted), in a closeted
society some form of signaling to other women one’s availability and interest had
to be created. It is this system of signaling that Martin referred to as “advertising,”
and it was clearly one of the functions of butch identification that she described.
As the baby boom generation passed through the second wave of feminism,
women’s choices on many subjects broadened, including whether, and how, to role
play as part of their lesbian identities. Some of the contributors of the life story
portions reflected in this conceptual model felt a responsibility to combat the
negative cultural stereotypes about lesbians. For example, one of Jackson’s (1995)
interviewees stated her sentiments: “It is important to me to be able to help change
stereotypes, and that’s my internal conflict, that I’m not doing all that I can do the
really help that image” (p. 107). Another woman in the same study added,
The way I deal with [negative stereotypes] is in my everyday life to just
show whomever I come in contact with that this is who I am and just try to
set a good example, as a person and as a lesbian, (p. 107)
Personal World: Where Difference
Is Noticed and Integrated
In this section, the personal world is viewed first through a life cycle lens,
and how the progression of the life cycle forms, influences, and critiques the
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formation of lesbian identity, visible retrospectively from midlife. Next, a pro
gression of identity (closely related to the preceding discussion of life cycle effects
on identity) is presented with the caveat that it is not universally experienced and
does not imply linearity. Then, the self-concept is explored in four domains: (a)
the effects of not having lesbian role models available in the culture (particularly as
this cohort was passing through adolescence and trying on social roles); (b) dealing
with shame, stigma, and self-doubt; (c) the process of coming out to oneself; and
(d) honoring a “tangential perspective” (see Bourne, 1990, and Silberkraus, 1995).
Each of these domains is associated with a narrative plotline (available from the
sociocultural context) with which any woman attempting to identify as lesbian
would have to deal, at some point. These self-concept domains are not freestanding
but interdependent and contextualized, interacting recursively with the historical
context and the other “worlds” in which the midlife lesbian lives and moves.
In the review of literature, the usefulness of emplotment in a narrative con
struction of identity was discussed. The naturalness of viewing one’s life over time
as fulfilling elements of an emplotted story was put forward by several authors,
including Polkinghome (1996a), Reagan (1993) and Ricoeur (1983; see also
chapter 5). The effect of cultural plots on identity stories is operative through both
omission and commission, that is, the absence and presence of plotlines that match
the individual’s experiences and society’s perceptions of the individual. Johnston
(1973) describes the force of sociocultural prescription of identity plots by defining
identity itself as “what you say you are according to what they say you can be” (p.
58).
In the decades when baby boom lesbians were being imprinted by their
cultural surroundings, several plotlines were available to the women whose life
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stories form the data pool for this study. Recounting these plots here does not
imply that they are the only ones that were available at the time or that there is
always a progression from one plot to another during the life course. However, the
four plots presented below reflect the majority of the life story data on the subject.
Some early stage theorists, such as Cass (1979) and Sophie (1987), posited that a
woman’s pathway to lesbian identity traveled through one plotline to the next in
sequential order; however, few of the women whose life story portions were
analyzed for this study felt that this was true of their lives.
Therefore, four sociocultural plots possibilities are given here, interspersed
with the aspects of the personal world most likely to be affected, because each one
did describe some woman’s life accurately, at least for a particular time in her life.
The presence of constructs from the social world being interwoven with self-
concept issues underscores the recursion between the two worlds and maintains
consistency with the decisions about placement described earlier. That is to say
that each woman must relate to the plot for it to affect her self-concept at any point
in time. The placement of these plots, although clearly social in origin, is therefore
in the personal world.
Life Cycle Effects on Identity
The expected (or programmed) life course that women in this cohort faced
was the necessity for an intimate partner, especially as the time to leave the family
of origin approached. Pedersen (2000) and Bennett (1992) explored a life cycle
framework to describe lesbian lives, drawing from (and critiquing) the work of
Erik Erikson (see chapter 2). Written in the 1950s, Erikson’s views of women’s
identity are flawed in the fashion of the day: Oppression, marginalization, and
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androcentrism are ignored as influences that might account for the developmental
patterns observed in women’s lives. The notion of separation/individuation as a
building block for identity development seems to be more male oriented, where for
women identity and intimacy would co-develop (Gilligan, 1982).
Another important aspect of the life cycle is finding appropriate role models
to assist in the development of the self-concept (discussed below). One lesbian
university administrator (in Imbra, 1998) remembered her aunt (who was single,
taught school, and had a long-term committed relationship with a woman) as a
pivotal influence.
I actually had a model of a single woman who taught college. She had a
companion who I remembered from the earliest days, a woman companion,
so I think one of the things my aunt presented to me as a model is a strong
woman. She traveled all over the world, all over the country. The inde
pendent life was something that was optional, and I think that was a major
early influence on me, in terms of looking at possible models, particularly
in that there was an alternative model to getting married early and having
kids. (p. 117)
The lack of lesbian role models left many baby boom lesbians unaware
of their identity as they developed, feeling isolated, as evidenced by one of
Silberkraus’ (1995) contributors:
I always knew I had a special place for women. But I didn’t know what it
was. Didn’t know there was a word to it. I knew I had a special feeling. I
wouldn’t even know if it was special, maybe a different feeling for women.
But I didn’t know what it was. I couldn’t put a word to it. I felt really
alone, (p. 220)
Progression of Identity
Identity is a developmental process, existing in the personal, social, and
political worlds simultaneously. Several authors commented on this progression as
they identified themes from their participants’ life story material (C. A. Anderson,
2001; Bourne, 1990; Imbra, 1998). For example, Anderson referred to this theme
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as “a growing awareness” (p. 105), noting that, while most of the women whom she
interviewed did not have a name for what they were experiencing as difference, all
described a strong pull in the direction of being attracted to other women.
The following quote from one of Imbra’s (1998) interviewees reflects the
developmental nature of identifying as a lesbian:
When I was 26 I finally figured out that I really was attracted to women. I
think with many of us it’s like, “I’m very unique and we’re the only two
people in the world and this is really close friends stuff.” I did not start out
using the “L” word.. . . “L” was not used in any of the social interactions
that my partner and I had at the tim e.. . . It probably took a year and a half
to two years after I recognized that I was a lesbian to use the “L” word.
(p p .124-125)
An inner realization of same-sex attraction, sometimes preceding actual
sexual contact with other women (or girls, depending on the budding lesbian’s age)
most often started the identity questioning process in motion (Bourne, 1990;
Silberkraus, 1995). This is demonstrated in the following portion from one of
Imbra’s (1998) life story contributors:
I think I realized I was lesbian when I was about 16, when I recognized—
perhaps I’m slow—about that age that on double dates I enjoyed being
with my female friends more than I did my male friends. I also felt more
romantically attracted to the girls than I did to the boys we were with.
(p. 172)
An alternate pattern of being dissatisfied with heterosexual attraction or
sexual activity was also cited as the precipitating factor for exploring a lesbian
identity for some women in the literature (e.g., Bourne, 1990; Van Gelder &
Brandt, 1996). This might or might not include a sense of gender incongruence, as
some women stayed in their “tomboy” roles, developing more masculinized or
“butch” personas (e.g., Bourne).
Sometimes the “knowing” of difference is seen, upon reflection from a
midlife standpoint, to have always been present, and felt rather definitely. C. A.
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Anderson (2001) gathered statements from their interviewees to this effect. “I was
bom this way,” “I knew from day one,” “I knew it as soon as the hormones kicked
in—I was about 8 years old” (p. 106). Similarly, Winn Cottrell (who was 76 when
she was interviewed in 1986) maintained, “I knew that I was lesbian when I was 12
years old . . . because I always wanted to play the daddy when we played house.
And I was running around the neighborhood kissing all the girls that I could catch”
(Gershick, 1998, p. 201).
At times, the realization of difference came from family members, not the
lesbian herself. This may or not have been shared with the lesbian-to-be as it
developed. Imbra (1998) collected this quote from an interview with an over-50
Chicana:
My grandmother would . . . look at me and tell me that I was different and
that I was special, and outside of her husband, men weren’t worth very
much. It was very interesting because she was widowed at the age of 46,
and she didn’t die until she was 94, but she never remarried, (p. 65)
For some lesbians, reflecting on their early experiences is less clear. A
vague sense of difference, of not fitting into society’s mold, was present, usually
from an early age. However, the naming of that difference, an understanding or
exploration of lesbian identity, did not come until adolescence or early adulthood
for these women. Bourne (1990) recounted one woman’s reminiscence of begin
ning to put her experience of difference into language, based on a religious context.
I think the first time I ever said “maybe I’m a lesbian” to myself was when I
was in church around that time reading Romans 1:26 where it talks about
women with women, vile affection and all that stuff. I said, “Well, they got
me.” (p. 137)
Conflict with culturally approved religious practices (addressed in more
detail later) also set in motion the questioning that lead to a progression of identity
for some lesbians in this cohort. Speaking of her Catholic upbringing, one of
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Bourne’s (1990) participants wondered, after making love to a woman for the first
time “What do I do? What does this mean? Does this mean I’m a lesbian now?
Does this mean I’m weird?” (p. 142), struggling to reconcile her religious beliefs
with her personal experience.
Some women do not seem to go through a period of feeling generally
attracted to other women (or girls, while they are still girls themselves). However,
the same women may, in a specific instance or with a particular partner, notice the
attraction and take action on it. This developmental pattern was visible in several
of the life story portions from the reviewed studies. C. A. Anderson (2001, p. 108)
related the story of a lesbian couple, now in midlife, who had been together since
they were 15 years old. One of them had already known that she was attracted to
women and had had a tomboy gender role while growing up. The other woman
had been very feminine as a young girl, even getting into trouble at school for
kissing boys. She had no inkling, until she met her partner as a teenager, that she
would experience attraction to a woman.
A wonderful statement about the possibilities for lesbian identity and
experience comes from Suzanne Judith, interviewed by Gershick in 1987:
So, in terms of being bom that way, what I really think now is that some
women are bom that way for reasons that we don’t know and that other
women figure it out as they go. And that other women fall into it accident
ally, and discover they love it. And that some women never do get around
to it. Maybe most women. But I do think that it’s a natural impulse.
(Gershick, 1998, pp. 127-128)
The potential for lesbian identity without lesbian (sexual) activity was also
expressed in the literature. One of Imbra’s participants recalled her high school
teacher and wondered whether, despite living alone and remaining unmarried
throughout her life, “Perhaps she was lesbian. I would say yes, because I don’t
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believe that whether you’re lesbian or not has anything to do with intimate genital
knowledge of another woman” (1998, p. 171).
Self-Concept and Related Identity
Plots About Lesbianism
Self-concept is another crucial element of the personal world (see chapter 1
for a discussion of self-concept and identity). Many of the life story portion
contributors mentioned self-concept in relation to their lesbian identity, and most of
the studies incorporated into this conceptual kaleidoscope contained several themes
that related to this domain.
While self-concept was mentioned as being very personal to the contri
butors of life story data in the sources used for this study, the recursion of this
identity construct with the social environment is undeniable. Society provides the
plotlines (cf. Faderman, 1991) from which the individual constructs a personal
sense of self (Johnston, 1973). Four plotlines arose from the life story data, as
recalled from midlife: (a) denial—’T m not lesbian”; (b) nonacceptance—”I’m
lesbian, and therefore defective, or sick, or sinful”; (c) acceptance—”I’m lesbian,
so what, I’m OK and will live with it”; and (d) celebration—”Yes! I am lesbian
and proud, glad to be.” These four plotlines are presented with some of the quotes
that indicated their existence, each presented under the construct of the self-concept
to which it most closely relates.
Denial— ” I ’ m Not Lesbian Lack
of Lesbian Role Models
The first cultural plotline derived from the literature and evidenced in the
collage of narrative data from 500 contributors is that of denial, associated by many
lesbians in this cohort as stemming from a lack of lesbian role models. Browning
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et al. (1991, p. 182) found that, at that time period in the United States, most young
lesbians did not have adult lesbian role models to follow that might have helped to
ease the transition from the cultural expectation of heterosexuality into a positive
lesbian identity. This is consonant with the life experience of many baby boom
lesbians in the sources used for this study. Many of the women’s stories (in both
the participant and the author categories) included information reflecting this lack
of support. For example, speaking of her own life, C. A. Anderson (2001)
reminisced about her first love, at 13, with a 14-year-old woman:
Somehow we knew that our feeling for each other needed to be secret
because other people wouldn’t understand, but we had no sense that what
we were doing was wrong. We simply believed that we were more insight
ful than others and that the rest of the world (meaning heterosexuals) would
eventually catch up with us. (pp. 6-7)
Another author from this cohort, Mary Hayden, writing in Sexualities
(1996), noted:
Like many lesbians who are now middle-aged and beyond, I had no experi
ence dating with women, having become life partners with my first lover.
For our generation there was no popular culture to aid us in our socializa
tion as lesbians. In effect, we lacked an adolescence, (p. 8)
For women without that adolescent sexual discovery process, identifying as
lesbian may be denied almost as a technicality: “I love a woman but I’m not a
lesbian.” Van Gelder and Brandt (1996) noted that many of their interviewees had
passed through a time of such quasi-identification, facing the next, larger step of
affirming lesbian attraction, activity, or identity (p. 121). That “next step” was
threatening to one of Silberkraus’ contributors:
I think I might have just rationalized it like we liked each other. We were
really good friends at work. We hung out together, and . . . just liked liked
each other, and became [so] comfortable that we could have sex. I thought
of it as an extension of a friendship. At that point in my life I wasn’t ready
to go any further and think of it as more than that. (p. 264)
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Sometimes a religious framework was applied to enforce lesbian invisi
bility, resulting in a lack of role models. One of Imbra’s (1998) interviewees
related her view of a maiden aunt’s long-term “companionship” with another
woman in this way:
To this day I still don’t know their relationship, or what it was, other than
obviously they were very committed to each other. Both were very, very
religious so I don’t know if they had a physical relationship, or if it was just
an emotional relationship, but clearly, they were very committed to one
another, (p. 117-118)
The implication of “just” placed before “an emotional relationship,”
following commentary on strong religious beliefs, is that a sexual relationship
between two women, no matter how committed and beloved, would have violated
religious traditions and therefore could not be visible as an acceptable life choice.
Women’s freedom to be emotionally close and even physically affectionate with
friends also obscures the division between heterosexual and homosexual women’s
lives (Van Gelder & Brandt, 1996).
One way to deal with evidence that one’s identity may not fit into the
potentially available culturally approved plots is to deny either the evidence, its
meaning, or both. Bourne (1990, p. 144) described this plotline by stating that the
events and/or feelings associated with being a lesbian may be experienced by the
individual and even be acknowledged as having occurred, while the personal,
sexual components of those events/feelings are denied. Blaming someone or
something else for the circumstances surrounding these events and feelings may
contribute to the denial, for example, “I was drunk and didn’t know what was
happening,” or a script about special circumstances may be constructed, carefully
skirting the implication or possibility of lesbianism. Statements such as “Maybe it
was just a phase to me,” “Hey, maybe I’m just looking for a sister,” and “I’m not
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gay, I just love this woman and want to be with her” (Bourne, pp. 145-146) reflect
several women’s use of this denial strategy. A type of “tunnel vision” may be
employed during this time, keeping the knowledge of lesbian feelings or acts in a
contained part of the self-concept, segregated from the rest of awareness.
To shelter behind this plotline of denial, one of Bourne’s participants used
the strategy of limiting the type of sexual contact in which she engaged, thus side
stepping the need to identify (even inwardly) as lesbian.
I had a girlfriend through high school. When we would spend the night, we
would make out but we never did anything below the navel because we
thought that would make us lesbians. We would sit there kissing each other
and say “We are not lesbians.” (Bourne, 1990, p. 151)
Denial may also be generated externally (e.g., come from one’s family or
friends) and be incorporated into the sense of self from the outside, as when a
parent adamantly insists, “You’re not one of them, not a homosexual.”
Nonacceptance— "I’ m Lesbian,
and Therefore Defective, or Sick,
or Sinful” : Dealing With Shame,
Stigma, and Self-Doubt
The second sociocultural plotline involves recognition of one’s lesbianism
while staying grounded in the heterosexist, homonegative, androcentric paradigm
governing the majority view within that culture. Many voices from the literature
reflecting older lesbians’ voices (e.g., Adelman, 1990; Berzon, 2002; Bourne,
1990) include a reference to the confusion and loss proceeding from the stigmatiza
tion of sexual relationships between women. At times, these losses occurred in
adolescence because other observers began to question the orientation of the
developing young woman. Sometimes, no sexual contact had yet transpired but the
power of the connection and the desire for the addition of a sexual component to
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the relationship make the losses resonant even many decades later. A poignant
passage from Joan Nestle’s (1987) autobiography illustrates this dynamic:
I showed you the best way I could that it was your touch I sought. . .
because I was a girl-woman it was a dangerous thing to touch me . . . your
touch would have healed me. But we had been judged unclean, and you
would not harm me with the power of what they called our sin. (p. 20)
The plotline of nonacceptance can be seen as a natural reaction to feedback
from the sociocultural environment that implies that lesbianism equates to devi
ance. Pathologized, stigmatized, censured identities cannot be fully embraced
without some cost to the self-esteem. Shame, secrecy, stress, and self-censure are
all linked to this plotline by life story portions dealing with nonacceptance of the
self.
One of C. A. Anderson’s (2001) interviewees commented on the difficulty
of acknowledging an attraction to other women, given the cultural myths and
stereotypes prevalent as she came of age:
I think that when you hear about gay/lesbian people or homosexuality as a
young kid, you are told that it is bad, wrong, evil, or sick. I heard all of
that, and I guess I believed it. I didn’t want to, but there was no one to tell
me otherwise, (p. 129)
Bourne’s second participant recalled, “For 4 years in my late 20s, I became
asexual. ‘I’m bad. It’s bad. I’m a failure. So why do it? I’m not going to do it
anymore!”’ (1990, p. 149). Unfortunately, this coping strategy led back into the
first plotline: denial. Without sexual activity, the reality of lesbian attraction was
more easily expunged, due to the pressure of shame and a desire to be “normal.”
Another woman in the same research related:
When I was about 2 0 ,1 started having feelings for women. I started think
ing about kissing them .. . . I was avoiding certain friends because I was so
attracted to them, I felt like hugging and kissing them instead of just talking.
I knew that was unacceptable. That was a conflict. . . my feelings were
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very strong and I was afraid of them. I felt ashamed of my feelings.
(p .151)
The primary cultural story told about religion and homosexuality during the
lifetime of the baby boomer cohort was that one could not be both and be accept
able as either. Betty Berzon (2002) endured the conflict of knowing that she was
feeling an attraction for women that she did not feel for men, while hearing from
the culture that homosexuality was a sickness (p. 12). In her psychotherapy as a
young woman, dealing with the breakup of a painfully intense lesbian relationship,
she felt a strong motivation to please her (older, heterosexual, male) therapist, who
reassured her that she did not have to be homosexual if she did not want to be
(p. 88). She later went through a period of denying her “abnormality” by engaging
in sexual relationships with men, while her desire lay with women. She compart
mentalized her actions with and feelings for women by keeping them separate from
her “real life” (Berzon, 2002, p. 118). These strategies could also fit under the
earlier discussion of the denial plotline.
The judgment by many religious traditions that lesbian love is sinful caused
many women from the baby boom cohort to agonize over their developing sense of
lesbian identity. The poignancy of this agony is evident in the following life story
portion: “I was so afraid I was going to get excommunicated from the Church. I
thought I was going to go to hell” (Bourne, 1990, p. 142). Lesbians (and gays,
bisexuals, transgendered individuals, intersexed, queer, questioning folks) were
repeatedly told that they stood condemned by God for their sexuality, that they
were rebelling against God’s plan for their lives, that they were hurting God and
would be separated from the divine presence and the fellowship of other loved ones
(who had not become “an abomination” in God’s eyes) for all eternity. The effects
of this type of subjugation are evident in the experience of one of Bourne’s
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participants who revealed her fears based on the religious views with which she
was raised:
Morning came, and it hit me that I had made love with her. I freaked out.
I was in tears all day. I thought I had just committed the biggest sin and I
was going to be sent to hell. With Jehovah’s Witnesses, of course, this is a
no-no. There is no eternal life if you are a homosexual unless you can turn
it around and repent, so to speak, (p. 142)
Lack of sexual experience and a language to describe lesbian desire (or even
a context in which to discover it) complicated the identity formation of one of the
nuns whose life story portion was collected by Curb and Manahan (1985):
I was overwhelmed by confusing emotions. In hindsight, it’s clear that I
was in love with Gina. I felt guilty whenever we would snatch a few
minutes alone. I thought about her whenever we weren’t together. Tom
between my desire for her, which I couldn’t acknowledge, and my need to
be a good nun, I continually promised I wouldn’t see her alone, and just as
continually broke the promise.. . . What made it so difficult was our
inability to acknowledge the truth of our relationship. The words Lesbian or
homosexual were never mentioned by anyone during this entire period.
(pp. 100-101)
Some midlife American lesbians whose life story portions form the basis for
this study rejected the dominant cultural views of lesbianism as a spiritually defici
ent life course. Bourne (1990) recorded one woman’s reasoning as she rejected the
culturally prescribed “biblical” view of homosexuality as sinful. “The Bible verses
about homosexuality didn’t bother me because there were other verses in the Bible
that said ‘Slaves will be masters and wives will be husbands.’ So these verses went
into the same garbage heap” (p. 129). A participant in Silberkraus’ (1995)
dissertation research also rejected her family’s religious objections to her lesbian
ism, albeit from a closeted position.
My family is Jewish and they just wouldn’t accept it. My grandma told me
..., “If you were gay I would just die.” . . . I mean, she’s from the Holo
caust, she’ll never accept the times now, and she’ll never change. But that
doesn’t mean that I have to accept what Judaism says about being gay.. ..
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I don’t agree with what the Old Testament says concerning being gay. I just
don’t accept it. (p. 235)
One member of a long-term lesbian couple whose life story portion was
gathered in Susan Johnson’s book (S. E. Johnson, 1991) related this interaction
with her family of origin, after coming out to them:
My mom said all these traditional things, “Oh, it’s a phase, you’ll grow out
of it.” “No, Mother, I won’t grow out of it.” “Well, maybe you had bad
experiences with men.” “No, Mother, I had very nice relationships with
men.” “Well, is it something I did wrong?” “No, Mother, there’s nothing
you did wrong. It’s just the way I am.” “Well,” my sister said, “I feel it’s
my Christian duty to tell you it’s a sin.” I said, “I don’t think it’s sin.” She
said, “I’ve done my Christian duty. Now, what’s for lunch?” And that’s
the last we ever discussed it. (pp. 242-243)
Self-doubt, shame, and questioning were not contained solely within the
arena of culturally based religious expectations. Other cultural “givens,” such as
marriage, were so ingrained in the social fabric that lesbians in this data pool
experienced trepidation if they violated those norms. For instance, some women in
these narrative sources recalled a period of self-questioning as they made the
transition to lesbian life following a time of heterosexual marriage. This transition
can be perilous, fraught with emotional pain (for both the lesbian and her former
spouse), deep loss (including, tragically, the loss of one’s children through legal
means or rejection/alienation), and confusion or despair about the future. One of
Bourne’s (1990) participants described her difficulty with making the transition
away from an identity as a wife and coming to terms with her feelings of attraction
to a woman.
I think by the time I went to my therapist, I was close to suicide. I was
scared shitless. I didn’t know what to do or who to go to. It was like I was
going crazy. Here I am, 41 years old, with two kids and a husband. It was
like, “I can’t be feeling this! How can I be feeling this? It can’t be real!”
It frightened me because I didn’t know what to do with it. (p. 143)
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Another cultural expectation affecting self-concept is the idea of keeping
the law, of being a “law-abiding citizen.” For example, knowing that their pre
ferred form of sexual expression was considered illegal contributed to the hesitancy
that several interviewees reported about openly identifying as lesbian (C. A.
Anderson, 2001, p. 118). Although not formally admitting to breaking the law, one
of Imbra’s participants noted the inconsistency between her own view of lesbian
ism and society’s position on the subject:
I remember thinking that I didn’t think anything was wrong, but I realized
that society did. But I did not. I recognized myself as an “outlaw,” and I
also knew that I was in an adulterous affair because my lover married half
way into our relationship. My lover thought I was the lesbian, not she.
(1998, p. 173)
At times, the pressure of living double lives and “passing” (Adelman, 1986)
by not coming out as lesbian sets a life course that is then difficult to alter by mid
life. The knowledge that coming out is (and will hopefully continue to be) more
possible for current and future generations of lesbians becomes poignant for those
women over 40 who dealt with shame, denial, and secrecy enculturated in the baby
boom generation lesbians. C. A. Anderson (2001) noted that several of her inter
viewees “expressed envy of those who had the courage to come forward and
speculated that if they had been bom now, they would be able to stand up and be
proud of who they are” (p. 99). Other women experienced a shift in their ability to
identify as lesbian as the culture around them became more accepting (Van Gelder
& Brandt, 1996).
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Acceptance— ” I ’ m Lesbian, So
What, I ’ m OK and Will Live With
It” : Coming Out to Oneself
Acceptance is the third cultural plotline explored in the data collage from
500 midlife lesbian contributors. Falling short of celebrating diversity (discussed
below), this plotline recognizes a neutral space, often hard won, where a woman
can dare to be herself, at least to herself. She may not speak up loudly or often but,
if questioned, she is less likely to deny her lesbian orientation, when reading her
life experience through this narrative plot. This space is associated with the
decision of whether to come out. The issue of coming out is one with which many
midlife lesbians have struggled at some point in their lives. Being closeted, in the
closet, or not out are all ways to describe someone who is not open about her sexual
orientation, to herself, to others, or both (Mallon, 1998, p. 275). Coming out, on
the other hand, denotes “the developmental process through which lesbian women
recognize their sexual orientation and integrate this knowledge into their personal
and social lives” (DeMonteflores & Schultz, 1978, as cited in Mallon, p. 274).
Blumenfeld (1992) added that the coming out process is lifelong and can
lead to an appreciation of one’s sexual identity. Such a process is not completed
once for all, but must be re-enacted as each “out” lesbian encounters new social
situations, due to the invisibility of lesbianism under the assumptions of heterosex
ism. Coming out may also take place at different times in different areas of life, as
this quote from a contributor to Curb and Manahan’s (1985) collection on lesbian
nuns demonstrates: “I identified as a political lesbian about three or four years
before I came out to my sexuality” (p. 64).
The choice of whether to come out publicly (discussed below) is preceded
by the process of becoming aware of one’s lesbian identity internally and coming to
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some degree of comfort with that realization (Robinson, 1979). The effects of
living in a heterosexist/homophobic society make the choice of coming out a
significant, even at times traumatic issue. One of Adelman’s (1986) contributors
struggled with her self-identification:
I didn’t want to think of myself as gay. I bought every book they ever
printed about gays trying to sort out my feelings. The readings didn’t make
me feel any better. I felt being gay was going against the Lord. My whole
life took on a different perspective when I finally admitted that I loved
Sarah and wanted to make a life with her. But I had to go against every
thing to do it. I had to go against the way I was raised as a Baptist, against
my family, against everything I’d ever heard, (p. 75)
The National Lesbian Healthcare Survey (Bradford, Ryan, & Rothblum,
1994) found a considerable level of suicidal thoughts and attempts associated with
the contemplation of coming out, both to oneself and to others. These issues were
also examined in a study of isolated British lesbians (Markowe, 1996).
Liz O’Lexa described her coming out journey as beginning with coming out
to herself (Holmes, 1988, p. 131). In that process she also dealt with internalized
racism, as the young woman to whom she first felt undeniable attraction was Black,
in a time and place (Minneapolis in 1975) where even heterosexual interracial
relationships were likely to face persecution. One of Bennett’s (1992) participants
related,
So I feel that coming out over the years has been about learning to be
myself—more and more myself. To the point that I feel I’m now more and
more my own woman; I can do whatever I want to do. I choose . . . I like
the independence I feel. . . a sense of my own agency, (p. 107)
Robin Teresa Santos (1995) described her process of coming out to herself
in this way:
My coming out wasn’t a single act of cathartic honesty; it happened a bit at
a time over a period of years. First, I had to be truthful with myself, then I
was able to come out to a few, select others, which did not include As
Marias [her great-grandmother, grandmother, and aunts] or my parents, who
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I still feared would shame m e.. . . Coming out was scary, but being congru
ent with who I was was such a joy. (as cited in Abbott & Farmer, 1995,
pp. 38-39)
For some women, finding their experiences echoed in print eased their
passage into lesbian identity. This was true for Nancy Wechsler (as cited in
Holmes, 1988, p. 143), who read Robin Morgan’s book Sisterhood is Powerful
(1970) and felt that her eyes were opened by the lesbian content there, brief as it
was. Other women found conversations with gay male friends or other lesbians
enlightening, drawing on similarities of experience to begin to reach new con
clusions. One of Kate Bourne’s (1990) participants recalled a conversation with a
male friend at work:
Finally, he made this big confession that he was gay.. . . I was listening to
him and it made sense to me. I remembered what it was like when I was
with my women lovers.. . . I started putting all that together, and it was
like, “Oh well, maybe that’s true of me. Maybe that’s what this was all
about.” (p. 140)
The process aspect of coming out (i.e., the fact that it cannot be done only
once and then ever after assumed to be known in a society that assumes hetero
sexuality as the default position) was noted by many women who participated in
lesbian identity research over the years (Imbra, 1998). Nona Caspers, growing up
in Minnesota in the 1970s, stated, “For me, there was no one clinching moment,
mad love, or political leap that landed me in Lesbos. Coming out to myself and to
others was a matter of finding a way to survive and letting myself thrive” (as cited
in Holmes, 1988, p. 19).
The identity plot associated with coming out is acceptance, as it represents
the minimum level of comfort required to make a public identification with a
stigmatized, persecuted cultural group. This plot possibility offers a neutral option,
neither recriminatory nor celebratory. Midlife can make this neutral acceptance
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more available by contextualizing the brevity of life. One of Adelman’s (1986)
participants noted, “The realization that my life was half over finally helped me
accept my lesbianism” (p. 94).
A wide variety of comfort levels with lesbianism is found resident within
this neutrality. For example, it is possible to agree with a generally negative social
view of being lesbian while utilizing this plotline to state that this is simply what
one is facing, so it must be accepted. This position is reflected by one of the
participants in Bourne’s (1990) research, who recalled her views about “necking”
with her girlfriend:
I knew that this activity was not acceptable. But beyond that, I just
accepted the fact that that’s the way I was, and if I had to hide it, I had to
hide it.. . . I was just unacceptable, different from other people, and that
was the way I was going to have to live. I guess I just accepted it, hoping
maybe eventually I would figure it all out. (p. 130)
A participant whose life story portion is recorded in Imbra’s (1998)
dissertation echoed these sentiments, indicating the developmental nature of learn
ing to be self-accepting, as well as the effects of homophobia on that process:
Some of the guilt and shame and blame that you put on yourself you have to
fight through and say, “Excuse me, but I’m ok, I’m not the one with the
problem. Society is the one with the problem.” . . . Developmentally, you
go through some of the same things. I think it has made me a better person.
You have to work through the self-homophobia, some people start there and
end there, they can’t work through it. (pp. 130-131)
Celebration— "Yes! I ’ m Lesbian
and Proud, Glad to Be Honoring
a “Tangential Perspective ”
The fourth cultural plotline represents a joy in being a “woman loving
woman” that transcends mere acceptance and moves into active, open celebration.
The fact that the cultural context “otherizes” lesbians is not accepted as the final
word. Rather, the strength and resilience needed to transform the negativity aimed
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at lesbians by heterosexism and homonegativism is used to bolster the self-esteem
and lesbian identification of women developing this tangential perspective (Bourne,
1990; Silberkraus, 1995).
In her interviews during the late 1980s Bourne (1990) noticed a reciprocal,
positive consequence to growing up in a heterosexist society. Rather than internal
izing the messages coming from society that something about oneself is shameful,
those messages can be rejected by the individual. One of Bennett’s (1992) parti
cipants put it this way: “I love having women as the central part of my life. It’s
affirming of me as a woman to have women central in my life” (p. 107). A contri
butor to Cassingham and O’Neil’s collection stated,
One part of me is glad I had the marriage and the child, and another part of
me goes, “Why didn’t I know there were women out there?” I really
celebrate this part of myself. I’m so glad to know about it. (p. 125)
For some of the women Bourne (1990) interviewed, affirming the truth of
their own experiences became a way of producing a positive, although clearly
alternate, identity. Bourne defined this perspective as
affirming rather than denigrating one’s culturally-incongruent characteris
tics . . . or developing self-supportive beliefs and attitudes which are tan
gential to those espoused by the majority culture.. . . Tangential perspective
refers to the ability to question cultural norms and then to either accept,
reject, or adapt them for personal use. (p. 127)
This sense of otherness was significant for one of Bennett’s (1992) contributors.
I liked being part of this underground sub-culture of deviance.. . . Who I
was was an outlaw. And I liked that because what went with it was a sense
of community . . . rooted in that we were a little off.. . . That was my
identity. The identity came with a sense of being different. If I was like
everybody else I wouldn’t have an identity, I don’t think. The root of the
identity was in my otherness, (pp. 109-110)
Such a tangential perspective is also evidenced in this reworking of
religious teachings to accommodate lesbian identification. This speaker was a
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contributor to Abbott and Farmer’s (1995) collection of life story portions from
previously married lesbians:
By looking at a different perspective at the gospel. . . I could embrace the
theology that said, “God knew me before I was bom. He accepted me as I
was made to be, uniquely and wholly.” . . . What I had experienced with
Jean was no demonic possession, was not Satan tempting me with the sins
of lust, but an intimacy and a love that was beautiful and was God-given.
So now I had to figure out how to deal with it. (p. 42)
To analyze narrative data from her participants, Silberkraus (1995) used
Bourne’s (1990) concept of tangential perspective in two of her themes, dealing
with the first emergence and later renewed consolidation of such a perspective.
Bourne hypothesized that a tangential perspective, whether inwardly (toward one
self) or outwardly focused (toward the world), “is achieved by creating an internal
value system which evaluates the relevance of social norms to one’s own life”
(Bourne, p. 127). The inward focus reinforces one’s own self-perceptions and
experiences as authentic, rather than privileging culture’s contrary views. Simply
put, if a woman perceives her lesbian desires and actions as positive, then for her,
they are. Similarly, the external focus critiques and challenges the societal view of
lesbianism as negative, allowing only concepts that mirror one’s internal percep
tions (e.g., that living as a lesbian is constructive and growth producing) to affect
one’s self-concept (Bourne, p. 128). One of Bourne’s research participants self
reflected, “Well, these are my feelings. I see women as worth of being loved, and
I don’t see the problem in that” (p. 129).
At times, however, the inward and outward perspectives can be in conflict,
causing great pain. In this example from Bourne (1990), the distinction between
these two perspectives is demonstrated, where the woman feels privately (intern
ally) “okay” yet outwardly damned:
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I was pretty religious when I was growing up Once I got sexual, I
thought I was always doing something wrong. I was hurting God and I
didn’t know how to get out of that. It was a horrible, horrible conflict. I
thought I would just wither away and die because it was so bad, so wrong.
In my own privacy, it was okay, but religiously and society-wise, it felt
wrong, (p. 142)
Of course, there are other possible plotlines identified by lesbians as they
recall their lives at midlife. For example, Yolanda Retter (1999), speaking of her
own life experience (relative to the essentialist/social constructionist debate),
outlined a variation of the acceptance scenario: resistance.
I argue that lesbian behavior has always existed and that women who con
sistently felt a primary affectional (sometimes sexual) inclination toward
females, thought of themselves as “different” and marginalized.. . . I say
this as a lifelong lesbian who when young felt “different” but who did not
have a theoretical or political framework from which to analyze what I felt.
Abnormal psychology was the only framework readily available in the early
1960s, when I was a teenager. In spite of societal approval, my unwilling
ness to give up my feelings gave rise to a resistant, incipient identity. It was
a method of managing cognitive dissonance, (p. 365)
In addition to resistance of cultural norms that place lesbians in the position
of “other” (with the concomitant “less than” status implied by that “otherizing”),
the possibility of celebrating lesbian difference as positive was reported by several
women whose life story portions are recorded in the literature. For example, les
bian sexuality presents the possibility of transcending the sense of “joining to the
other” that heterosexuality contains, described by several women as providing a
sense of “coming home” to themselves and their own womanly bodies. The cele
bration of difference can be inherently satisfying, when viewed retrospectively.
“In my last years of graduate work . . . I came out, went to a Gay Pride parade, and
never looked back. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever done” (Imbra, 1998,
p. 173).
The personal world is an arena where many of the joys and struggles, pains,
and pleasures of being a lesbian are noticed for the first time and integrated into
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personal identity through multiple recursions with the other lifeworld domains
discussed below and the historical context surrounding the identity processes for a
midlife North American lesbian of the baby boom cohort.
Social World: Where Difference
Is Processed and Expressed
The social world cannot be divorced from the personal world. Yet, to
organize the volume of narrative data generated from researchers’ interviews with
500 midlife lesbian contributors, some distinctions, however arbitrary, must be
made. Accordingly, the social world is discussed as a separate arena from the
personal world in terms of generating lesbian identity at midlife. Messages about
difference spring from, and are noticed in, the social world of the person receiving
the messages. The interconnectedness that some women find as central for their
identity processes (Gilligan, 1982) is a key element of the social world. Indeed,
Bennett (1992) found that connection with others was “the most significant com
ponent of identity development” (p. viii) for all of the contributors in her study.
Several realms of the social world, all springing from a relational base, are
examined by the grouping of themes associated with this category: sexuality,
family life, and work environments.
Sexuality
Dealing with (recognizing, celebrating) sexuality is an intimate part of the
personal world, yet one that also takes place in a social context. For example, in
Betty Berzon’s (2002) autobiography, Surviving Madness: A Therapist’ s Own
Story, the integration of sexuality into identity plays a central role. In the Prologue
(p. 3) she noted “the power that love and sex, experienced as one, can have on
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redefining identity.” Betty established at the outset that her triumphs included
allowing her emerging self to experience desire, passion, and change, thus forging
her identity.
Questions about sexuality also represent an area where lesbian identity is
often challenged by one’s family or the larger culture, both of whom may be
hostile. For example, one of Van Gelder and Brandt’s (1996) interviewees reported
that her mother had asked how she knew she was gay if she had never had sex with
a women (yet). The reply was to ask whether her mother knew before she had had
sex with a man that it was what she had wanted (p. 36).
Several authors addressed the issue of lesbian identity in the absence of
lesbian sexual contact. Silberkraus gave this example from an interviewee:
I’ve always had strong feelings for women and I know that they wouldn’t
change. Just the thought of sex with a woman is enough to excite me. I
mean, I always knew I had a special feeling for women, not that I’ve had
that much experience with sex, period, but I don’t have any desire to have
sex with a man. (p. 303)
Nancy Manahan, writing of her own experience in a convent, wrote, “I
didn’t know I was in love with her. I only knew that the chapel vibrated when she
walked in, and my stomach lurched when she knelt soundlessly behind me. I
longed for her touch” (Curb & Manahan, 1985, p. xxxvi).
Exploration and Development of
Lesbian Sexuality
There is a developmental aspect to sexuality across the life span; therefore,
older women have unique wisdom to share in their life reflections. Women of the
baby boom cohort related some gaps in terms of their life experience and knowl
edge of sexual development as a lesbian, attributing this to a lack of supportive
models for sexual identity in general and lesbian identity in particular as they grew
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up. Berzon (2002) described a phenomenon that others also noted: a lack of direct
sexual content in her nascent thoughts of attraction toward other women, combined
with a subtle awareness of the transgressive nature of her not-quite-sexual desire.
My daydreams were not sexual per se, though I did think about holding
these women, and I knew that was not what I was supposed to be thinking
about. . . . I was embarrassed by what was happening to me, hoping that no
one could read my mind. (p. 12)
The sexual revolution opened doors for discussion and experimentation
unprecedented in their time in America. Some of the participants in the studies
used as sources noted that, in the time before identifying as lesbian to themselves,
factors were present that made such identification more difficult. One lesbian in
her 50s looked at regional prejudice in this way:
I grew up in the [19] 5 O s, in Western Pennsylvania, which is a very red-neck
part of the country. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I couldn’t stand it
there, yet even at that time I didn’t know I was lesbian, but looking back on
it now, I can certainly see why I wasn’t particularly comfortable in that part
of the country. (Imbra, 1998, p. 118)
The assumption of heterosexism also impacted the lesbian identity develop
ment of the cohort under study. Van Gelder and Brandt, in their 1996 interview-
based book The Girls Next Door: Into the Heart o f Lesbian America, hypothesized
that the fluidity of the female sexual response complicates the labeling of “the con
stellation of sexual, emotional, and political feelings that add up to lesbian identity”
(p. 105). The overlapping, recursive flow of the “worlds” of this conceptual model
is also demonstrated by this passage.
Lesbian Sexuality Absent in
Cultural View
Some women felt that the lack of support from lesbian role models in their
lives as they grew up was due to the cultural invisibility of lesbians. One of
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Imbra’s participants put it this way, speaking of her high school history teacher:
“She was very straight-laced. She never married. It’s hard to look back from our
1998 perspective and know about these women of that World War II generation.
She lived alone.. . . Perhaps she was lesbian” (Imbra, 1998, p. 171).
A 46-year-old interviewee who contributed to Van Gelder and Brandt’s
(1996) book put it this way:
I knew I could love a woman emotionally.. . . I knew I was mentally much
more in sync with women. I knew I wanted to spend most of my time with
women. All that. I just didn’t know about the sex. And once I did know
about the sex, I definitely knew I was gay. (p. 106)
Bourne (1990) observed that, “due to an absence within the majority culture
of visible alternatives to heterosexuality, almost all young women begin the process
of defining a personal sexual identity by assuming they are heterosexual” (p. 133).
One of Silberkraus’ (1995) participants struggled with her identity in the absence of
cultural markers for nonheterosexual sexualities.
From the little that I read, and the psych [sic] books, it was a mental illness
and I could get electroshock therapy . . . when I first identified my feelings I
didn’t think, “Gee, I’m a lesbian or gee, I’m gay or gee, I’m a homosexual”;
I thought, “Oh, my God, I’m a pervert!” ‘Cause I didn’t know what those
feelings were about or that they were normal and other people had them. I
had no basis [on which] to couch them or where to fit them. (p. 219)
To speak of American culture is to speak of the media; television and radio
programs are ubiquitous in American life. Like any other aspect of society, the
media produces culture even as it is produced by it. How (and whether) the media
approaches lesbian lives is therefore salient to a discussion of lesbian identity.
Peter Nardi (1997) commented on the tardiness with which American media
m oved away from depictions o f gay and lesbian lives as violent, tragic, and dys
functional. Gay and lesbian characters were missing from the media from the
1930s to the late 1960s due to the proscription against images portraying any
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“sexual perversion” (which homosexuality was considered) enforced by the Motion
Picture Production Code (p. 428). When portrayals of lesbians and gays re-entered
the media (where they had existed before the ban), their characterizations had
become “lonely, predatory, and pathological” (p. 428). As the cohort of baby
boomer lesbians were coming of age in America, images of what it meant to be a
lesbian were either missing from the media altogether, or (later) marginally
included but misrepresented. Pamela Brandt spoke poignantly (and pointedly)
about the effect of both the cultural erasure of lesbian lives and the assumption of
heterosexuality on her own lesbian identity process:
After checking out the “L” and “H” sections of the card catalog, I finally
found all the lesbiana filed under “P,” for “Perversion, sexual”—-and things
didn’t look good. From the runaway nonfiction bestseller of that year
(1969), David Reuben’s Everything You Always Wanted to Know About
Sex, came this discouraging professional advice: “Like their male counter
parts, lesbians are handicapped by having only half the pieces in the ana
tomical jigsaw puzzle.. . . No matter how ingenious they are, their sexual
practices must always be some sort of imitation of sexual intercourse.”
(Van Gelder & Brandt, 1996, p. 29)
As gay liberation activists from within and beyond the mental health arenas
helped to depathologize the public’s view of homosexuality, American media
slowly followed suit. Nardi (1997) considered the 1992 Academy Awards to be a
turning point, with a lesbian filmmaker acknowledging her partner and an Oscar
going posthumously to an AIDS victim. Van Gelder and Brandt (1996) dated the
turning of the lesbian visibility tide to the airing of a 20/20 segment (about
Northampton, Massachusetts, welcoming the lesbian community) on October 23,
1992, which became “the seventh most watched 20/20 program of the year” (p. 31).
The success of the segment triggered a media blitz examining multiple facets
lesbian existence, leading Pamela Brandt to call 1993 “the United Nations Year of
the Dyke” (Van Gelder & Brandt, p. 31).
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The media continued to cover lesbian and gay lives at an unprecedented rate
in the early 1990s, fueled by the debate about gays in the military (Nardi, 1997).
Some of this coverage transcended the distortions common in previous decades, so
that images of lesbian life became more visible, less pathological, and sometimes
even central to the plotlines of stories, rather than merely peripheral. Pamela
Brandt noted the freedom that media visibility engendered in lesbian lives:
To be truly seen, and to see oneself being seen by others, is to have the
world open up. We’ve met countless lesbians for whom the 20/20 feature
or the Newsweek cover story became the medium through which they could
talk to friends or families about their lives for the first time, without feeling
as if they were raising an alien topic. (Van Gelder & Brandt, 1996, pp. 33-
34)
Caspers (in Holmes, 1988, p. 23) also noted that, when a vision of lesbian
culture began to be available through American media outlets, the journey of
identity became somewhat more negotiable.
Family Life
Any study of identity must take into account the first social laboratory in
which the exploration of self and other begins: the family unit. At the turn of the
21st century, the definition of family is considerably different in North America
than it was during the 1940s and 1950s as the majority of the baby boom generation
made their entrances into the social world. In this section, two main variations of
family are used as organizational constructs: family of origin and family of choice
(Weston, 1991). What the life story data revealed was that family is universally
important for social development and a sense of life satisfaction. It also revealed
that, for many midlife lesbians, the conflicts presented by their identity as lesbian
made ongoing contact with their families of origin impractical if not impossible.
The importance of social networks that give a feeling of familial support and
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acceptance (Pedersen, 2000) is particularly salient for those members of the cohort
under study whose original families proved less than accepting.
Family o f Origin
Life in one’s family of origin is reflected in this group of themes. Due to
the pervasive, toxic effects of heterosexism and homophobia (Sears & Williams,
1997), some lesbians did not continue to be in relationship with their family of
origin. Identifying as lesbian did not come easily to the women who participated in
C. A. Anderson’s study (2001, p. 99). There was a fear of losing friends or family
ties if they came out, despite the burgeoning strength of the lesbian community,
forged over the past two decades.
At times, making the choice to follow one’s own heart meant forsaking the
plans that family had mapped out along heterosexist assumptions. For example,
one of Bourne’s interviewees had to choose between the view of religion that her
family held and her own budding awareness, at age 14, that she loved women.
My grandmother brought me to the church so they could pray over me and
get this demon out of me. This had to be a demon that had taken over my
otherwise good nature, and they were going to try to save me from burning
in hell for it. In the middle of all this . . . I got up and walked out. My
grandmother never recovered from that. It hurt her real deep. It also meant
that I was walking out on plans to follow in her footsteps and be a minister.
(Bourne, 1990, p. 130)
Family support for lesbian relationships may also be lacking, even if the
lesbian herself is accepted. One of Pedersen’s participants viewed it in this way:
For example, let’s say you are in a heterosexual marriage, then you’ve got
the social support. You’ve got your family, and all these people trying to
keep you together even if you gave up a long time ago. Then let’s say you
are with the most incredible woman. You’ve been together 20 years, and
with the first sign of one little squabble, it’s like, “Oh, dump her!” They
didn’t want you together in the first place. There didn’t even used to be gay
couples counseling. (2000, p. 71)
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Family o f Choice
Another family life construct that connects to this category is what Kath
Weston (1991) called a “family of choice.” The importance (and often primacy) of
this allegiance in a lesbian’s life is attested to by many women’s experience. This
can be especially true for single lesbians (Pedersen, 2000). Schwartzberg, Berliner,
and Jacob (1995) noted several emotional dynamics and developmental tasks that
may be unique to single lesbians, including increased vulnerability to the effects of
heterosexism without the buffering effect of a primary intimate attachment, the
search for a sense of community as an alternate expression of identity, and develop
ing and maintaining a “family of choice” (Weston, 1991).
However, for some lesbians, friendship networks do not live up to the label
of “family,” as this quote from one of Pedersen’s (2000) interviewees shows.
I have a network of friends who I really see as important, and get a lot of
support from, and god I would be just dead without them. Still, though, I
don’t think of them as family, because it is not continual. It’s not consist
ent. I wouldn’t count on it. If I really need something, I go to my biologi
cal family, (p. 135)
Work Life
Work life is a large feature of the social landscape for most adults. The
social milieu of the work place has a tremendous impact on the life satisfaction and
self-image of those who share it. Whether a lesbian at midlife is comfortable being
“out” at her place of employment is a significant social artifact to be negotiated
(Jordan & Deluty, 1998). Most studies used as sources of data for this study
included information about coming out—whether to family, friends, or co
workers—as part of the life story. Examples of themes (from studies including
analysis of life story portions) that relate to this topic include relationships and
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coming out (C. A. Anderson, 2001), difficulties associated with work (Bennett,
1992); and the importance of being out and closeted lesbians (Imbra, 1998).
Even in the academy, where critical thinking is valued, coming out at work
can be problematic. Bensimon (1992), as part of a larger project exploring the
university climate for lesbians and gay men at a major American university,
conducted 20 interviews that “revealed that the university renders the lesbian and
gay community invisible and that the university’s manifest disinterest creates an
oppressive situation for lesbian and gay faculty” (p. 103). Criukshank (1996)
agreed: “Most professors who are lesbian are still in the closet” (p. 161).
Sedgwick (1990) posited that not only are most lesbians deliberately closeted with
at least one person at work, but the assumption of heterosexuality makes coming
out something that must be done repeatedly. Harry (1993) concurred: “As a result
of highly selective comings out to different audiences, the large majority of gays
and lesbians are only partly out of the closet. In some settings they are self-
disclosing while in others they are not” (p. 27). Jackson (1995) underscored the
risks in identifying as lesbian at the work place, while noting as well the costs of
“passing” for straight. “Lesbians who pass in order to make it to the top do so by
paying a price.. . . In the end it’s a tradeoff—job advancement or validation—an
unfair decision” (p. 188).
Closeted at Work
Some lesbians choose not to reveal their sexual orientation at their work
place. One example of this stance was espoused by Trudy Genovese, who was
interviewed by Zsa Zsa Gershick (1998) in 1996. Trudy spoke about not coming
out explicitly at work, but rather “quietly infiltrating” the workplace:
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They see me as a human being, and I am a human being. I am a functioning
human being who happens to be gay. I am not a gay woman who may or
may not be human. And to me that is very important, (p. 163)
Different coping strategies to address the difficulties inherent in a hetero
sexist/homophobic work place were put forward by Jackson (1995) as ways in
which lesbians could continue to weave their lesbian identity into their work life.
These included censoring and passing, two means of avoiding having to “come
out” or be “outed” in the work place, as well as the strategic use of anger. One of
Jackson’s participants saw her lack of disclosure as a privacy issue, not related to
shame or risk of losing privilege.
I mean, why does someone not talk about who they are? In part, it’s how
you were raised and, you know, how much you are invested in other
people’s views of you and what you think the appropriate thing is to do.
(p. 195)
The lack of “out” lesbian role models at work can make the process of self-
identification more difficult. One of Imbra’s participants stated,
The primary obstacle and barrier in those early years—when I’m just figur
ing it out—was being . . . surrounded by closeted dykes. They all knew. I
didn’t know, so there is this code language going on that I was not getting.
(1998, p. 125)
The same woman went on to say, “You can’t be as effective [closeted] because you
can always be blackmailed, and that blackmail is self-blackmail. . . just like self
homophobia” (p. 129).
Sometimes the closeted lesbian appears closeted only to herself. This point
was made by Van Gelder and Brandt (1996) when they spoke of Cris Williamson, a
very prominent musician in the world of “women’s music” being interviewed in the
late 1980s and claiming that no one knew whether or not she was a lesbian. In a
socially obvious paradox, Cris contended that her work, her music, was about her
life but had nothing to do with lesbianism.
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Out at Work
Jackson’s (1995) study was focused on the thematic realm of work life,
being about the interaction of occupation and lesbian identity. The idea that occu
pations could be expressions of lesbian identity (but are usually heterosexually
oriented and therefore somewhat uncomfortable for lesbians) was noted, along with
a longing to be authentic within that identity. One of her contributors, working for
a small company with other “out” colleagues, stated, “It was a lot more fun . . . we
would laugh . . . it was a more like family. . . we could talk about our lives . . . and
share experiences together” (p. 215). Another woman in the same study stated,
You have to understand, because I came up through the ranks of the thera
pists, a lot of my employees were one-time co-workers, [I was] on the same
level with them. So they know I’m gay. The people that were hired in after
that, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out, I mean I talk about [my
partner], I talk about my life, I talk about what I do. (p. 215)
Some of the women whose life story portions have been gathered in the
literature commented on having one or more role models at work who were out,
noting that a level of encouragement and support was provided by that public
stance of “this is who I am.”
One role model I do remember, sometime in the [19] 70s, involves the first
out person on this campus who I ever knew. I can remember going to a
meeting to confirm that in fact—she was going to be at this meeting—she
was wearing a pin on her lapel that had the woman sign (two women). It
was the first visible symbol that she was a lesbian and in a lesbian relation
ship . . . she’s still alive and wearing that pin yet. I think having someone
like her here—we all need to have those pioneers who step up and let us
know it’s ok.... if I have any model here of “being a lesbian” it would be
her, and I think she has given so many of us courage. I think she has given
voice to those of us who have struggled within the academy. (Imbra, 1998,
p. 137)
Now, later in her own career, this woman makes sure to wear an identifying symbol
(such as a rainbow flag, the Greek letter lambda, or an inverted pink triangle, used
by the Nazis to identify homosexuals in concentration camps) on campus during
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new student orientation week and during hiring interviews. Such identification
gives a sense of safety to those who feel alone or unsupported in a new environ
ment and helps to ensure that the topic of being lesbian can arise openly in the
work place.
Another of Imbra’s (1998) interviewees, Rusty, a 50+ Chicana in multicul
tural student affairs, stated, “My sexuality has never been an issue in my job.
Earlier in my career I wasn’t out publicly. I’ve always been out to myself, and I
think everybody knew. I just didn’t talk about it” (p. 83). Later in her story, Rusty
continued:
Being lesbian plays a role every day of my life. I wake up in the morning
and I’m still the same person. It’s interesting how one of the things I’ve
noticed is I’m more free to talk about it. Like a group of Latinas came over
the other night, Friday night. They’re graduate students. It was really
interesting, because they were asking me how it was to be a Latina adminis
trator, and I said, “You need to ask me how it is to be a Latina lesbian
administrator” because all that plays a role. These are all heterosexual
women, they’re all married. We got into a fascinating conversation and I
said to myself, “You know, this conversation wouldn’t have taken place in
this way had I not publicly come out.” (pp. 92-93)
In a later passage Rusty made a point about equal benefits for lesbian partners: “I
think lesbian leaders, or administrators, have a difficult time when we’re offered
positions elsewhere.. . . Some of it has to do with being closeted, because you’re
not inclined to talk about having a ‘spousal hire’ for your partner (p. 115).
Being an “out” lesbian at work was perceived as a political act by several
contributors of life story data. In view of the potential negative consequences of
such actions, the courage of the lesbians who have come before provides political
motivation for later generations to build on their examples (Thompson, 1992).
The social world, as a lifeworld domain, includes the arenas of sexual,
family, and work life, vital to the lived experience of identity for all persons. The
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unique expressions of lesbian identity (as told by 500 contributors of narrative data
to various researchers) flowing from this central arena paint a unique, complex
view of this phenomenon for this cohort of women.
Political World: Where Difference
Is Enacted and Celebrated
The third lifeworld domain used to organize the voluminous narrative data
on midlife lesbian lives from 500 contributors is the political world. Recursively
interdependent with both of the prior worlds (personal and social) and contextually
dependent on a sense of history for the baby boom cohort, this identity dimension
embraces the world of action. For the generation that energized the second wave of
feminism (Brown, 1995; Enns, 1993), the phrase “the personal is political” illumin
ates the overlapping, interlocking nature of the domains in which the self is created
and expressed, experienced in the form of identity. Many lesbians from the baby
boom cohort have been politically active in multiple realms, addressing issues from
civil rights to AIDS activism, from global ecology to reproductive rights. Retter
(1999, p. 366) cited the aftermath of Stonewall as a catalyst for new levels of activ
ism in the baby boom generation.
The tradition of women taking political action was begun, according to Jean
Lipman-Blumen (1984), in the realm of religious traditions. In her analysis of
women moving from private to public policy realms, she found that the traditional
gender role of women as moral guardians, instructors of religious practice, and
selfless givers to all in need inevitably led them outside the boundaries of home and
hearth in order to address larger social ills. The influence and direct participation
of women in the political life of their communities was an outgrowth of their
socially approved responsibility to protect their home and children. This
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participation was secularized during the height of 19th-century liberalism, reflected
by the first large-scale, political mobilization of women (Connell, 1987). This
mobilization culminated in the Seneca Falls convention of 1848, focused on the
doctrine of equal rights. This gathering became the launching point for movement
toward full citizenship under the law for women, which in turn paved the way for
the civil rights and gay liberation movements of the 1960s and 1970s.
A political education and sense of solidarity with women and other
oppressed groups were two of the benefits of lesbian identification noted by one
of Bennett’s (1992) interviewees.
One really positive thing about coming out... is I feel politically and
spiritually, it really opened my eyes about other people and other things in
the world... I felt that I learned a lot about the world and about the
structures of the world and political and spiritual repression . . . and I think
it’s stuff that I needed to know.... I identified as an oppressed person with
other oppressed people, (p. 108)
Building Lesbian Community
The term lesbian community “can refer to a group of lesbians living in one
geographical area, or can be used in reference to a larger political sense of solidar
ity” (Darty & Potter, 1984, p. 305). As the baby boom lesbians came of age, the
beginnings of lesbian community and culture were becoming more visible in
America. Music festivals, bookstores, coffee shops, and a range of various cultural
gathering places for lesbians (and other open-minded folks) began to gain popular
ity (Van Gelder & Brandt, 1996). This in turn generated the capital and/or
collaboration—bartering was a viable, feminist means of exchange valued by those
embracing sisterhood—to support women-oriented printing establishments, record
labels, and catalog supply businesses.
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Yolanda Retter (1999) included this quote in her history of lesbian activism
in Los Angeles from 1970 to 1990:
Alan Johnson defined community as “a collection of people who share
something in common . . . without necessarily living in a particular place.
It can be a feeling of connection to others, of belonging, an identification”
(1995, p. 42). A community is most often diverse and divided, thus one
definition cannot encompass all members/participants, (p. 364)
Frye (1996) spoke of a “lesbian center of gravity... a force field, in which
natural lesbian connection happens, which sustains and protects lesbians in many
ways and varying degrees from the ravages of misogyny and heterosexualism”
(p. 53) when describing lesbian community. One of Pedersen’s (2000) contri
butors, although single herself, viewed lesbian couples as the appropriate founda
tion for the lesbian community.
Seeing healthy couples is really important. It’s the same within the straight
community—that’s why the foundation of marriage is such a big deal....
We need the foundation of couples, solid couples, and then the rest of the
community just falls into place, (p. 97)
Sharing common experiences also creates the feeling of community,
whether or not those experiences are pleasant. A shared experience of oppression
identifies members of the same “otherized group” as part of the same community.
The organizer and founder of the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival, Lisa Vogel,
stated, “The politics of diversity are really important in our community, probably
because whoever we are . . . we’re really marginalized in our culture” (as cited in
Van Gelder & Brandt, 1996, p. 67). One of Bennett’s (1992) participants analyzed
it from a standpoint of commonality.
There’s an experience that there’s a common thread—that we have a
common relationship. . . . It’s not that w e ’re the same . . . but that w e do
share something.. . . I would think that it [the “knowingness” of connection
with other lesbians] would be that moment of recognition that you’re not
alone. And that you have a community like everyone else. And that you’re
accepted, (pp. 103-104)
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One of Imbra’s participants stated, “I think being lesbian plays a very signi
ficant role in my life.... I’m an “other” and because I’m an “other” I understand
the pain of otherness, and I understand the pain of not being included, or the pain of
confusion” (1998, p. 129).
About lesbian community (as about every other aspect of life represented in
this study), there were also dissenting voices. Another of Imbra’s (1998) contri
butors saw feminism, not lesbianism, as central to the supportive community in
which she functioned. “Some of the strongest women in the feminist community
are lesbian. Perhaps that’s coincidental. I would give feminism the credit that
some people give to lesbianism alone” (p. 175).
Enjoyment o f “ Like ” Others
One of the functions of any minority community is the sense of appreciation
and safety that accompanies being with “People Like Us” (PLUs). In lesbian com
munities, the experience of being an oppressed minority can, for a time, be laid
aside, at least ideally. This can be a powerful experience, especially for a minority
as invisible as lesbians. So many women reported feeling like they were “the only
one,” that the realization of the possibility of fellowship, social events, and political
action with other lesbians was both a shock and relief, simultaneously. Lindsy Van
Gelder and Pamela Brandt (1996) commented on this combination of conflicting
feelings among the attendees of the annual Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival as
being temporarily in the majority. In a safe space for women, most of whom are
lesbian, it is the occasional heterosexual camper who has the opportunity to “come
out” as straight.
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The power of community can also aid in the identification process, as one
of Adelman’s (1986) participants noted.
It wasn’t until I was 50, and still with Susan, that I first began to identify as
a lesbian. I met these two lesbian women and they were my introduction to
the women’s community. They also helped me to self-identify. (p. 62)
Alliances Across Differences
In addition to experiencing PLUs in lesbian community, lesbian women
reported reaching across a variety of differences to establish working alliances.
These alliances might be personal, incorporating small-scale interactions, or larger,
encompassing broader domains of social action. A White, middle-aged lesbian
educational administrator put it this way:
I think it has helped my relationship with him [her African American male
staff person] that I’m lesbian. He had never been around a lesbian that he
knows of, but the thing for him is I understand oppression.. . . There are
ways in which he and I are such strong allies on issues. If I was just another
straight White woman I don’t think I would have as much credibility in
discussions with him.... Being a lesbian can really serve as a bridge when
you are trying to work with other people around other inequities or other
issues of civil rights or social justice or inequality—because of the common
factor of “otherness” and oppression, having shared oppression. (Imbra,
1998, p. 130)
Reducing Heterosexism and
Homophobia
Homophobia was defined by Sears (1997) as “prejudice, discrimination,
harassment, or acts of violence against sexual minorities, including lesbians, gay
men, bisexuals, and transgendered persons, evidenced in a deep-seated fear or
hatred of those who love and sexually desire those of the same sex” (p. 16). Pharr
(1988) commented, “Without the existence of sexism, there would be no homo
phobia” (p. 26). Although the term is technically incorrect (in Greek it would
indicate a fear of sameness), it has become widely used as a descriptor of (and
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sometimes defense for) the intense emotional responses to indications of homo
sexuality in oneself or another. One of Imbra’s respondents put it succinctly:
“You have to work through the self-homophobia” (1998, p. 131).
Sears (1997) defined heterosexism as “a belief in the superiority of hetero
sexuals or heterosexuality as evidenced in the exclusion, by omission or design, of
non-heterosexual persons in policies, procedures, events, or activities” (p. 16).
The assumption of heterosexuality was viewed as a complicating factor for many
women from the cohort under study, both in terms of identifying as lesbian and
finding other lesbians with whom to socialize, date, or build community. One of
Pedersen’s interviewees stated,
Being straight and single I think is a little easier than being gay and single.
If you are straight, you can just assume that everyone in the world that you
meet is straight, and you can’t do that if you are gay. (p. 70)
Celebrating Diversity
The goal of lesbian scholarship, and of all education at its best, is to foster
the celebration, not mere tolerance, of diversity. This aspect of lesbian life was
important to many of the contributors of life story data used in this study. Two
crucial elements of diversity, race and class, have historically been used to divide
the less powerful from full participation in society. By reclaiming equality and
working to redress social injustice, midlife lesbians are involved in the creation and
maintenance of true social change.
Addressing Issues o f Race and
Class
As has been stated repeatedly, multiple contexts must be viewed in
examining identity. Two contexts that become especially salient when focusing on
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positively embracing diversity are race and class. As mentioned in chapter 2, the
categories defined as racial are not essential and immutable (although certain
aspects of racial categories may be genetically identifiable), yet they are often the
grounds for oppression. The shared experience of surviving oppression links
communities that have been minoritized, as shown in the following quote:
Being a lesbian can really serve as a bridge when you are trying to work
with other people around other inequities or other issues of civil rights or
social justice or inequality—because of the common factor of “otherness”
and oppression... you share so many... emotions, [like coming] to grips
with understanding self-homophobia. (Imbra, 1998, p. 130)
For some contributors to the data used in this study, racial issues out
weighed sexual orientation in terms of impact on their quality of life.
No one walks around with a sign on them that says, “I’m gay.” But there’s
a sign on me that says, “I’m Black,” and I can’t come home, put on a dress,
change my walk, and nobody know it. What I have done with the blackness
is that I have become me. (Adelman, 1986, p. 79)
Class background is another type of difference that is likely to be placed on
an individual by the social world in which they move about, becoming integrated
into the personal sense of identity at levels that may remain unconscious. The
privilege (or lack thereof) attached to class, the values embraced by one’s class, and
the difficulties of negotiating cross-class relationships were all mentioned in the
themes drawn from life story portions of midlife lesbians. For example, one of the
long-term couples whose story is in S. E. Johnson’s (1991) book saw class issues as
salient in their relationship.
Kathy: [poor, middle class, Midwestern background] There’s always been
a thing for me about money and about saving and about paying my own
way. Education was really important, and I went to college, but if you’re
working class, you never feel like you belong there.
Deborah: I grew up in an upper middle class suburb of Philadelphia. I’ve
always had this sense of belonging, of security and optimism about things
working out, about money being there when I need it. (p. 293)
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Penelope’s (1994) work on lesbians and class, allowing the voices of
women to be heard as they unravel their experiences with and analyses of class in
America, offered several levels of critique important to an understanding of lesbian
identity for midlife women. One layer of that critique was that women need a
space in which to sort out their experiences, to tell their own stories as a way to
come to self-understanding. A quote from Christian McEwen appeared in
Penelope’s introductory chapter (1994, p. 32): “I wanted to make sense of things,
to tell the truth of what I knew. Talking about class was part of that: an attempt to
face the tangles, to draw the pain and awkwardness into the open.” McEwan
viewed the opportunity to discuss her class background as a way of coming to
know herself more fully, as a midlife lesbian.
Another layer of critique is that discussions of class dynamics in relation to
a sense of “lesbian community” do not often go into a thorough analysis of the
class system in the United States (Penelope, 1994). In Nett Hart’s contribution to
Penelope’s collection (“The NEW! IMPROVED! Classless Society”, N. Hart,
1994) the dangers inherent in reducing class to an identity that people “have” are
set out.
To say class is an identity politic is to personalize the political strata, to
reduce the issues of classism to a series of personal slights and inadequacies
rather than attend to the structures of domination and subordination that
create and hold in place a class differentiation.. . . When class analysis
takes place only inside of an identity politic, it cannot address social justice,
(p. 386)
Making a Contribution
For women experiencing the difference of lesbianism, part of integrating
that difference can be to use it to accomplish good in the world. A quote from one
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of Imbra’s participants highlights this aspect of making a contribution to the larger
social good:
I work at the college level with students, and part of what they struggle with
is their own identity. I think it gives me incredible empathy into their
struggles... So I interact with people of color, or people of different reli
gions, who are seeing social justice, or are seeking equality, I understand
that. It makes me a stronger advocate around issues of social justice . . . it
makes me more empathic in dealing with people. It’s who I am. (1998,
p. 129)
The same woman put it succinctly at a later point: “I’m one of these people who
want to leave the world better for the people who come after me” (p. 131).
A participant in Bennett’s (1992) dissertation research stated,
I like the things that I’ve learned about the world because I’m a lesbian .. .
like that not everybody has an equal stake in things and that... the world is
not just about making families and making babies and having happy little
white suburbs.... Being a lesbian has opened me to people and to things
about people that I never would have learned about.... They’re not things
that I could ever really walk away from. You know, I could never be happy
making a million dollars if I didn’t give it back somehow to the world....
And I can’t not care about other people. We are an oppressed minority and
we’re allowed these certain freedoms, but the way things go, we may have
to stand up someday and be counted and that’s the bottom line. And I also
feel [that] accepting myself as a lesbian has made me realize that I’m a
human being and that everybody else on the earth is a human being and
they all have their own ting and their own process, (pp. 108-109)
Another contributor to the same study commented,
We’re obviously in the forefront of so many movements, political move
ments, who care so much about oppression—ending oppression, work
around racism and stuff.... I love the fact that... we’re important to all
these movements for social change . . . leading the way, that we’re com
mitted, that we understand that all oppressions are linked together and that
people have to work together, (p. 109)
Summary
This chapter describes the kaleidoscopic conceptual m odel that served to
organize and explain the data collage (see chapter 3) that flowed out of the life
story recollections of approximately 500 self-identified midlife North American
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lesbians. Set against the historical context in which the baby boom generation
witnessed tumultuous social change, the multiple identity dimensions of this cohort
of lesbians were first framed in a collage-like, multilayered representation of the
data, retaining individual variety while presenting an overall picture or view. This
picture was then organized for further description and exploration by viewing it
through a kaleidoscopic conceptual model, drawn from the narrative data.
The overlapping, recursive nature of the personal, social, and political
“worlds” as processing points in the ongoing development of narrative identity was
demonstrated through this conceptual model, interwoven with the historical context
salient to the baby boom cohort of midlife lesbians who contributed the data used.
The feeling of “difference” (predominately differentiating the narrators from
nonlesbians, yet at times, even from other lesbians) appeared consistently in the life
story portions used as data, providing a consistent theme throughout several
domains. This unifying construct of difference was explored through each
lifeworld domain and viewed in light of the historical context of this unique cohort
of women. The variety and unity of midlife lesbian identity was thus presented by
viewing the data collage through the kaleidoscopic lens of the conceptual model
that arose from the analysis of those data. In chapter 5 the usefulness of the model
as a tool for training psychotherapists and its applicability for the study of life story
portions from other population cohorts is explored.
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CHAPTER 5
SUMMARY AND DISCUSSION
The goal of this dissertation was to describe and understand the identity
issues faced by the baby boom cohort of North American self-identified midlife
lesbians in their development of a positive sense of lesbian identity. For this
exploration, I examined life story portions from approximately 500 self-identified
midlife lesbians (see Table 1), gathered by previous researchers using qualitative
interview methods. From these data emerged a complex, recursive, fluid process of
dealing with multiple dimensions of identity, across common issues and in a variety
of contexts.
The findings produced by this analysis of the data revealed a kaleidoscopic
conceptual model through which to view the commonalities and unique variations
of lesbian identification for North American women of the baby boom cohort. A
theme throughout this study was the need to integrate the aspects of one’s self, to
help these aspects to blend, and not to leave some parts in discord with other parts.
As a byproduct of following this narrative blending of multiple identities, lesbians
from the cohort under study demonstrated how to make a fulfilled life, as well as
some mistakes to avoid in managing a complex, multilayered identity. Through
their life stories, the 500 contributors to the data demonstrated that, where all parts
of the self come to be blended and support each other (rather than each part grow
ing separately), wholeness and balance are produced. These are a few of the gifts
that these remarkable midlife lesbians shared.
This chapter consists of four sections. The first section revisits the review
of the literature in chapter 2, highlighting narrative identity as a useful way to
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conceptualize the process of lesbian identification. Paul Ricoeur’s work provided
the context for this integrative identity position, which proved useful in the analysis
of data and resultant findings. The findings of the study supported Ricoeur’s
conceptualization of narrative identity theory and built upon them.
The second section presents the need for special attention to the life stories
of lesbians as vital resources for an expansion of multicultural awareness and
sensitivity, which is an important mandate in psychotherapy-related disciplines.
Privileging the voices of understudied, often invisible minorities represents a social
justice issue as well. This has implications for society at large, beyond the scope of
psychotherapy.
The third section includes a summary of the findings, incorporating the
kaleidoscopic view of midlife lesbian identity generated by the conceptual model.
As a demonstration of the model’s utility, portions of my own life story collage are
also viewed through its shifting, fluid lens. The model fits the retrospective
meaning-making process inherent in narrative identity.
The fourth section presents conclusions drawn from the study and implica
tions for future research on the topic of lesbian identity (within and beyond psy
chotherapy-related disciplines). The contributions of the study and the utility of the
conceptual model that arose from my data are described in this section. The life
lessons learned by this cohort of midlife North American lesbians are distilled from
the findings presented in chapter 4, so that those who come after them may learn
from their stories.
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Findings and the Literature
Narrative identity theory (see chapter 2) provided the launching point for
this exploration of identity issues among midlife lesbians. The life experiences and
recollections of North American lesbians of the baby boom cohort (my population
of interest, of which I am a member) reflected the integration of multiple aspects of
the self, continually emerging and re-forming across diverse settings. Also, the
ever-changing historical context impacted both lives-as-lived and the stories
produced by these women. All of the life story portions that provided data for this
study involved first-person retrospective recollections of a personal historical past,
produced in a sociocultural historical context. Because narrative identity theory
was able to accommodate the flow of time in these accounts, it was the logical
frame of reference for the exploration and description of the identity issues
experienced by midlife lesbians.
The review of literature presented the debate between the identity theorists,
who believed that a fixed, stable self exists and awaits discovery (essentialists) and
the social constructionists, who viewed sociocultural effects as carving and creating
the self. However, as Pucci (1992) noted, “We cannot simply discover the world
and ourselves through Cartesian reflexivity or through an analysis of language and
its structures” (p. 209). The past, as we interpret it, develops the possible future.
What was needed was a dialectic, a middle position synthesizing the opposing
poles of internal and external forces regarding identity.
The beginnings of a middle ground were posited by the constructivists,
who theorized that an individual forged an identity out of a variety of sociocultural
effects, overlaid on a core sense of some “givens” or traits within the self. Con
structivism required that one always take into account one’s position as both
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observer and knower, and made allowances for the individual’s agency in recurs
ively incorporating society’s strong influences into a fluid, flexible sense of self.
The work of Paul Ricoeur is associated with the constructivist position and
is briefly presented as a point of integration and synthesis for the widely divergent
identity theories that have informed scholarship on lesbian identity for the past few
decades. Since recollections of identity issues expressed in life story form involve
the flow of time, and since narrative is the form that specifically deals with tempor
ality, narrative identity represents an integrative option for understanding the flow
of the developing sense of self over the life span. The choice of life story portions
as the main sources of data for this study was based on the need for this integration.
As Linde (1993) noted, “Narrative is among the most important social resources for
creating and maintaining personal identity” (p. 98).
Like a text, lived experience has no fixed, intrinsic meaning—only that
which unfolds through interpretation. “Action is always symbolically mediated,
with symbols acting as a quasi-text that allows conduct to be interpreted” (Ezzy,
1998, p. 244). Events become meaningful episodes though narrative emplotment,
relating them to the developing story. This process imbues the experience of time
with meaning, which is Ricoeur’s central point in Time and Narrative (Ezzy).
Distinguishing between the sense of self that changes over time (ipse) and the sense
of the self that stays the same over time (idem), producing a consistent self-identity,
Ricoeur posited that “narrative identity constructs a sense of self-sameness, con
tinuity and character in the plot of the story a person tells about him- or herself.
The story becomes that person’s actual history” (Ezzy, p. 244). The accounts of
retrospective meaning making by self-identified midlife lesbians, gathered from
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their life story recollections, demonstrated the integration of these two senses of
self as integrated by Ricoeur’s work.
“Ricoeur proposed that while language neither describes reality nor is
severed from reality, it does serve to re-describe reality” (Polkinghome, 1995a,
p. 86). Ricoeur’s sense was that life unfolds through the three types of imitation of
action (mimesis) that Aristotle had described as types of narrative emplotment. To
paraphrase Polkinghome (1995a), these types refer back to prelinguistic/felt action,
refer back to poetically described action, and refer to the new lived understanding
accomplished by narrative composition, thereby representing three perspectives on
“who” a person is, contributing to that person’s life story. This stresses the view
that people are not empty containers to be filled up by culture through language,
but selves reconstructing self-knowledge (and, through this, identity) throughout
the journey of life. Narrative specifically allows the temporal flow of this journey
to be highlighted and celebrated (Reagan, 1993).
Ricoeur (1983, p. 65) outlined a threefold process of prefiguration, con
figuration, and refiguration whereby narrative imagination prefigures lived
experience, shaping it in the process. The events of lived experienced are then
configured, via narrative emplotment, into a coordinated story. The resultant story
is refigured by the listener/reader so that it influences/reinforces personal choices
regarding how to act in the world. This process was visible in the life story por
tions (gathered from midlife North American lesbians) that became the data for this
study and guided the form of the conceptual model that arose from that data.
Ricoeur believed that lives could be analyzed by means of a “hermeneutic
circle” (see Kvale, 1992), whereby the whole and parts of life narratives are seen in
the light of one another (Reagan, 1993). For Ricoeur, story is not separate from
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experience; rather, as Carr (1986) noted, “lives are told in being lived and lived
in being told” (p. 61) as part of this recursive, hermeneutic circle. Ricoeur (1983)
proposed that we move from our experience of being in the world toward
expression in language by means of narrative emplotment. This recursive process
creates the hermeneutic circle of narrative and action, where “lived experience
precedes a narrative, and narrative shapes practical action” (Ezzy, 1998, p. 244).
Ricoeur (1991, p. 29) described life as “an activity and a passion in search of a
narrative,” so centrally did he place the narrative hermeneutics of identity.
In telling personal stories, people become ethical beings who are respons
ible for their lives (Kierkegaard, 1987, as cited in Crossley, 2000, p. 50). “Ricoeur
makes such responsibility central to his concept of ‘narrative identity’, arguing that
the self comes into being only in the process of telling a life story” (p. 50, citing
Ricoeur, 1986, p. 132). This position, also found in the work of Jerome Bruner
(1986, 1987,1990), holds that it is psychologically innate for humans to experience
narrative as a way of giving meaning to the events of one’s life, so that self-
understanding automatically takes narrative form. Recognizing (as did Levinas)
that there is “no self without another who summons it to responsibility” (Ricoeur,
1992, p. 187), life stories are seen as the vehicle by which humans are “construct
ing” meaning, rather than “discovering” meaning in the mind (Crossley, p. 58).
Conceptual schemas overlaid by society onto the life experiences and self-
understandings of an individual can produce feelings of being mismatched with
society and unable to change or select new options for self-understanding and
expression (Polkinghome, 2001). Polkinghome noted, “The conceptual under
standings that people have of the world, others, and the self serve not only to
highlight and give meaning to some experiences but also to cover over and make
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inaccessible other experiences” (2001, p. 83). The use of the hermeneutic circle to
analyze self-recollection narratives is especially necessary when the identities
under study are marginalized and stigmatized. Different experiences become
salient or invisible as the individual develops a sense of consistent identity that
shifts over time.
In addition to Ricoeur’s conceptualization, another useful theoretical view
of lesbian identity construction is that employed by some feminist cognitive
therapists (Padesky, 1988; Sophie, 1987). Consonant with feminist principles in its
egalitarian, collaborative process and focus on problems rather than dysfunction,
this form of cognitive therapy assists women in the development of a positive
lesbian identity via guided discovery, whereby maladaptive belief structures can be
changed. “It is a therapy the deals with the whole person and includes an analysis
of social and environmental influences” (Padesky, p. 155). Sophie (p. 57) noted,
“Cognitive restructuring is the basic process which underlies the elimination or
reduction of internalized homophobia and its replacement with a positive view of
homosexuality.” Since, as Polkinghome (1996a, p. 366) stated, “The purpose of
therapeutic work is to assist people in forming a more agentic identity story in
which they assume control over their own lives,” this feminist cognitive therapy
framework can be beneficial. The reinforcement of personal agency despite
oppression or persecution is especially important for those with minoritized,
stigmatized identities, such as midlife lesbians.
The fact that there can be positive effects from the straggle to overcome
homonegative (Morrow, 2000) attitudes reported in the literature was reaffirmed by
this study. Bourne (1990) and later Silberkraus (1995) found that, “along with the
numerous difficulties which must be confronted throughout all stages of identity
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formation, a constellation of positive personal traits may also develop as a result
of being challenged by stigma and oppression” (Bourne, p. 255), naming this
constellation tangential perspective.
In addition to forming a tangential perspective, coming out was found to be
a significant area in the narrative accounts of lesbian identity from the cohort under
study. Each of the contributors had to (at some point) identify as lesbian enough to
volunteer to participate in research interviews on lesbian issues, and such identifi
cation involves several layers of coming out (Morris, 1997), further demonstrating
the multidimensional aspects of lesbian identity found in the literature and con
firmed by this study.
Mandate for Multicultural Competence
Relative to Lesbian Clients
Within the fields relating to psychotherapy and counseling, increased
attention to and understanding of the issues affecting LGB individuals have long
been seen as ethical responsibilities (Morrow, 2000). As Pearson (2003) noted, the
debate in the counseling literature is no longer whether to include training on LGB
issues but how. This “hidden minority” (Fassinger, 2000) still faces prejudice and
stigma in every aspect of their lives, despite the depathologizing of homosexuality
by the American Psychiatric Society in 1973 (see Berzon, 2002). Constructing a
positive sense of lesbian identity (or being in relationship to someone who is) in
light of the sexism, heterosexism, and homophobia rampant in the dominant
cultural paradigm of North America is a challenge. Dworkin (2000) noted that the
process of “shifting one’s identity from the socially accepted [assumption of]
heterosexual identity to the socially denigrated nonheterosexual LGB identity can
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cause emotional distress” (p. 165), not as a direct result of being lesbian, gay, or
bisexual, but due to living in a nonaccepting, oppressive social milieu (Pearson).
To resolve the conflicts produced by the culture clash between such a
society and their internal sense of being lesbian (or loving someone who is), clients
deserve the support of an informed, aware, and culturally sensitive psychotherapist
(Fukuyama & Ferguson, 2000; Pearson, 2003) should they choose to seek therapy
for assistance with those challenges.
Counselors and psychologists must be aware of and knowledgeable about
the social identities that individuals embrace. They must also assist indivi
duals in understanding those identities relative to their personal and collect
ive group identity development, group memberships, and personal and
collective mental health. [To accomplish this task,] identity models can be
used to facilitate understanding of these dynamics by assisting individuals
in exploring the impact of oppressions in their lives related to the ways in
which they feel more or less accepting of their respective multiple identi
ties. (Fukuyama & Ferguson, p. 87)
Fukuyama and Ferguson (2000) made the point that psychological
literature, research, theories, and practices are predominately Eurocentric, despite
the diversity present in the population. “Consequently, the culturally different have
experienced discrimination and prejudice not only in the mainstream American
society, but also in the field of psychology” (p. 81). This can include the value that
therapists may place on coming out as an indicator of a healthy adjustment to an
LGB identity, which may reflect the individualism and autonomy of White,
Eurocentric values rather than the more collective, group-oriented identity
strategies (p. 87).
Fukuyama and Ferguson (2000) also explored “the complex dynamics that
underlie multiple cultural identities and oppressions, [which in turn impact] clients’
worldviews, the coming out process, and internalized feelings of self-worth”
(p. 97). Not only are clients’ worldviews affected by oppression, discrimination,
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and prejudice, the therapists’ worldviews are also affected. Hearing the stories of
lesbians who have overcome such prejudice to identify positively with their
lesbianness helps to inform women, the clinicians who serve them, and the
surrounding communities.
The need for a conceptual model addressing multiple identities unfolding
across time and varying by contexts has been noted in the psychotherapy-related
literature. Phelan (1994) argued that such a conceptualization (that is, seeing
identity as both constructed and multidimensional) is more representative of actual
lesbian experience than traditional single-dimensional or linear (e.g., stage) models
and more supportive as a platform for political action and change. “The call to
bring training in LGB issues into the ‘mainstream’ (Douce, 1998) is echoed
throughout the professional [psychotherapy-related] literature” (Pearson, 2003,
p. 293). Although this call was issued in the late 1980s and early 1990s, more
progress is still needed (Callahan, 2001; Carroll & Gilroy, 2001; Matthews &
Bieschke, 2001; Morrow, 2000; Phillips, 2000; Reynolds & Hanjorgiris, 2000).
The suggestions for further research presented later in this chapter expand this call.
Summary of Findings and Application of the
Model to Author’s Life Story Portion
The conceptual model that arose from the data—life story portions gathered
from 500 midlife self-identified North American lesbians—reflects the complexity
of multiple issues to be addressed, dimensions of identity to be integrated, and
contexts to be incorporated. Narrative identity theory provides the backdrop
against which the life stories of baby boom lesbians are displayed, moving through
time and reflecting continued development. The mandate for psychotherapy to
include a knowledge of and sensitivity to this population’s identity struggles as
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part of multicultural competence is clear. But beyond the need for ethical psycho
therapy (as important as that is) lies the very human need to feel understood and to
have one’s own experience validated. It was this desire that motivated this study,
and it was echoed in the narrative data from the 500 contributors.
In agreement with Silberkraus (1995), this study demonstrated the ongoing,
unique, cyclical, and recursive process of forming, re-forming, and living with a
lesbian identity, impacted by the effects of a heterosexist, homophobic, patriarchal,
and androcentric society (Brown, 1995; Fukuyama & Ferguson, 2000). The fact
that these 500 women were able to forge a positive lesbian identity (and willingly
discuss that aspect of their lives with researchers) is remarkable, given the level of
societal oppression and repression that they faced, especially as they traversed
adolescence with their fellow baby boomers. Browning et al. (1991) noted, “As
therapists, we must be sensitive to the needs of the older lesbian by recognizing the
impact on the identity of coming out in an era when lesbians were viewed as sick or
sinful” (p. 183).
To best reflect the collage of narrative data collected in previous research
from 500 midlife North American lesbians required construction of a multidimen
sional conceptual model of lesbian identity. Functioning like a kaleidoscope, this
model included the personal, social, and political lifeworld domains, set against an
historical context and expressing a unifying theme of feeling different. This model
reflected not only the composite collage of the contributors’ life stories but my own
life story as well. Reinharz (1994) highlighted the involvement of a feminist
researcher both with the lives of her research participants and with the topic under
study. Even though I did not collect the life story portions used as data (except for
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excerpts of my own story), the vehicle of narrative identity theory allowed me to
experience that involved stance as I conducted my research.
As I did the research for this project, I repeatedly saw my own experiences
reflected in the story of another. The pain of recognition and the joy of validation
became a familiar, bittersweet blend as the project progressed. While I knew by
this point in my life (the half-century mark) that I was not alone in my lesbian
identity development, there were several areas of commonality that I had not
expected. I did not know that enough other people had felt the way I did for it to be
written about on this scale. I chose to share a portion of my life story here (also in
Read, 2002) to offer a bridge of understanding for others whose experiences differ,
and of validation for those with whom my lifeworld resonates. Viewing my own
life story through the kaleidoscopic lens of the conceptual model of positive lesbian
identity that arose from the narrative data in this study provided an informal “test
drive” of the findings for the study, briefly recounted here.
My Story
I was bom just past midway through the baby boom cohort (1954) in a
small Wisconsin village an hour and a half north of Chicago, Illinois. My father, a
World War II veteran, sold Fuller Brush™ products door-to-door, initially to over
come a stuttering problem and later to support our family of four. My mom stayed
at home with my older brother and me until we were both in school; then she
worked part-time at the high school half a block away, assisting the librarian who
had been her Latin teacher years before. Mom had been extremely close to three of
her high school teachers, two of whom lived in what (now, retrospectively) was
clearly at least a “romantic friendship” if not a lesbian partnership. Although my
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family socialized with this couple regularly, I had no language to describe their
partnership, no frame of reference for their similarity and difference to other
families whom we knew. That was to be a theme in my own unfolding lesbian
identity: not having a language for what I felt, and how that separated me from
others of my own age.
My first knowledge of the word homosexual came in 1967, when I was 12
years old and in the seventh grade. A beloved male teacher was dismissed mid
year for (as I later learned) accusations of sexual involvement with a boys’ sports
team. He had always been kind to me. I was devastated, and sought to know why
he was sent away. Rumors abounded, but I could make no sense of them. “He was
a queer, a fruit, a homo.” None of these words had any explanatory value for me at
that age. My best friend defined homosexuality as “when you like someone of the
same sex.” Unfortunately, that definition was so inclusive that I was still puzzled.
I liked everybody, especially the girls. My liking of the girls my age did not feel
sexual to me, but it must have been significant if one could get into “big trouble”
for it. I was worried about my “difference” from my peers and the intensity of my
feelings. No one else seemed to be talking about the kinds of things that I was
feeling: how beautiful a girl’s eyes were, how the room lit up when she entered
and subsided into drabness as she departed. At the Junior High dances, I ached to
ask that special girl to dance. Somehow, I knew that would be a violation of some
kind, even though I was still woefully ignorant. My village was a long way off
from the “sexual revolution” of the late 1960s.
While I did “like” many girls, I was especially drawn to one girl, new to the
school and the area that seventh-grade year. Her soft southern accent and doe-like
brown eyes became the stuff of poetry for me. It did not occur to me not to let my
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“crush” on her show, although I did not see any other girls displaying similar
devotion for one another. I found ways to participate in her circle of acquaintances
and to pass to her the poems that I wrote at least weekly. She received them, never
commenting about them in any way.
Suddenly, I was called to the Vice Principal’s office. My letters to her were
on his desk. As my eyes took that fact in, my stomach took the elevator to the
basement. Although I still had no clear knowledge of why I was “in trouble,” it
was crystal clear that I was. Apparently, her father had complained to the school
about all the attention that I was paying his daughter. The upshot (at least what I
can recall through the haze of shock) was that, if I stopped writing poems to her,
my family would not be notified; otherwise, we would all be called in. I stopped
writing, asked no questions, and told no one about the confrontation. I felt
ashamed, and so bewildered. I could not understand what was “bad” about my love
for her. I never knew whether her father took action because she complained or
was concerned about my behavior, or whether her parents just happened across my
poetry and made their own judgments. It was not something that I could ever bring
myself to ask her, and she had never mentioned anything to me. All these years
later, I still wonder. In an ideal world, adults could approach one another to clear
up perceptions blurred by being in Junior High. One of the costs of heterosexism
and homonegativity is that such a clearing of the air would likely still not be
welcomed.
After the Vice Principal’s warning, I kept a low profile, at least regarding
having crushes on women. Then, in my sophomore year (1969/1970), when I was
15, a new women’s coach moved to town from out of state to teach at my tiny high
school. How many budding lesbians-to-be have had a crash on their female
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physical education teachers? Enough to be a cliche, although I knew of no others
back then. Coach was an ideal mentor, strong, funny, determined to a fault, with a
history of having overcome many adversities. She was 8 years older and so much
wiser, it seemed. We appeared to be on the same wave length, although I had no
language for that sense of simpatico then. When she was in pain, I felt it. When I
hurt, she knew as well, and prodded me to talk until I let it out. I loved Coach with
all my heart, although not at all sexually. There was adoration, hero worship, and
the closeness bom of physical competition, a close bonding. She trusted me and
gave me a chance to compete, based on my hard work and perseverance, and my
world opened up. I trusted her with my secrets, gave her my devotion, and learned
from her mentoring.
One of the secrets with which I trusted Coach was about the sexual abuse
that my father was perpetrating on me. Although in that era (1969) there were not
good mechanisms for reporting such things, just having someone listen to my woes
and believe me made a tremendous difference in my life. Later, when my father
sexualized his step-children (after he remarried) and later their children, some of
the determination that I felt for getting their victimization stopped was bom of the
experience of having had Coach’s support, however briefly, and how validating
that had been.
Let the record be absolutely clear: Coach never touched me inappropri
ately, just giving me a slap on the back after a good tennis match or taping my
sprained ankle for a basketball game. Nevertheless, a month before the end of that
school year, in May 1970, my world stopped. I happened to see Coach walking out
of the high school Administrator’s office one night, looking upset. As she walked
to her car, I followed and asked what was wrong. She said she was being fired, and
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never wanted to see me again. I never did. I will never forget the physical feeling
of devastation when, the next morning, I went into the Girl’s Physical Education
area and, turning the comer, saw the substitute teacher standing there in Coach’s
office. Coach had been forced to resign and leave town. It was her first teaching
job. She was 24. I was left to battle the rumors alone. I was 16. I barely survived.
We were accused of things that were unbelievable to me; yet, astonishingly,
people believed them. Tales of girls walking into the Physical Education office and
finding Coach lying naked on the floor with me standing over her circulated like
wildfire. Now we were suddenly “known” to have been seen entering or leaving a
motel outside town. Or we had been surprised in her car in the parking lot,
“necking.” The tales grew in the telling. I was appalled by the power of rumor.
None of this had even the remotest basis in fact, yet that mattered not at all. I had
been taught to “live above reproach”; my answer, many years later, was to come
out and become thoroughly self-accepting so that no rumor could ever be used
against me in that way again.
Thankfully, one of my friends came to me the day after Coach was forced to
leave and told me that she had actually overheard the initiation of the rumors. Four
girls who had just received low grades in Physical Education (progress reports had
just come out that day) were planning what to say to their parents, one of whom
happened to be on the school board. The plan was for each girl to tell her parents
the things she had “seen,” get them to call the school’s administration to complain
about it, and thereby “get rid of Coach.” I was close to Coach and an easy target.
My friend overheard a part of the plan when she walked by. Although she had not
put the pieces together until too late to avoid the damage, I firmly believe that she
saved my sanity by giving me a credible explanation of how and why the
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destruction began. However, understanding the source of the rumors did nothing to
stop them.
Word travels fast in small towns. Women at the church in which I had been
raised gathered their daughters close to them when I walked past saying, “Isn’t it a
shame that it’s not even safe for our daughters to go to the public high school
anymore.” New students were told about “the girl who was queer with the gym
teacher” as I stood within earshot. A neighbor girl kicked me as I rode my bicycle
down our street. I was cornered in a back hallway by a tall fellow on the wrestling
team and a few of his cronies, who kicked and spat on me before a small crowd of
onlookers, yelling “Dyke!” (a word I’d never heard before and did not yet under
stand) and other, less printable epithets. I was strong, but no match for their
numbers. They never saw me cry, although I am not sure what the outcome would
have been if the janitor had not happened by when he did. I had to work hard in
later years to reclaim the word dyke as a self-celebration, given the initial trauma
with which it was associated. I stand in sisterhood now with other women battered
for their love of women, and I challenge society for the right for our daughters to
love whom they please.
I did not believe in high school that I was lesbian (although I clearly loved
women), partly because those false rumors had said I was. I could not split the
difference, allowing the “lesbian” part to be true while denying the (untrue)
accusations against Coach. Every area of my life was touched by the rumors, no
matter what I did. I even dated a wonderful young man the next year (although,
admittedly, I was more in love with his older sister, but I could not express that,
even to myself, at the time). He and I walked the halls of the high school hand in
hand while we overheard the rumors spreading further, regardless. I had nowhere
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to go, no options that I could see. The entire town had made up its mind that Coach
and I had had an illicit relationship, and that was that. There was no positive con
text for the love I did feel for Coach, no role models for women loving women and
it not being sick or sinful—only accusations of what did not occur. I reasoned that,
if that was what being a lesbian was, I certainly was not one. And, if this was how
lesbians were treated, I never wanted to be one, either.
A year later, at 17, feeling painted into a proverbial comer, I attempted to
end my life, as do so many gay teens lacking support, role models, and information.
Supportive groups such as Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG) and
Gay/Straight Alliances did not exist in my little berg, nor could I search them out in
the nearby metropolitan areas. There were no cell phones to make calls that parents
could not overhear, nor Internet searches to find other young people like me. An
hour and a half from Chicago, Madison, or Milwaukee, large urban cultural centers
where supports for gay and questioning youth already existed by the early 1970s, I
was as cut off from my peers as though on Mars.
When the suicide attempt failed, I experienced an existential crisis. If I was
going to live, I had to find a way to make my life meaningful, to bring some beauty
out of the pain. Seeking outside myself for something larger with which to con
nect, I turned to religion. At first, the balm of acceptance was a lifeline for me.
Embraced in a loving extended (spiritual) family, my sense of myself grew to the
point where I could acknowledge that I loved women (although asexually at that
point in my development) and that I had been made that way. I reframed my
intense feelings for women from being “crushes” to spiritual devotion. I look at
that period of my life very differently now, but at the time, religion offered a more
loving view of my life than I had known—as long as I kept the sexual part of
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loving women out of my awareness. I made that tradeoff without even realizing it,
and continued to do so for almost a decade.
I escaped my small town at 18 (in 1972) by going away to small religious
school, Calvary Bible College in Kansas City, Missouri. Hundreds of miles from
home, majoring in music and the study of sacred texts, I was completely happy for
the first time. I experienced repeated crushes on women my age, but was neither
rebuffed nor encouraged. As they married off one by one, I was able to be happy
for them; they were successfully entering the only life (heterosexual) that I could
envision post-college. I transferred to Philadelphia College of Bible in 1974, where
I could get a Bachelor of Music degree (as well as the required Bachelor of Science
in Bible), adding 2 years to my study plan. I was in no hurry to graduate, having no
plans past living in the dorm and continuing my studies. Not yet being exposed to
feminist thought, much less lesbian studies, I had no idea that I could just go out
into the world on my own and live independently, or create a life with a female
partner if I chose to do so. However, I knew that I absolutely did not want to return
to my family home and tiny Midwestern village after college.
So, as my undergraduate years began to wane, I sought a marriageable man
with whom to settle down after graduation. I found one, a buddy who often told
me his “girl troubles.” I loved him as a friend, although not nearly with the
intensity of my crushes on women, which I actually took as a good sign at the time.
Since that intensity (loving women) was linked with a choice that I could not make,
avoiding it seemed altogether simpler. I was not particularly sexually drawn to my
boyfriend, then fiance, but we were not yet married, so I believed that that was
appropriate. Then, 6 weeks before I was to be married (after 17 months of engage
ment) in April 1978,1 fell head-over-heels in love with a woman for the first time.
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I was 24 and she was 22. This was not just a crash. It was early April, and my
whole life was suddenly Springtime. I had never known such love!
I tried to tell my fiance about her, how much I loved her, how much she
meant to me, how much I enjoyed spending time with her. He was glad for me that
I had a new “friend.” He knew her (they had been classmates in the same major at
school). I would never have framed my new love for a woman as sexual; neither
did he. I was not intentionally hiding facts from him. I truly did not see at the time
that I had begun a lesbian affair and was completely, utterly happy about loving
this woman. Therefore, I did not see a conflict with going through with my
wedding. However, I was acutely aware that I did not want to be separated from
her. We did not see a way to make a life together but believed that later, when we
were old, she and I might both be widows and share a home, rocking on the porch
and reminiscing. We promised to be together again, at ages 62 and 64. We both
graduated and she went to her job teaching in a small Christian school in Maryland.
When my husband was unable to find a job elsewhere, he suggested that we move
to the same town and teach in the same school. She had an apartment and we had a
house, yet we made a family, shopping, cooking, and doing chores together, as well
as surviving our first year of teaching elementary school.
Things did not go smoothly in my marriage, with more cause than just my
love for a woman. After several months of increasing tension between my husband
and me, we went to marital therapy, but still things grew worse. Our therapists
referred him to a psychiatrist and he was put on medication, which turned out to be
for managing psychosis and violence. In a short period of time, due to the nature of
his mental health difficulties, it became clear that my life was actually in danger.
His doctors called to warn me that I was not safe, although they were neither
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specific as to what that meant nor what I ought to do about it. I agonized over my
wedding vows, searching for a way to be a faithful wife without giving up my own
life.
Nature intervened. A freak snowstorm shut down the little town in which
we lived for a week. My husband and I were locked in together, literally. I
watched him unravel, growing more concerned for our safety. He took the longest
knife in the kitchen to bed with him, “in case he felt cold.” I got out of bed, feeling
rather cold at that moment myself, and “slept” on the couch for the next week. The
knife stayed on my pillow, while I did not. At the end of the week, he called to
cancel the fuel oil order that would have kept our furnace going. We had only a
small amount left in the tank, enough for a few days’ heating needs. I wondered
where we were going to be soon that we would need no heat at all in the house in
midwinter. None of the answers that I came up with were comforting.
After only 9 months of marriage, I elected not to stay with my husband, to
avoid what looked like a collision course with a murder/suicide. I moved (March
1979) to live with my college lover, my first female partner, who had been agoniz
ing over my safety through the long months of my husband’s mental decline. After
such fear, we were in bliss; yet, even as we made a life together, we did not
identify, even to ourselves, as lesbian. I thought that we merely had a particular
dispensation for a life of love since my husband had turned violent, forcing me to
vacate my marriage vows. In the religious context that I still inhabited, seeing our
love as homosexual, or even sexual, would have been impossibly stigmatizing.
That recognition became my impetus toward transformation. I could not
believe that anything about our amazing woman-to-woman love was bad, or dirty,
or evil in any way. I began to question the paradigm that told me (and many other
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women in bad marriages) that to stay and be hurt was the spiritually correct
maneuver, while to live in love and mutual service with my beloved (female)
partner brought about the worst sort of doom and destruction. I could no longer
live in that box, and so began to think outside it. Education became the gateway
for my eventual, gradual shift into an out, proud, feminist lesbian.
My plans of returning to my alma mater to teach music and textual criticism
were no longer viable; divorced persons were not allowed on the faculty for any
reason. I had watched one of my favorite professors, a kind, gentle, learned man,
struggle to keep his mentally ill wife contented enough not to leave him, as that
would cost him his teaching post of 17 years. Despite his example, I made a
different choice. I believe that my feeling of “being different” helped me to avoid
that trap. Knowing that I needed to support myself for life (as a divorced woman
unwilling to remarry, at least heterosexually), I decided on nursing as a career. My
partner and I moved to California in June 1980 for me to attend nursing school at a
Christian university in the Los Angeles area. I had won a “full ride” from the
National Health Service Corps to obtain my Bachelor of Science in Nursing degree;
however, my scholarship fell through when the school would not allow me to
register for the “Foundations of Nursing” course concurrently with my second-level
chemistry class. Despite knowing the consequences to me (losing the entire
scholarship), there was no flexibility offered, even when the Corps intervened on
my behalf. Once again, the rigidity of the “Christian” world cost me my future
plans, which felt neither compassionate nor reasonable to me.
Unsure what to do, I looked around me for other options. Some friends
from my church seemed to be growing in their personal lives, and I asked them
how they were doing it. They were attending a Master’s program in counseling at
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California State University, Fullerton, and that became my next goal. From my
Midwestern background, I knew of psychiatrists as doctors for those who were
mentally ill but I had not been exposed to the counseling paradigm of psychothera
pists looking for clients’ strengths are and reinforcing them. The humanistic flavor
of counseling theory dovetailed well with the existential thought that I had learned
from my brother (a philosophy major) and had used to survive traumatic circum
stances. I had found my niche.
The personal growth, mentoring, and lifelong friendships that marked my
graduate school experience during the early 1980s made identification as a lesbian
possible, although still not easy at first. Detoxifying the internalized shame and
homonegative attitudes that I had soaked up from my sociocultural context required
time, processing and support, in therapy, support groups, and political actions. I
became involved with sensitivity trainings for several entities and offered grass
roots “women’s empowerment” meetings with several of my friends. Helping
other women to free themselves from how they were told their lives must be, even
when there was clear evidence that they would not survive it, recursively enforced
my own freedom.
Believing in freedom for women to live as they choose meant accepting my
first partner’s decision, when she came to me after over 6 years of happy couple-
ship (at least in my eyes) and said that she felt that I was “God’s second best,” that
she wanted a husband and children. We had talked about adopting children or even
using artificial insemination technology, but both of us still carried a picture that a
father in the home was essential for healthy childrearing, despite our own early
father traumas. For us, remaining a couple meant remaining childless, and that was
not what she wanted for her life.
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I was crushed at first. I had believed that this, my first serious relationship,
would last forever. Mary Hayden (1996) spoke of missing adolescence due to a
lack of role modeling and social skills practice. I can definitely relate. At midlife,
it is sometimes difficult to remember how young and inexperienced at life I really
was, although I was by then 30 years old. I had known that my partner was worried
about anyone in our church finding out that we were lovers, not merely roommates,
and I wanted to move into more freedom to be out, not less; so our paths inevitably
parted. I released her to find new love with good wishes for her journey. A month
later, in 1984,1 graduated with my Master’s degree.
I gradually came out, first with my closest friends, who were extremely
supportive and not one bit surprised (I was, as is not uncommon, the “last to know”
of my orientation), then in my work contexts, and last to my family of origin. This
did not occur until events in the family forced a greater level of openness in order
to protect the next generation (my step nieces and nephews) from the traumas
endured by their parents (my stepsiblings) and me at the hands of my father. It was
important to me that, as we took action to break the cycle of child sexual abuse, no
other family secrets were left that could be unearthed and used as leverage to
distract us from our common purpose.
Therefore, in 1992, at age 38,1 came out to every member of my extended
family, letting them know that I had identified as a lesbian since childhood and that
my life with my (second) partner was fulfilling, romantic, and sexual, like any
other good marriage. My second partner and I had survived her daughter’s death
from a brain tumor 4 years before (in 1988) and I had insisted that we be treated
first as co-parents, then jointly bereaved parents when visiting my family. Our
coupleship deserved the same legitimacy to which any other marriage is entitled.
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We lived in a loving relationship for nearly a decade, undergoing the loss of many
loved ones with each other’s primary support. My family of origin was going to
acknowledge her or there would be a parting of the ways after the intervention on
my father.
I answered questions and debunked myths. My brother’s first reaction was
of regret that he had not been more supportive of me during my traumatic child
hood. He felt that, if he had been more supportive, “perhaps this would not have
happened.” I assured him that my being lesbian was not the aftereffect of my
childhood sexual abuse, and that the work I had done to heal from that wounding
had also helped me accept myself, including my “difference” in terms of sexual
orientation. He came to a point of being able to be happy for me, since I was happy
with my life. Two years later, he was killed instantly in a car crash, at age 44. I am
so glad that he knew me fully. I miss him still.
While coming out is an ongoing process (Read, 2002) and never completed,
it is also an act of love and freedom. When other women shared about their coming
out process with me, my connection to community was bom. At the Association
for Women in Psychology (AWP) annual conference in 1992 (Long Beach,
California) I connected for the first time with the lesbian community and the larger
feminist and women’s communities, at age 38. It had taken years for me to see
myself as a lesbian feminist and to seek the company of other strong women
committed to social justice concerns. Several of the women whom I met during
that week are still my closest friends. I sang with a group of women about being
proud of who we are, about the love of women being sacred, and about the power
of sisterhood. My life was transformed by the contact with other women working
together to change society and support each other.
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I had by then left behind the constraints of organized religion, and with it
the sense of family and a venue for expressing myself in music that “church
fellowship” had given me. I had sung solos in church since I was 8. Church was
somewhere that parts of me (like pieces of a kaleidoscope’s lens) felt a real
belonging. Those were benefits of spiritual community that I found difficult to
relinquish, until I found a way to replace them. However, I had also been told
repeatedly that who I am as a lesbian would have to remain closeted for me to be an
accepted member of any “Christian” fellowship. Some parts of me were definitely
not welcomed at most Christian churches. I have since seen churches where that
would not be the case, but I choose, at this point in my life, not to affiliate with any
group based on men’s assumed superiority, especially spiritually.
The AWP conference also introduced me to a deep connection to the earth
and the flow of energy/spirit that has replaced the patriarchal religious tradition
where I was deemed a permanent resident of the underclass as a woman, divorcee,
and lesbian. Now I participate in spiritual rituals and remembrances of the passage
of time and cycles of the seasons with women whom I hold in deep sisterhood. The
ancient earth religions (variously called Goddess, pagan, or Wiccan spirituality,
among many other names), with their recognition of the divine feminine and
valuing of the living planet that we all share as our home and sustainer of life, hold
much more of my interest and energy at this stage of my life. I am preparing to be
a crone, a wise woman, in my remaining decades. My attitude toward my career
was also broadened. My work life now centers on growth, mutual respect and
valuing, and giving back to the larger world. Now, at age 50 ,1 can honestly say
that I am contented and at peace. I love my life!
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The impact of the historical context, the homonegative messages from the
sociocultural milieu, my process moving through different forms of lesbian
identification, and the recursion evident between the personal, social and political
aspects of my lifeworld are visible in this brief portion of my life story. Specific
ally, the lack of lesbian role models kept me separate from support that might have
eased my passage. Lesbian sexuality was invisible; therefore, unlike my hetero
sexual counterparts, I had no mentors to lead me along its development. Repress
ive religious practices privileged heterosexual unions, even when they turned
deadly, and denied substantive roles to women, no matter how gifted. Women
loving women were invisible at best, outcasts at worst. Loving women and living
in a lesbian partnership meant losing my family of origin, at least for a time, as well
as foregoing childbearing. Fortunately, the lesbian “gayby boom” and advancing
lesbian civil rights mean that fewer women today have to choose between making a
life with a lesbian partner and raising a family of children.
The negative cycle affecting my ability to identify (even to myself for so
many years) as lesbian was broken by three major projects: (a) obtaining more
information about lesbians (the book Patience and Sarah by Isabel Miller was my
first guide), (b) working on self-acceptance despite violating cultural norms
(including eventually finding a lesbian feminist psychotherapist with whom to
work on these issues), and (c) taking political action (pride marches, public speak
ing, coming out to my students, clients, and friends) to broaden the visibility and
acceptance of lesbian lifestyles. The domains of the conceptual model that arose
from other women’s stories also fit my own. The life lessons drawn from those
domains follow.
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Life Lessons
From retelling my own story here and from analyzing the data for this
study, I have observed a number of life lessons. Those drawn out of my own
experiences were echoed by many of the 500 contributors to the study data. I share
them here as a testament to the lesbians who grew and changed as the baby boom
cohort matured and as an encouragement and challenge to the women who will yet
struggle with these issues, along with the psychotherapists who serve them.
Living in a Loving Partnership
The first life lesson that I noticed has to do with living in love and happi
ness with a woman as a life partner. It was by no means the first step that I took,
but it was a definitive one, for me. I believe that love is a good thing, important to
seek and protect in one’s life. The contradiction between being told that my
relationship with a woman was sinful and experiencing it as loving and full of
blessings started me on a path toward paradigm change. I have had four lesbian
long-term partner relationships for a combined total of 26 years, and I have learned
a tremendous amount from these experiences.
Connecting With Community
The second life lesson apparent to me is the importance of connecting to
community. The lesbian community has become a haven for me—a place to relax
and be my full self, to look around the room and see others like me, to enjoy the
company of women enjoying the company of women. A part of this affiliation, I
became a founding member of a women’s chorus, Vox Femina Los Angeles
(VFLA), in January 1997. Building bridges within and beyond the lesbian and gay
communities, VFLA gave me an outlet for my music and a way to reach past the
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constraints of patriarchal religion to have a singing community. With graduate
school drawing to a close, I am overjoyed to return to this outstanding gathering of
women.
Working for Social Justice
The third life lesson that I noted was discovering the importance of working
to improve society and reach beyond the immediate tasks at hand (the “tyranny of
the urgent,” as I have heard it called) to accomplish larger social benefits. Working
for peace by seeking social justice; recognizing that, until we are all free to express
ourselves and our love, no one is truly free; reaching past the barriers of ignorance
and prejudice to see all persons as worthy of respect and unconditional regard.
These are projects worthy of my life energy, worthy of becoming my legacy. I do
not have children; my students are that in some ways. If I help them to love
themselves and others, I have done my work.
Discrimination Is Not Fair
Fourth on the list of life lessons is learning, through my experiences of
being harassed for being a lesbian, that all people are not treated equally. As a
middle-class White woman, I have had a good deal of privilege in my society.
Being bashed for being gay brought home to me in an unmistakable way that the
“power over” others inherent in a dominant/subordinate society often leads to
social injustice. Working for civil rights until all people are free to “do as they
will, harming none” is an important call for action, within and beyond the psycho
therapy field.
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All Oppressions Are Linked
The fifth lesson also connects to the realities about discrimination: All
oppressions are linked. Once there is “power over” anything as a dynamic in the
paradigm, it tends to spread, to the detriment of those with less power, whatever the
perceived cause for the lower ranking. For women, already lower on the power
scale than men in a sexist society, any other difference from the majority can
exponentially decrease their access to power.
Meeting People Opens Doors
The benefit of meeting people who embrace a part of one’s lifestyle and
how those contacts open new doors was the sixth life lesson drawn from my experi
ences. I had already found a level of openness in academia that was very freeing
for me; but when I linked with the women’s, feminist, and lesbian communities,
my life was deeply enriched. The comfort of being with likeminded others, the
challenge of learning new ways of being, and the increased self-knowledge avail
able from reflecting with kindred spirits became vital for me, not only for my
lesbian identity but also for my life as a woman in a sexist society. Sisterhood is
powerful!
Find Work That You Love
All of the life lessons mentioned in this section focus on an aspect in the
construction of a fulfilled life; this is especially true of the seventh lesson: the
place of meaningful work as part of a whole and balanced life. Several of the
stories quoted in chapter 4 illustrate this point, as does my own story. With the
presence of a career to which one feels called, where the impact on society for good
is observable, the feeling of leading a life that is fulfilled and meaningful is greatly
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enhanced. The pursuit of additional training or education for a vocation helps to
bring about a more open life in which one’s love for many aspects of life can be
noticed—including loving women, if being lesbian is part of a woman’s life path.
Such training may be technical, independent, apprenticed, or more traditionally
academic; the freedom engendered by deciding what one wants to pursue and
working steadily toward a job or career in that field also helps to build self-
confidence and reinforces a woman’s right to self-determination.
Choose a Career That Supports
Your Life
This lesson has a corollary: Choose work that will support you adequately.
As a Javanese elder related in Williams’s (1991) book, being gay is hard, and being
gay and poor is too much to ask. Discrimination can deny social benefits; class
standing and a well-stocked savings account can make that discrimination irrele
vant. Life as a lesbian is not mainstream, and prejudice will be encountered. Being
able to be self-determining financially goes a long way toward maintaining a level
of freedom and independence that safeguards one’s right to choose an alternative
lifestyle. Cooperatives of women exist (and more are needed) where older, more
established women help younger ones to get a good start in life and women with
children to provide services for seniors in exchange for child care. Programs
encouraging literacy, job skills exchange programs, grassroots fundraising efforts
able to respond to crises in women’s lives—lesbians and others participate in these
social justice networks to decrease the amount and negative effects of poverty for
women, especially minoritized women.
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Finding Affirming Spiritual
Contexts
Eighth on the list of life lessons is the importance of finding (or creating) a
spiritual context that is supportive of all the aspects of one’s being. A religion that
is gay affirming or supportive, which does not relegate LGB people to a permanent
underclass status, is crucial to living a balanced, full, and happy life. For me, that
involved exploring the Goddess religions, based on a reverence for the divine
Feminine and for Gaia, Mother Earth. For others, it may mean involvement with
Buddhism or Taoism, which actively seek to avoid discrimination against any
persons. Native American spirituality (see Williams, 1986) also holds LGB or
“two spirit” people in high regard (viewing them as in touch with the spirits of both
men and women), rather than discriminating against them. Many North American
LGBs work within the dominant Judeo-Christian paradigm, finding ways to be of
service and to feel loved and accepted without taking on the shame and judgment
that some (but by no means all) of their fellow worshippers would level at them for
their sexuality.
The Importance o f Lesbian Role
Models and Mentors
The ninth life lesson contributing to a fulfilled life for middle-aged lesbians
is the availability of lesbian role models in the culture, particularly at adolescence,
but also coming into one’s “wisdom years.” Receiving mentoring helps to build
self-esteem, lessens the “perhaps I’m the only lesbian in the world” loneliness, and
saves the wear and tear of “reinventing the wheel” of a good life. Mentoring other
women who may be lesbians (for example, in a group for those questioning their
sexual orientation) is also a valuable part of building a meaningful life.
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Coming Out to Family and Friends
The 10th life lesson is widely spoken of but by no means universally prac
ticed. Coming out is a process, and since it is developmental as well as invisible
(or at least partly so), it is usually lifelong. However, coming out is not a universal
good, as in the case of college students whose parental support might be removed,
cutting short their education, or women who might lose custody of their children.
Laws are being changed at the turn of the 21st century to grant full civil rights to
lesbians in North America. The potential for safely coming out rises and falls with
the level of legal protection and civil liberties accorded to LGB persons.
Finding Feminist and/or Lesbian-
Affirming Psychotherapy
When I look back on my own lesbian identity development, I cannot
imagine going through that process without support. For me, working with a
lesbian feminist psychotherapist provided the mentoring, mirroring, and motivation
that I needed to move forward in my process. I was met, accepted, understood, and
celebrated at levels that I had never before experienced. My individual therapist
was, like me, a woman of size, from the Midwest, and raised in a genetically
Protestant home. My couples therapist was from England, a sweet, gentle soul, and
a firebrand for lesbians’ (and all women’s) rights. I attended a lesbian incest
survivors’ group, and I experienced a deep level of healing from exploring relation
ship dynamics with other women like me, a crucial part of any recovery process. It
is not easy being a lesbian, although it is wonderful. Finding good support makes
life much more rewarding. This was the 11th life lesson from my own story and
the stories of others.
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Finding Lesbian-Affirming Books,
Articles, Movies, and Music
Seeing oneself reflected in the media was discussed earlier in some detail.
The invisibility of lesbians can be counteracted by portrayals of healthy lesbians, in
relationship or single, on the job and in the world, raising a family or remaining
childless. The telling of stories about lesbian lives decreases the potential for
“otherizing,” with the attendant persecution of the different. The importance of
linking with these resources was the 12th life lesson proceeding from the lesbian
life stories analyzed in this study. Many resources for exploring affirmative
materials are now widely available through the Internet, such as the online journal,
International Gay and Lesbian Review, edited by Walter L. Williams and hosted by
the University of Southern California. Video catalogs (e.g., Wolf Moon Videos)
and recording companies such as Olivia also make finding and purchasing these
lesbian-affirming materials much more possible than in the 1960s and 1970s.
University libraries are also a good resource, although public libraries are often not
as well stocked in these materials, for a variety of reasons reflected in the general
social milieu.
Participating in Political Activism
The 13th life lesson relating to making a fulfilled life as a lesbian in North
America emphasizes taking part in political activism. The political “world,” the
world of action, lends meaning to our lives, and working for the good of others is
fulfilling. Many avenues of action exist, and finding communities that support the
lives of women can open doors to increased tolerance for all women’s lives.
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Importance of Close Lesbian
Friendships
The role of friendships in women’s lives is apparent throughout history.
For lesbians, close ties with women who share a similar sexuality are especially
important. The sense of being the same, not different, can be rare for lesbians.
Many heterosexual women confide in their girlfriends about their love lives, their
relationship joys and sorrows, and their attractions and crushes. Finding lesbian
sisterhood at that level, where deep disclosure is accepted and reciprocated, is an
important aspect of a fulfilled lesbian life and the 14th lesson.
Plot Your Own Life Course
In the absence of models for fulfilling lesbian lives, the generation of North
American lesbians bom between 1940 and 1965 had to plot their own destinies as
women, particularly as women who loved women. Fortunately, the 1960s provided
role modeling for questioning the status quo and working for civil rights for all
people. Models for inclusive societies (such as North American indigenous tribes)
became more widely known as the social sciences advanced. Divisions among
racial, economic, ethnic, and other group categories were deconstructed by feminist
research, making the need for new life options more visible. The freedom and
attendant responsibility to make life choices for oneself (rather than follow the
expectations of the majority) became the 15th important life lesson. Included in
this lesson was a sense of the need to show the next generation a better path to
travel, rather than passing along the same discrimination handed down for
generations yet again.
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Survive Until You Can Thrive
Surviving until things get easier was the 16th life lesson imparted by several
life stories from the data pool. When admission of lesbianism would bring abuse,
staying “underground” was sensible and acceptable, especially for minors not at
liberty to choose their circumstances and for mothers whose primary responsibility
was their children’s welfare. The strength of women doing what must be done to
survive (and not taking that on as a failing or mistake) is a theme of many women’s
lives, not only for lesbians. Lesbian life stories mention their female role models,
women of strength and principle, as helping them to fund the will to resist the
oppression that would tell them how to live and love.
Summary
With all of these life lessons in place, the positive side of lesbian identity is
definitely more salient to me now at midlife, despite the earlier traumas that I
experienced around that identification. My connections with other lesbian friends
are a deep source of joy and sustenance to me (including one gay male friend who
is considered an “honorary” lesbian sister by his own request). Every semester,
students approach me to talk about themselves or a loved one who identifies as
LGB, sometimes for the first time in their lives. Knowing that my being out made
this connection possible is also a deep source of joy and pride to me, in the strength
of women loving women and telling the truth. Now, I view joining in the process
of creating scholarship and giving presentations to bring these issues before an
even wider audience as a responsibility and privilege, part of “giving back” at
midlife. I am grateful to be lesbian and to have this opportunity to use a difference
that I deeply feel and cannot change (except to go back into the “closet”) to work
toward social justice concerns in my personal world and in my work life.
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Contributions and Implications
for Future Research
This study adds to the existing literature in psychotherapy-related fields by
offering a kaleidoscopic view of narrative identity in a stigmatized, minoritized
population, with 16 life lessons for living a fulfilling life drawn from those stories.
Rather than viewing life story portions from baby boom lesbians as tales about
what society had done to them or, conversely, portraying their lesbian identity as
strictly a choice that they constructed for themselves, the conceptual model
presented in this study integrated Ricoeur’s constructivist middle ground position.
In this conceptualization, narrative identity reconciled multiple identities, both as
they existed at any point in time and as they changed across time. This model also
accommodated variations across diverse contexts. These variations expressed
themselves, for instance, as some women believing that they chose whether or not
to be lesbian, while others (myself included) feeling that they chose only whether
or not to live in congruence with their inner feelings. Both positions are accurate
for some women; they are not mutually exclusive. As long as neither position is
painted as “the whole truth,” there is room for such variety.
Also, midlife lesbians’ reactions to feelings of “difference” (for example,
acceptance, shame, or transformation) seemed to occupy a critical place in their
development of positive lesbian identity, as recounted by many of the contributors
to the source data (Barret & Logan, 2002). Those who experienced shame but still
went on to develop a positive identity as a lesbian had much to share about that
process. Some refused to buy the arguments that kept them relegated to second-
class citizenship for very long. Others, like Yolanda Retter (1999), embraced their
lesbian identity as an act of resistance against an “otherizing” majority culture. For
some developing lesbians, the gathering of knowledge and experience gradually
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detoxified the identity that they came to know, so that loving experiences had
outweighed the negative ones by midlife.
Other women from this cohort dealt with their feeling of being different by
doing their own self-exploration, seeking what felt good and natural to them,
without relying on a sociocultural context that did not reflect them, as mentioned in
the discussion on life lessons learned. Several lesbians of color and several women
who had once been married to men commented on this drive to plot their own
course, in the absence of or in rebellion against the cultural plot of heterosexual
conformity. It would be helpful to do further research on whether having to take a
minoritized view in one area of life (such as class, race, or marital status) helps to
develop skills that can then be transferred to the process of self-acceptance of a
lesbian identity.
Creating family when one’s own proves less than accepting came across as
an important life strategy in many of the life story portions studied. For women
whose families were supportive of their lesbianism, adding in a family of choice
enriched their support circle. In cases where embracing one’s lesbian identity
meant being rejected by family members, acknowledging the family-like nature of
enduring friendships was an important process, especially at midlife. Heterosexual
women’s friendships are studied as significant sources of health and pleasure; it
would be useful to expand that research to include lesbians’ friendships with other
women. Friendships are a significant source of life satisfaction for most women,
especially at midlife and beyond, when partners may have passed on and the
“nest” may be empty. Research on intentional families (or families of choice) to
bridge the gaps in companionship and fellowship would be productive for the
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psychotherapy-related disciplines, especially relating to the needs of the burgeon
ing population of senior citizens.
Like Bourne (1990) and Silberkraus (1995) before me, I see the develop
ment of a “tangential perspective” as a central gain for many midlife women who
have come to identify as lesbian, whether early or late in their lives. Like a
homeopathic remedy that takes in a bit of the irritant to stimulate the body’s own
defenses, taking in society’s perception of lesbian “difference” and transforming
that into strength, resilience, and a fulfilling life (by using the same skills needed to
combat heterosexism and homophobia) is a natural, triumphant outcome for many
midlife lesbians. Coming to the point of celebrating (not merely tolerating) their
own difference, asking for full acknowledgment as women (not as second-class
citizens on any benchmark), and working to help others who have been treated
unjustly become more free were all themes reflected in the narrative data that
related to this remarkable coping strategy. Further research to illuminate the
multiple pathways by which people can move toward such celebration of diversity
is an important component of working for social justice concerns (Buhrke &
Douce, 1991).
Through the expression and analysis of the feeling of “difference” to which
so many lesbians related, even more acceptance and understanding of lesbian lives
will be generated, within and beyond the psychotherapy community. That is not to
say that the perception of difference will be removed or overlooked in the context
of greater familiarity with this population but that lesbian lives can be fully appreci
ated as they are, in all their uniqueness. For instance, women from the baby boom
cohort spoke of the diversity that they saw within their own generation, as well as
between their generation and the ones that follow. Van Gelder and Brandt (1996)
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spoke to this issue by the inclusion of this quote from a younger (“thirtysome-
thing”) lesbian about her predecessors from the baby boom cohort:
Well, I do think lesbians who are thirtyish or even younger have a feeling of
increased options . . . because of older-generation [lesbian] feminists. What
they did and said—about men, and power, and fifty-nine cents [on the
dollar, women’s earnings compared to men’s] and the whole range of
radical stuff—made things cushier for us, gave us more of a feeling of
entitlement.. . . But it’s like making it so every successive generation of
lesbians can imagine more. And the excitement of that endless range of
imaginative possibilities, wanting to be a part of this beautiful timeline of
passionate love, is one of the main reasons I decided to be a lesbian.
(p. 272)
The battles that baby boom cohort lesbians fought helped to enrich the lives
of their sisters, lesbian and not, including the generations yet to come. Studying
this unique cohort of women helps to reinforce the changes that they made in
history, making it less likely to need repetition.
Some of these battles continue to rage in 2004, as evidenced by the struggle
for marital equality for lesbians and gays. Several contributors mentioned the
contusion and pain that they felt at not having their partnerships recognized or at
the threat of losing the custody of their children. Ground has been gained, and that
was a life lesson learned by one participant: to stand up for what she believes is
right and to teach that to her children, regardless of the cultural stereotypes it
violates (Abbott & Farmer, 1995). The freedom to be lesbian (or straight or
bisexual or transgendered) is about freedom, not the definition of particular acts as
falling outside defined roles. The freedom to move beyond even activism, to
simply be who one is, was claimed outright by several women in the life story
portions used in this study.
Freedom also applies to the right to make mistakes. While this section has
focused primarily on the life lessons that midlife lesbians shared about how they
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achieved fulfilled and satisfying lives, it is important also to reflect their sense of
the errors made on their paths. These fall mainly along the trajectory of volition:
letting someone else make decisions for them, abiding by a standard external to
them (and therefore not a good fit), or remaining too long in an uncomfortable or
unsafe situation. The adage “not to decide is to decide” came to mind in reading
some of these portions. Eventually, that which does not fit or is not useful will be
discarded. The regret that these women expressed (a common theme of midlife in
general) is that of time wasted not following one’s inner direction: the woman not
dated, the relationship cut off from social stigma, the lies told to children about
“women friends” (when it was the lack of honesty, not the presence of sexual
activity in the “friendship” that alienated the kids). Upon retrospection, these
losses felt somehow avoidable.
The admonition that these women contribute with their life stories is to be
true to oneself, to chart one’s own path despite society’s disapproval. They advise
that there is a protective strength in telling one’s own truth. They advise to live
free, by one’s own design, and perhaps come to midlife without these regrets.
Personally, although I have experienced harassment for being lesbian, I have never
lost anything by coming out; rather, I have found myself. That does not negate the
violence and unfair treatment that many women face, nor does it form a maxim that
all women in all places and times should therefore be out. It does resonate with
what many of the contributors to the data saw as mistakes; nothing is worth the cost
of not being true to oneself. Private things may still remain private; that is, of
course, an individual choice. Until society no longer cares who is sleeping with
whom, disclosure is certainly optional. Not following one’s heart is always costly,
as these women poignantly attested.
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Knowing that it is important for women to have role models and accurate
information available to aid in their quest for a sexual identity that suits them,
written resources such as this study can help to bring new visibility to multiple
dimensions of lesbian identity. Several life lessons point to the need to see oneself
reflected in order to build a fulfilling life, especially with an identity stigmatized by
the majority culture. Psychotherapists need stories to show their clients, to help
them find themselves in the mirror of other women’s experiences. For therapists
without life experience in this arena, materials to flesh out their own understanding
of the issues involved in lesbian identity are also necessary.
To help to bridge potential gaps of understanding between differing life-
worlds, there are books on the topic of identification as lesbian, such as Positively
Gay (Berzon, 2001), and Singer’s (1994) edited anthology of recollections about
growing up gay or lesbian. More resources for women at midlife are still needed,
as are resources that address the needs and identifications of bisexual women
(Croteau, Bieschke, Phillips, & Lark, 1998), who may share commonalities with
the population of interest for this study but reach beyond its boundaries. The call
for research on lesbian lives (Brown, 1989; Goodchilds, 1991) is still flowering,
producing a rainbow assortment of perspectives evidencing the “normative
creativity” identified in the LGB community. This creativity, like Bourne’s (1990)
tangential perspective, is an adaptive coping response to a homonegative world.
Bonanno’s (2004) concept of hardiness (that is, resilience in the face of difficult
circumstances) echoes this creativity:
Hardiness consists of three dimensions: being committed to finding mean
ingful purpose in life, the belief that one can influence one’s surroundings
and the outcome of events, and the belief that one can learn and grow from
both positive and negative life experiences, (p. 25)
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Celebrating the hardiness that LGB persons have demonstrated in their lives is an
important reminder of the health and strength of the majority of these populations.
From its inception, the intent of this study was, like Bourne (1990), “to
frame the formation of lesbian identity in such a way as to shed light on the real-
life concerns of clients” (pp. 253-254).
No claim is made that the issues portrayed in this study are unique to les
bians; that the process of forming a lesbian identity. . . exists apart from the
culture . . . that all women who experience same-sex attractions or engage in
intimate relationships with other women assume lesbian identities; that the
concept of lesbianism itself as a basic sexual orientation is the only valid or
healthy way to integrate lesbian feelings into one’s life; that lesbians are
significantly better or worse off overall than any other group of individuals;
that lesbians are a breed apart from other psychotherapy clients or that all of
the issues which they bring into therapy are connected to their lesbianism.
(p. 254)
While those differences were not the focus of this study, what did emerge from the
data was a sense of the similarities and differences in the multiple, shifting,
narratively configured identities of baby boom cohort lesbians, reflected in the
conceptual model that was produced.
It should also be noted that, while lesbian identity was the focus of the
study, it was not necessarily the focus of the contributors’ lives; rather, being
lesbian was expressed as a part of each woman’s identity, with varying salience
depending on the moment of recollection and the context of her lifeworld being
reported. To the degree that problems with this identification arose, these “should
be attributed to society’s oppressive and hostile reaction [to that identification]
rather than to the individual’s sexual orientation itself (McFarland, 1998; Reynolds
& Hanjorgiris, 2000)” (Pearson, 2003, p. 295). One aspect relating to this identi
fication process that should be explored in future research is the life stories of
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women who feel affection, affiliation, and/or attraction to members of their own
gender but do not identify themselves as lesbian (Brown, 1995).
Another rich area for further research is the intersection of spirituality (not
religion per se) and lesbian lives, especially at midlife (Howell, 2001). The need
for an expansion of this domain of research was noted in chapter 3. Research
contexts that support the trust and openness needed to discuss spirituality could be
developed, as well as outlets for the outcome of such research (Wagner, Serafini,
Rabkin, Remien, & Williams, 1994). In this historical epoch (the turn of the 21st
century) conversations about spirituality as an integral part of life (and mental
wellness overall) are increasingly common. Ensuring that lesbian lives and per
spectives are gathered and represented in the literature is another important
response to the mandate for multicultural research competence, discussed above.
It is somewhat paradoxical that observing a problem such as heterosexism
(the assumption that heterosexuality is both universal and superior as a sexual
orientation is discussed in chapter 2), which greatly impacted the identity issues
faced by the baby boom cohort of North American lesbians, nevertheless occurs
within that same heterosexist society (Morrow, 2000). All of the contributors,
researchers, and consumers of research associated in any aspect of this project were
necessarily influenced to one degree or another by the social milieu in which the
work took place.
This study was built on earlier research that had attempted (whether directly
or indirectly stated) to reduce the constraints of heterosexism and homophobia by
privileging instead the voices of previously marginalized “others.” The need for
even more research to continue that process is clear. Fukuyama and Ferguson
(2000) identified three basic assumptions that should be addressed for
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psychotherapy-related fields to provide culturally appropriate services to lesbian,
gay, and bisexual (LGB) clients: (a) All phenomena have a cultural context;
(b) American society is based on dominant-subordinate group relations with White,
heterosexual, male, Christian, and Eurocentric values as the dominant paradigm;
and (c) self and identity are influenced by group membership and collective identi
ties may be more salient than individualistic ones for some cultural groups (p. 82).
These concerns must be addressed in training programs for psychotherapists and in
the production of new research.
Phillips (2000) called for training programs for psychotherapists to utilize
such research in “more personal and experiential ways, so that students become
aware of the impact of heterosexism on themselves and their clients” (p. 347). It is
my intent, by sharing my own story here, to further personalize the research that I
conduct in this realm. It would also be instructive for future researchers to gain
access to the original tapes and transcriptions from which the life story portion
collections were compiled (see sources of data in Table 1). The applicability of the
multidimensional identity conceptualization presented in this study could then be
checked against these larger, unedited story portions and other sources of lesbian
life stories not used in the current project.
Showing the common humanity of a culturally different population is a
highly effective tool to reduce prejudice and bias (Fassinger & Richie, 1997;
Fukuyama & Ferguson, 2000; Morrow, 2000), and demonstrating the purpose and
fulfillment that these 500 contributors forged in their lives (despite belonging to a
stigmatized, oppressed group) is of benefit to others who struggle, whether they are
lesbian or not. Part of the goal of this project was to offer stories (theirs and mine)
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as points of connection across differences that then become less important than
commonalities, without sacrificing individual uniqueness or cultural ties.
These findings can reach beyond the fields relating to psychotherapy. For
example, Imbra (1998) made recommendations for changes in institutions of higher
education, including instituting curricular changes to highlight the history of
lesbians and their presence on campus, encouraging (through acknowledgement
and reward) scholarship on lesbian issues and existence and an equality of position
for lesbian leaders in higher education, beginning with a welcoming campus
environment. These important steps are part of the political world of action, living
out the concepts that the life stories of 500 contributors helped to highlight.
The stories do not stop here. Others will come. New stories will be told.
Stories of and for the young must be passed along, and the wisdom of the elders
who came before must be preserved. Every story is unique and worthy of honor,
and everyone has stories. What these 500 stories show is that all people are entitled
to live freely and fully as they are (with the caveat of harming none), to stand up for
their own beliefs, and to teach the next generation to do the same. The freedom to
love the person whom one chooses to love is a basic human right; it is not too much
to ask. We must tell these stories until that fact is abundantly evident to all, and
then keep telling them so it remains clear, for all time. Love is a good thing; until
all are free to celebrate it in their lives, none is truly free to do so.
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APPENDICES
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APPENDIX A
AMERICAN PSYCHOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION
GUIDELINES FOR PSYCHOTHERAPY WITH
LESBIAN, GAY, & BISEXUAL CLIENTS
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Guidelines for Psychotherapy with Lesbian, Gay, & Bisexual Clients
Introduction
Attitudes Toward Homosexuality and Bisexuality
Guideline 1. Psychologists understand that homosexuality and bisexuality are not
indicative of mental illness.
Guideline 2. Psychologists are encouraged to recognize how their attitudes and knowl
edge about lesbian, gay, and bisexual issues may be relevant to assessment
and treatment and seek consultation or make appropriate referrals when
indicated.
Guideline 3. Psychologists strive to understand the ways in which social stigmatization
(i.e., prejudice, discrimination, and violence) poses risks to the mental
health and well-being of lesbian, gay, and bisexual clients.
Guideline 4. Psychologists strive to understand how inaccurate or prejudicial views of
homosexuality or bisexuality may affect the client’s presentation in treat
ment and the therapeutic process.
Relationships and Families
Guideline 5. Psychologists strive to be knowledgeable about and respect the importance
of lesbian, gay, and bisexual relationships.
Guideline 6. Psychologists strive to understand the particular circumstances and chal
lenges facing lesbian, gay, and bisexual parents.
Guideline 7. Psychologists recognize that the families of lesbian, gay, and bisexual
people may include people who are not legally or biologically related.
Guideline 8. Psychologists strive to understand how a person’s homosexual or bisexual
orientation may have an impact on his or her family of origin and the rela
tionship to that family of origin.
Issues of Diversity
Guideline 9. Psychologists are encouraged to recognize the particular life issues or chal
lenges experienced by lesbian, gay, and bisexual members of racial and
ethnic minorities that are related to multiple and often conflicting cultural
norms, values, and beliefs.
Guideline 10. Psychologists are encouraged to recognize the particular challenges experi
enced by bisexual individuals.
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Guideline 11. Psychologists strive to understand the special problems and risks that exist
for lesbian, gay, and bisexual youth.
Guideline 12. Psychologists consider generational differences within lesbian, gay, and
bisexual populations, and the particular challenges that may be experi
enced by lesbian, gay, and bisexual older adults.
Guideline 13. Psychologists are encouraged to recognize the particular challenges experi
enced by lesbian, gay, and bisexual individuals with physical, sensory,
and/or cognitive/emotional disabilities.
Education
Guideline 14. Psychologists support the provision of professional education and training
on lesbian, gay, and bisexual issues.
Guideline 15. Psychologists are encouraged to increase their knowledge and understand
ing of homosexuality and bisexuality through continuing education, train
ing, supervision, and consultation.
Guideline 16. Psychologists make reasonable efforts to familiarize themselves with rele
vant mental health, educational, and community resources for lesbian, gay,
and bisexual people.
Acknowledgements
Endnotes
References
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Introduction
In 1975, the American Psychological Association (APA) adopted a resolu
tion stating that “Homosexuality per se implies no impairment in judgment, stabil
ity, reliability, or general social or vocational capabilities” (Conger, 1975, p. 633)
following a rigorous discussion of the 1973 decision of the American Psychiatric
Association to remove homosexuality from its list of mental disorders (American
Psychiatric Association, 1974). Over 25 years later the implications of this resolu
tion have yet to be fully implemented in practice (Garnets, Hancock, Cochran,
Goodchilds, & Peplau, 1991; Dworkin, 1992; Firestein, 1996; Fox, 1996; Greene,
1994a; Iasenza, 1989; Markowitz, 1991,1995; Nystrom, 1997). Many of these
authors suggest that there is a need for better education and training of mental
health practitioners in this area. This document is intended to assist psychologists
in seeking and utilizing appropriate education and training in their treatment of
lesbian, gay, and bisexual clients.1
The specific goals of these guidelines are to provide practitioners with (1) a
frame of reference for the treatment of lesbian, gay, and bisexual clients, and (2)
basic information and further references in the areas of assessment, intervention,
identity, relationships, and the education and training of psychologists. These
guidelines build on the American Psychological Association’s Ethical Principles of
Psychologists and Code of Conduct (APA, 1992), other policies of the APA, and
policies of other mental health organizations.
The term “guidelines” refers to pronouncements, statements, or declarations
that suggest or recommend specific professional behavior, endeavor, or conduct for
psychologists. Guidelines differ from standards in that standards are mandatory
and may be accompanied by an enforcement mechanism. Thus, these guidelines
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are aspirational in intent. They are intended to facilitate the continued systematic
development of the profession and to help assure a high level of professional prac
tice by psychologists.2 These guidelines are not intended to be mandatory or
exhaustive and may not be applicable to every clinical situation. They should not
be construed as definitive and are not intended to take precedence over the judg
ment of psychologists.
These guidelines are organized in four sections: (1) Attitudes toward
Homosexuality and Bisexuality, (2) Relationships and Families, (3) Issues of Di
versity, and (4) Education.
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Attitudes Toward Homosexuality and Bisexuality
Guideline 1. Psychologists understand that homosexuality and bisexuality are not indica
tive of mental illness.
For over a century, homosexuality and bisexuality were assumed to be
mental illnesses. Hooker’s (1957) study was the first to question this assumption.
She found no difference between nonclinical samples of heterosexual and homo
sexual men on projective test responses. Subsequent studies have shown no differ
ence between heterosexual and homosexual groups on measures of cognitive
abilities (Tuttle & Pillard, 1991) and psychological well-being and self-esteem
(Coyle, 1993; Herek, 1990; Savin-Williams, 1990). Fox (1996) found no evidence
of psychopathology in nonclinical studies of bisexual men and women. Further, an
extensive body of literature has emerged that identifies few significant differences
between heterosexual, homosexual, and bisexual people on a wide range of vari
ables associated with overall psychological functioning (Pillard, 1988; Rothblum,
1994; Gonsiorek, 1991). When studies have noted differences between homosex
ual and heterosexual subjects with regard to psychological functioning (DiPlacido,
1998; Ross, 1990; Rotheram-Borus, Hunter, & Rosario, 1994; Savin-Williams,
1994), these differences have been attributed to the effects of stress related to stig
matization based on sexual orientation. This stress may lead to increased risk for
suicide attempts, substance abuse, and emotional distress.
The literature that classifies homosexuality and bisexuality as mental illness
has been found to be methodologically unsound. Gonsiorek (1991) reviewed this
literature and found serious methodological flaws including unclear definition of
terms, inaccurate classification of subjects, inappropriate comparison of groups,
discrepant sampling procedures, an ignorance of confounding social factors, and
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questionable outcome measures. The results from these flawed studies have been
used to support theories of homosexuality as mental illness and/or arrested psycho-
sexual development. Although these studies concluded that homosexuality is a
mental illness, they have no valid empirical support and serve as the foundation for
beliefs that lead to inaccurate representations of lesbian, gay, and bisexual people.
All major American mental health associations have affirmed that homo
sexuality is not a mental illness. In 1975, the American Psychological Association
(APA) urged all psychologists to “take the lead in removing the stigma long associ
ated with homosexual orientations” (Conger, 1975, p. 633). Subsequently, the APA
and all other major mental health associations adopted a number of resolutions and
policy statements founded on this basic principle, which has also been embodied in
their ethical codes (cf. American Association for Marriage & Family Therapy,
1991; American Counseling Association, 1996; Canadian Psychological Associa
tion, 1995; National Association of Social Workers, 1996). In addition, this princi
ple has informed a number of APA amicus curiae briefs (Bersoff & Ogden, 1987).
Thus, psychologists affirm that a homosexual or bisexual orientation is not a mental
illness (APA, 1998). “In their work-related activities, psychologists do not engage
in unfair discrimination based on . . . sexual orientation ...” (APA, 1992). Fur
thermore, psychologists assist clients in overcoming the effects of stigmatization
that may lead to emotional distress.
Guideline 2. Psychologists are encouraged to recognize how their attitudes and knowl
edge about lesbian, gay, and bisexual issues may be relevant to assessment and treatment
and seek consultation or make appropriate referrals when indicated.
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The Ethics Code calls upon psychologists to “strive to be aware of their
own belief systems, values, needs, and limitations and the effect of these on their
work” (APA, 1992, p. 1599). This principle is reflected in training programs and
educational material for psychologists. The Ethics Code further urges psycholo
gists to evaluate their competencies and the limitations of their expertise—espe
cially when treating groups of people who share distinctive characteristics.
Without a high level of awareness about their own beliefs, values, needs, and limi
tations, psychologists may impede the progress of a client in psychotherapy (Corey,
Schneider-Corey, & Callanan, 1993).
The assessment and treatment of lesbian, gay, and bisexual clients can be
adversely affected by therapists’ explicit or implicit negative attitudes. For exam
ple, when homosexuality and bisexuality are consciously regarded as evidence of
mental illness, a client’s homosexual or bisexual orientation is apt to be viewed as a
major source of the client’s psychological difficulties even when sexual orientation
has not been presented as a problem (Garnets, Hancock, Cochran, Goodchilds, &
Peplau, 1991; Liddle, 1996; Nystrom, 1997). When psychologists are unaware of
their negative attitudes, the effectiveness of psychotherapy can be compromised by
heterosexist bias. Herek (1995) defined heterosexism as “the ideological system
that denies, denigrates, and stigmatizes any nonheterosexual form of behavior,
identity, relationship or community” (p. 321). Heterosexism pervades the lan
guage, theories, and psychotherapeutic interventions of psychology (Anderson,
1996; Brown, 1989). When heterosexual norms for identity, behavior, and rela
tionships are applied to lesbian, gay, or bisexual clients, their thoughts, feelings,
and behaviors may be misinterpreted as abnormal, deviant, and undesirable.
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Psychologists strive to avoid making assumptions that a client is heterosex
ual even in the presence of apparent markers of heterosexuality (e.g., marital status,
since lesbian, gay, and bisexual people can be heterosexually married) (Glenn &
Russell, 1986; Greene, 1994). Another manifestation of heterosexism in psycho
therapy is approaching treatment with a “sexual-orientation-blind” perspective.
Like “colorblind” models, such a perspective denies the culturally unique experi
ences of a population—in this case lesbian, gay, and bisexual populations—as a
strategy for avoiding a pathologizing stance. However, when psychologists deny
the culture-specific experiences in the lives of lesbian, gay, and bisexual people,
heterosexist bias is also likely to pervade that work in a manner unhelpful to clients
(Garnets et al., 1991; Winegarten, Cassie, Markowski, Kozlowski, & Yoder, 1994).
When psychologists are uninformed about the unique issues of lesbian, gay, and
bisexual people, they may not understand the effects of stigmatization on individu
als and their intimate relationships.
Because many psychologists have not received sufficient current informa
tion regarding lesbian, gay, and bisexual clients (Buhrke, 1989; Pilkington & Can
tor, 1996), psychologists are strongly encouraged to seek training, experience,
consultation and/or supervision to ensure competent practice with these populations
when necessary. Key issues for practice include an understanding of human sexu
ality; the “coming out” process and how variables such as age, gender, ethnicity,
race, disability, and religion may influence this process; same-sex relationship dy
namics; family of origin relationships; struggles with spirituality and religious
group membership; career issues and workplace discrimination; and coping strate
gies for successful functioning.
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According to the Ethics Code, psychologists “are aware of culture, individ
ual, and role differences, including those due to . . . sexual orientation . . . and try to
eliminate the effect on their work of biases based on [such] factors” (APA, 1992,
pp. 1599-1600). Hence, psychologists are encouraged to use appropriate methods
of self-exploration and self-education (e.g., consultation, study, and formal con
tinuing education) to identify and ameliorate preconceived biases about homosexu
ality and bisexuality.
Guideline 3. Psychologists strive to understand the ways in which social stigmati
zation (i.e., prejudice, discrimination, and violence) poses risks to the mental
health and well-being o f lesbian, gay, and bisexual clients.
Many lesbian, gay, and bisexual people face social stigmatization, violence,
and discrimination (Herek, 1991). Living in a heterosexist society may precipitate
a significant degree of stress for lesbian, gay, and bisexual people, many of whom
may be tolerated only when they are “closeted” (DiPlacido, 1998). Sexual minority
status increases risk for stress related to “chronic daily hassles (e.g., hearing anti
gay jokes, always being on guard)” to more serious “negative life events, especially
gay-relevant events (e.g., loss of employment, home, custody of children, anti-gay
violence and discrimination due to sexual orientation)” (DiPlacido, 1998, p. 140).
Greene (1994b) noted that the cumulative effects of heterosexism, sexism, and
racism may put lesbian, gay, and bisexual racial/ethnic minorities at special risk for
social stressors.
Research has shown that gay men are at risk for mental health problems
(Meyer, 1995) and emotional distress (Ross, 1990) as a direct result of discrimina
tion and negative experiences in society. DiPlacido (1998) reported that research
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on psychosocial stress factors for lesbian and bisexual women is virtually nonexis
tent. She suggested that “some lesbians and bisexual women may be coping with
stressors resulting from their multiple minority status in maladaptive and unhealthy
ways” (p. 141).
Social stressors affecting lesbian, gay, and bisexual older adults, such as a
lack of legal rights and protection in medical emergencies and lack of acknowl
edgment of couples’ relationships, particularly following the loss of a partner, have
been associated with feelings of helplessness, depression, and disruption of norma
tive grief processes (Berger & Kelly, 1996; Slater, 1995). Stress factors have been
examined in lesbian, gay, and bisexual youth, for whom social vulnerability and
isolation have been identified as prominent concerns. Social stressors affecting
lesbian, gay, and bisexual youth, such as verbal and physical abuse, have been as
sociated with academic problems, running away, prostitution, substance abuse, and
suicide (Savin-Williams, 1994, 1998). Anti-gay verbal and physical harassment
have been found to be significantly more common among adolescent gay and bi
sexual males who had attempted suicide compared with those who had not
(Rotheram-Borus, Hunter, & Rosario, 1994). These stressors have also been asso
ciated with high-risk sexual behavior (Rotheram-Borus, Rosario, Van-Rossem,
Reid, & Gillis, 1995).
Lesbian, gay, and bisexual people who live in rural communities may ex
perience stress related to the risk of disclosure because anonymity about their sex
ual orientation may be more difficult to maintain. Fears about the loss of
employment and housing may be more significant because of the limited opportu
nities within a small community. Less visibility and fewer lesbian, gay, and bisex
ual support organizations may intensify feelings of social isolation. Furthermore,
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lesbian, gay, and bisexual people may feel more vulnerable to acts of violence and
harassment because rural communities may provide fewer legal protections
(D’Augelli & Garnets, 1995).
Given the real and perceived social and physical dangers faced by many
lesbian, gay, and bisexual clients, developing a sense of safety is of primary im
portance. Societal stigmatization, prejudice, and discrimination (e.g., anti-gay
ballot initiatives or the murders of lesbian, gay, and bisexual individuals) can be
sources of stress and create concerns about workplace and personal security for
these clients (Rothblum & Bond, 1996; Fassinger, 1995; Prince, 1995). Physical
safety and social and emotional support have been identified as central to stress
reduction (Hershberger & D’Augelli, 1995; Levy, 1992) among lesbian, gay, and
bisexual people.
In addition to external stressors, Gonsiorek (1993) described the process by
which many lesbian, gay, and bisexual people internalize negative societal atti
tudes. This internalization may result in self-image problems ranging from a lack
of self-confidence to overt self-hatred (Gonsiorek, 1993), depression (Meyer, 1995;
Shidlo, 1994), and/or alcoholism and other substance abuse (Glaus, 1988). Meyer
and Dean (1998) showed that gay men scoring high on a measure of internalized
homophobia were significantly more likely than less homophobic gay men to ex
perience sexual dysfunction, relationship instability, and to blame themselves for
anti-gay victimization.
Psychologists working with lesbian, gay, and bisexual people are encour
aged to assess the client’s history of victimization as a result of harassment, dis
crimination, and violence. This enables the psychologist to understand the extent
to which the client’s world view has been affected by these abuses and whether any
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post-traumatic concerns need to be addressed. Further, the psychological conse
quences of internalized negative attitudes toward homosexuality and bisexuality are
not always obvious or conscious (Shidlo, 1994). Therefore, in planning and con
ducting treatment, psychologists are encouraged to consider more subtle manifes
tations of these consequences, such as shame, anxiety and/or low self-esteem, and
to consider the differential diagnostic implications of such stressors, both histori
cally and in a client’s ongoing psychosocial context.
Guideline 4. Psychologists strive to understand how inaccurate or prejudicial
views o f homosexuality or bisexuality may affect the client’ s presentation in treat
ment and the therapeutic process.
Bias and misinformation about homosexuality and bisexuality continue to
be widespread in our society (APA, 1998; Haldeman, 1994). Due to the stigmati
zation of homosexuality and bisexuality, it is to be expected that many lesbian, gay,
and bisexual people will feel conflicted or have significant questions about aspects
or consequences of their sexual orientation (see Guideline 3). Fear of multiple per
sonal losses including family, friends, career, and spiritual community, as well as
vulnerability to harassment, discrimination, and violence, may contribute to an in
dividual’s fear of self-identifying as lesbian, gay, or bisexual. These factors have
been considered central in creating a lesbian, gay, or bisexual person’s discomfort
with his or her sexual orientation (Davison, 1991; Haldeman). Many clients who
are conflicted about or are questioning the implications of their sexual orientation
seek psychotherapy to resolve their concerns. A psychologist who harbors preju
dice or is misinformed about sexual orientation may offer responses to the ques
tioning or conflicted client that may exacerbate the client’s distress (see Guideline
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2). Such an uncritical stance would consist of a psychologist’s agreement with the
notion that the only effective strategy for coping with such conflict or discrimina
tion is to seek to change the lesbian, gay, or bisexual person’s sexual orientation.
APA’s policy, “Appropriate Therapeutic Responses to Sexual Orientation”
(1998), offers a framework for psychologists working with clients who are con
cerned about the implications of their sexual orientation. The policy highlights
those sections of the Ethics Code that apply to all psychologists working with les
bian, gay, and bisexual clients. These sections include prohibitions against dis
criminatory practices (e.g., basing treatment upon pathology-based views of
homosexuality or bisexuality); a prohibition against the misrepresentation of scien
tific or clinical data (e.g., the unsubstantiated claim that sexual orientation can be
changed); and a requirement for informed consent (APA, 1992). Based upon the
Ethics Code, the policy “Appropriate Therapeutic Responses to Sexual Orienta
tion” calls upon psychologists to discuss the treatment, its theoretical basis, reason
able outcomes, and alternative treatment approaches.
In providing the client with accurate information about the social stressors
that may lead to discomfort with sexual orientation, psychologists may help neu
tralize the effects of prejudice and inoculate the client against further harm. If psy
chologists are unable to provide this or other relevant information due to lack of
knowledge or contravening personal beliefs, they should obtain the requisite infor
mation or make appropriate referrals (see Section 1.08, Ethics Code).
Further, when a client presents with discomfort about sexual orientation, it
is important for psychologists to assess the psychological and social context in
which this discomfort occurs. Such an assessment might include an examination of
internal and external pressures on clients to change their sexual orientation, the
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presence or absence of social support and models of positive lesbian, gay, or bisex
ual life, and the extent to which clients associate homosexuality or bisexuality with
negative stereotypes and experiences. These and other dimensions of sexual ori
entation discomfort are important for psychologists to explore as the meanings as
sociated with them are invariably complex. The role of psychologists, regardless of
therapeutic orientation, is not to impose their beliefs on clients but to examine
thoughtfully the clients’ experiences and motives.
Psychologists may also serve as a resource for accurate information about
sexual orientation (e.g., by providing clients with access to empirical data on such
questions as the development of sexual orientation or the relationship between
mental health and sexual orientation).
Relationships and Families
Guideline 5. Psychologists strive to be knowledgeable about and respect the im
portance o f lesbian, gay, and bisexual relationships.
Lesbian, gay, and bisexual couples are both similar to and different from
heterosexual couples (Peplau, Veniegas, & Campbell, 1996). They form relation
ships for similar reasons (Klinger, 1996) and express similar satisfactions with their
relationships (Kurdek, 1995). The differences derive from several factors, includ
ing different patterns of sexual behavior, gender role socialization, and the stigma
tization of their relationships (Garnets & Kimmel, 1993). Lesbian, gay, or bisexual
people in relationships may seek therapy for reasons common to many couples or
for reasons that are unique to those in same-sex relationships (Cabaj & Klinger,
1996; Matteson, 1996; Murphy, 1994). Common relationship problems such as
communication difficulties, sexual problems, dual career issues, and commitment
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decisions can be affected by societal and internalized negative attitudes toward
same-sex relationships. Problems presented in therapy specific to lesbian, gay, and
bisexual couples include disclosure of sexual orientation as a couple to family,
work colleagues; health professionals and caregivers; differences between partners
in the disclosure process; issues derived from the effects of gender socialization in
same-sex couples; and HIV status (Cabaj & Klinger, 1996; Slater, 1995). External
issues such as pressure from families of origin and/or current or former heterosex
ual partners may also arise. Parenting may present unique issues for lesbian, gay,
and bisexual people (e.g., possible risks to child custody from previous heterosex
ual partners or grandparents; lack of legal right for one of the parents). Changes in
physical health may present unique issues, especially to older lesbian, gay, and bi
sexual couples (e.g., possible separation and loss of contact for partners in nursing
homes and other in-patient settings).
Psychologists are encouraged to consider the negative effects of societal
prejudice and discrimination on lesbian, gay, and bisexual relationships. It is im
portant for psychologists to understand that, in the absence of socially sanctioned
forms and supports for their relationships, lesbian, gay, and bisexual people may
create their own relationship models and support systems. Therefore, psychologists
strive to be knowledgeable about the diverse nature of lesbian, gay, and bisexual
relationships and value and respect the meaning of these relationships.
Guideline 6. Psychologists strive to understand the particular circumstances and
challenges facing lesbian, gay, and bisexual parents.
Research has indicated no significant differences between the capabilities of
lesbian, gay, and bisexual parents when compared to heterosexual parents (Allen &
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Burrell, 1996; Bigner & Bozett, 1990; Bozett, 1989; Cramer, 1986; Falk, 1989;
Gibbs, 1988; Kweskin & Cook, 1982; Patterson, 1996a). However, lesbian, gay,
and bisexual parents face challenges not encountered by most heterosexual parents
because of the stigma associated with homosexuality and bisexuality. Prejudice
has led to institutional discrimination by the legal, educational, and social welfare
systems. In a number of instances, lesbian, gay, and bisexual parents have lost
custody of their children, have been restricted in visiting their children, have been
prohibited from living with their domestic partners, and/or have been prevented
from adopting or being foster parents, on the basis of their sexual orientation (Edi
tors of the Harvard Law Review, 1990; Falk, 1989; Patterson, 1996).
The primary difficulties facing children of lesbian, gay, and bisexual par
ents are associated with misconceptions about their parents that are held by society
at large. Three areas of concern have been raised by those in the legal and social
welfare systems about the impact a parent’s lesbian, gay, or bisexual orientation
may have on children. These concerns include the influence of a lesbian, gay, or
bisexual parent on a child’s gender identity, gender role conformity, and sexual
orientation. The body of research on lesbian mothers is currently considerably
larger than that on gay fathers. In her comprehensive review of the literature, Pat
terson (1996b) concluded that there was no evidence of gender identity difficulties
among children of lesbian mothers. She also reported studies indicating that gender
role behavior among children of lesbian mothers was within normal ranges. Fur
thermore, children of lesbian, gay, and bisexual parents appear to be no different
than peers raised by heterosexual parents in their emotional development and their
likelihood of becoming homosexual (Bailey, Bobrow, Wolfe, & Mikach, 1995;
Golombok & Tasker, 1994).
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Psychologists rely on scientifically and professionally derived knowledge
and avoid discriminatory practices when conducting assessments for suitability for
child custody, adoption, and/or foster parenting. Psychologists provide accurate
information and correct misinformation in their work with parents, children, com
munity organizations and institutions (e.g., educational, legal, and social welfare
systems).
Guideline 7 . Psychologists recognize that the families o f lesbian, gay, and bisexual
people may include people who are not legally or biologically related.
The recognition of diverse family forms, including extended and blended
families, is central to effective psychotherapy with ethnically and culturally diverse
clients (Ho, 1987; Thomas & Dansby, 1985). For many lesbian, gay, and bisexual
people, the primary partner and/or a network of close friends constitute an alterna
tive family structure. In the absence of legal or institutional recognition, and in the
face of societal, workplace, and familial discrimination, these alternative family
structures may be more significant than the individual’s family of origin (Kurdek,
1988; Weston, 1992). The importance of alternative family structures to lesbian,
gay, and bisexual adults and youth is not always understood. Further, these rela
tionships have been devalued or denied by some psychologists (Garnets, Hancock,
Cochran, Goodchilds, & Peplau, 1991; Laird & Green, 1996).
Social support is an important resource in a heterosexual couple’s capacity
to handle relationship distress (Sarason, Pierce, & Sarason, 1990). People in same-
sex relationships tend to derive less support in adulthood and old age from their
families of origin than do their heterosexual counterparts (Kurdek, 1991; Laird &
Green, 1996). Close relationships with a network of supportive friends also are
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considered by lesbian, gay, and bisexual youth to be extremely important. A strong
friendship network has been viewed as pivotal in sexual identity exploration and
development (D’Augelli, 1991).
Given the importance of social support in overall relationship satisfaction
and longevity, psychologists are encouraged to consider the importance of lesbian,
gay, or bisexual alternative family relationships. Psychologists are also aware of
the stress that clients may experience when their family of origin, employers, or
others do not recognize their family structure. Therefore, when conducting an as
sessment, psychologists are encouraged to ask clients who they consider to be part
of their family.
Guideline 8. Psychologists strive to understand how a person’ s homosexual or
bisexual orientation may have an impact on his or her family o f origin and the re
lationship to that family o f origin.
Families of origin may be unprepared to accept a lesbian, gay, or bisexual
child or family member because of familial, ethnic, or cultural norms and/or reli
gious beliefs or negative stereotypes (Chan, 1995; Greene, 1994a; Matteson, 1996).
The awareness of a family member’s homosexuality or bisexuality may precipitate
a family crisis that can result in the expulsion of the homosexual or bisexual mem
ber, rejection of the parents and siblings by the homosexual or bisexual member,
parental guilt and self-incrimination, or conflicts within the parents’ relationship
(Griffin, Wirth, & Wirth, 1996; Savin-Williams & Dube, 1998; Strommen, 1993).
Even when reactions are more positive, adjustments may be necessary to accom
modate a new understanding of the lesbian, gay, or bisexual family member (Laird,
1996). Many families are faced with their own “coming out” process when a
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family member discloses his or her homosexuality or bisexuality (Bass & Kauf
man, 1996; Savin-Williams & Dube, 1998).Families may need to adjust to the loss
of hopes, perceptions, or expectations associated with the presumption of hetero
sexuality (Savin-Williams, 1996). Families may also need assistance in developing
new understandings of sexual orientation, in confronting the ways in which nega
tive societal attitudes about homosexuality and bisexuality are manifested within
the family, and in addressing difficulties related to societal stigmatization. Psy
chologists also are sensitive to the cultural variations in a family’s reaction and
ways of adapting to a lesbian, gay, or bisexual member. Local and national re
sources are available that can provide information, assistance, and support to family
members (e.g., Parents, Family, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays; Children of
Lesbians and Gays Everywhere).
Issues of Diversity
Guideline 9. Psychologists are encouraged to recognize the particular life issues
or challenges experienced by lesbian, gay, and bisexual members o f racial and
ethnic minorities that are related to multiple and often conflicting cultural norms,
values, and beliefs.
Racial/ethnic minority lesbian, gay, and bisexual people must negotiate the
norms, values, and beliefs regarding homosexuality and bisexuality of both main
stream and minority cultures (Chan, 1992,1995; Greene, 1994a; Manalansan,
1996; Rust, 1996). Cultural variation in these norms, values, and beliefs can be a
major source of psychological stress. There may be no one group or community to
which a racial/ethnic minority lesbian, gay, or bisexual person can anchor his or her
identity and receive full acceptance. This problem may be an even greater chal-
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lenge for racial/ethnic minority youth who are exploring their sexual identity and
orientation.
In offering psychological services to racially and ethnically diverse lesbian,
gay, and bisexual populations, it is not sufficient that psychologists simply recog
nize the racial and ethnic backgrounds of their clients. Multiple minority status
may complicate and exacerbate the difficulties experienced by these clients. Cli
ents may be affected by the ways in which their cultures view homosexuality and
bisexuality (Gock, 1992; Greene, 1994c). The effects of racism within lesbian,
gay, and bisexual communities are also critical factors to consider (Gock, 1992;
Greene, 1994b; Morales, 1996; Rust, 1996). A sensitivity to the complex dynamics
associated with factors such as cultural values about gender roles, religious and
procreative beliefs, degree of individual and family acculturation, and the personal
and cultural history of discrimination or oppression is also important. All of these
factors may have a significant impact on identity integration and psychological and
social functioning (Chan, 1995; Greene, 1994b; Rust, 1996).
Guideline 10. Psychologists are encouraged to recognize the particular challenges
experienced by bisexual individuals.
Bisexual adults and youth may experience a variety of stressors in addition
to the societal prejudice due to same-sex attractions. One such stressor is that the
polarization of sexual orientation into heterosexual and homosexual categories in
validates bisexuality. (Elliason, 1997; Fox, 1996; Markowitz, 1995; Matteson,
1996; Ochs, 1996; Paul, 1996; Shuster, 1987). This view has influenced psycho
logical theory and practice as well as societal attitudes and institutions. Conse
quently, bisexuality may be inaccurately represented as a transitional state.
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Although no evidence of psychological maladjustment or psychopathology has
been found, bisexual individuals who do not adopt an exclusively heterosexual or
homosexual identity may nevertheless be viewed as developmentally arrested or in
other ways psychologically impaired (Fox, 1996).
Negative individual and societal attitudes toward bisexuality in both the
heterosexual and homosexual communities adversely affect bisexual individuals
(Fox, 1996; Ochs, 1996). Such attitudes may be due to a lack of information about
or access to a visible and supportive community of other bisexual individuals
(Hutchins, 1996). According to Hutchins (1996) and Matteson (1996), information
on community resources can facilitate the development and maintenance of positive
bisexual identities.
Psychotherapy with bisexual clients involves respect for the diversity of
their experiences and relationships (Fox, 1996; Klein, Sepekoff, & Wolf, 1985;
Matteson, 1996). Psychologists are encouraged to adopt a more complex under
standing of sexual orientation rather than a dichotomous model in their approach to
treatment (Matteson, 1996).
Guideline 11. Psychologists strive to understand the special problems and risks
that exist fo r lesbian, gay, and bisexual youth.
It is important for psychologists to understand the unique difficulties and
risks faced by lesbian, gay, and bisexual adolescents (D’Augelli, 1998). Lesbian,
gay, and bisexual youth may experience estrangement from their parents when re
vealing their sexual orientation (Cramer & Roach, 1988). When lesbian, gay, or
bisexual youth have been rejected by their parents, they are at increased risk of be
coming homeless (Kruks, 1991), may resort to prostitution (Coleman, 1989), and
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increase their risk for HIV infection (Gold & Skinner, 1992) and stress (Hersh
berger & D’Augelli, 1995; Savin-Williams, 1994). Youth who identify as lesbian,
gay, or bisexual at an early age are also at increased risk to become victims of vio
lence (Hunter, 1990), even within their families (Harry, 1989), to abuse substances
(Garofalo, Wolf, Kessel, Palfrey, & DuRant, 1998), and to attempt suicide
(Remafedi, French, Story, Resnick, & Blum, 1998).Such difficulties may also
complicate the developmental tasks of adolescence (Gonsiorek, 1991). The social
stigma associated with lesbian, gay, and bisexual identity may also complicate
career development and choice issues (Prince, 1995). Perceived parental and peer
acceptance has an important impact on lesbian, gay, and bisexual youths’ adjust
ment (Savin-Williams, 1989). Although peers and educators may be helpful in
improving the psychosocial environment for these youth (Anderson, 1994; Cay-
wood, 1993; Lipkin, 1992; Woog, 1995), they may not be useful if they lack the
appropriate information and experience. When these potential sources of support
are heterosexist, they may cause additional conflict and distress (Martin & Hetrick,
1988; Telljohann & Price, 1993).Appropriate therapeutic strategies for work with
lesbian, gay, and bisexual youth have been described in the professional literature
(Browning, 1987; Coleman & Remafedi, 1989; Gonsiorek, 1988; Ryan & Futter-
man, 1998). Psychologists strive to create a safe therapeutic context for youth to
explore sexual orientation issues. Psychologists should be aware of the ways in
which psychological, ethical, and legal issues involved in working with minors are
made even more complex when working with lesbian, gay, and bisexual youth.3
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Guideline 12. Psychologists consider generational differences within lesbian, gay,
and bisexual populations, and the particular challenges that may be experienced by
lesbian, gay, and bisexual older adults.
Psychologists are encouraged to recognize that (1) lesbian, gay, and bisex
ual people of different generations may have had significantly different develop
mental experiences; and (2) older lesbian, gay, and bisexual people grew into
adulthood with peers who share characteristics that may make them distinct as a
generation (Kimmel, 1995). Examples of factors influencing generational differ
ences include changing societal attitudes toward homosexuality, the AIDS epi
demic, and the women’s and civil rights movements. These cohort effects may
significantly influence gay identity development, as well as psychological and
social functioning (McDougal, 1993; Fassinger, 1997; Frost, 1997).
Psychologists are encouraged to be aware of the special transitions and life
tasks facing lesbian, gay, and bisexual older adults, such as normative changes in
health, retirement, finances, and social support (Slater, 1995; Berger, 1994). In
many respects, these issues are the same as those of heterosexual older adults
(Kimmel, 1990; Kirkpatrick, 1989; Reid, 1995; Slater, 1995). However, clients’
multiple minority status may exacerbate problems, and gender may create different
issues (see Guideline 9; Quam & Whitford, 1992; Turk-Charles, Rose, & Gatz,
1996). Moreover, end of life span tasks for lesbian, gay, and bisexual older adults
are often complex and can develop into crises due to psychosocial stressors and
heterosexism (Adelman, 1990; Berger & Kelly, 1996). Older lesbian, gay, and
bisexual couples present potential issues, particularly because they lack legal rights
and protection afforded to older heterosexual couples (see Guideline 5). Psycholo
gists are encouraged to (1) be aware that state laws and regulations may affect the
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rights of their clients, and (2) support clients in seeking legal consultation related to
medical crises, financial crises, and death.
Older adults are a diverse group, and normative changes in aging may be
positive as well as negative and are not necessarily related to pathology or a client’s
sexual orientation. There are several descriptions of positive adaptation to aging
among lesbian, gay, and bisexual older adults (Friend, 1990; Lee, 1987) that may
be helpful to psychologists treating these clients. Having already addressed issues
of being a stigmatized minority may help older gay men, lesbians, and bisexual
people to address ageism and transitions in old age (Kimmel, 1995; Fassinger,
1997).
Guideline 13. Psychologists are encouraged to recognize the particular challenges
experienced by lesbian, gay, and bisexual individuals with physical, sensory,
and/or cognitive/emotional disabilities.
Lesbian, gay, and bisexual individuals with physical and/or sensory dis
abilities may experience a wide range of challenges related to the social stigmas
associated with both disability and sexual orientation (Saad, 1997). One concern is
the extent to which the individual’s self concept is affected by social stigmas,
which in turn may affect the individual’s sense of autonomy and personal agency,
sexuality, and self-confidence (Shapiro, 1993). For example, people with disabili
ties may be particularly vulnerable to the effects of “looksism” (i.e., basing social
value on physical appearance and marginalizing those who do not conform, for
reasons of age, ability, or appearance, to socially constructed standards). Another
area of concern relates to how physical disability affects the person’s relationship
with partners, family, caregivers, and health care professionals. Within partner
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relationships, there may be issues related to life management, including mobility,
sexuality, and medical and legal decision making. Family support may not be
available due to negative reactions to the person’s sexual orientation (Rolland,
1994; McDaniel, 1995). There may also be stress associated with a lesbian, gay, or
bisexual person’s need to “come out” to caregivers and health care professionals
(O’Toole & Bregante, 1992).
Lesbian, gay, and bisexual people with disabilities may not have access to
information, support, and services available to non-disabled lesbian, gay, and bi
sexual people (O’Toole & Bregante, 1992). Lack of societal recognition for les
bian, gay, and bisexual people in relationships affects those with ongoing medical
concerns such as medical insurance coverage for domestic partners, family medical
leave policies, hospital visitation, medical decision making by partners, and survi
vorship issues (Laird, 1993).
Saad (1997) recommends that psychologists inquire about the person’s sex
ual history and current sexual functioning and provide information and facilitate
problem-solving in this area. Studies have reported that many lesbians and gay
men with disabilities have experienced coercive sexual encounters (Swartz, 1995;
Thompson, 1994). It may be important for psychologists to assess the extent to
which the person may have experienced sexual or physical victimization. Lastly,
given the prejudice, discrimination, and lack of social support both within and
beyond the lesbian, gay, and bisexual communities, it also may be important that
psychologists recognize that when physical, sensory, and/or cognitive/emotional
disabilities are present, social barriers and negative attitudes may limit life choices
(Shapiro, 1993).
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Education
Guideline 14. Psychologists support the provision o f professional education and
training on lesbian, gay, and bisexual issues.
There remains a gap between policy and practice in the psychotherapeutic
treatment of lesbian, gay, and bisexual clients (Dworkin, 1992; Fox, 1996; Garnets,
Hancock, Cochran, Goodchilds, & Peplau, 1991; Greene, 1994a; Iasenza, 1989:
Markowitz, 1991, 1995; Nystrom, 1997). Despite the recent addition of diversity
training during graduate education and internship, studies have shown that graduate
students in psychology often report inadequate education and training in lesbian,
gay, and bisexual issues (Buhrke, 1989; Glenn & Russell, 1986; Pilkington &
Cantor, 1996) and that graduate students and novice therapists feel unprepared to
work effectively with lesbian, gay, and bisexual clients (Allison, Crawford, Eche-
mendia, Robinson, & Knepp, 1994; Buhrke, 1989; Graham, Rawlings, Halpem, &
Hermes, 1984). The gap between policy and practice can be addressed by includ
ing information regarding these populations in all training programs.
Faculty, supervisors, and consultants are encouraged to integrate current in
formation about lesbian, gay, and bisexual issues throughout training for profes
sional practice. Resources are available to assist faculty in including lesbian, gay,
and bisexual content in their curricula (e.g., APA, 1995; Buhrke & Douce, 1991;
Cabaj & Stein, 1996; Croteau & Bieschke, 1996; Greene & Croom, in press; Han
cock, 1995; Pope, 1995; Savin-Williams & Cohen, 1996). Psychologists who have
expertise in lesbian, gay, and bisexual psychology may be utilized on a full-time or
part-time basis to provide training and consultation to faculty as well as course and
clinical supervision to students. Faculty and supervisors may be encouraged to
seek continuing education course work in lesbian, gay, and bisexual issues.
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Guideline 15. Psychologists are encouraged to increase their knowledge and un
derstanding o f homosexuality and bisexuality through continuing education, train
ing, supervision, and consultation.
The Ethics Code urges psychologists to .. maintain a reasonable level of
awareness of current scientific and professional information . . . and undertake on
going efforts to maintain competence in the skills they use” (APA, 1992, p. 1600).
Unfortunately, the education, training, practice experience, consultation, and/or
supervision psychologists receive regarding lesbian, gay, and bisexual issues have
often been inadequate, outdated, or unavailable (Buhrke, 1989; Glenn & Russell,
1986; Graham, Rawlings, Halpem, & Hermes, 1984; Pilkington & Cantor, 1996).
Studies have revealed psychotherapist prejudice and insensitivity in working with
lesbian, gay, and bisexual people (Garnets, Hancock, Cochran, Goodchilds, &
Peplau, 1991; Liddle, 1996; Nystrom, 1997, Winegarten, Cassie, Markowski,
Kozlowski, & Yoder, 1994).
Preparation for the provision of psychotherapy to lesbian, gay, and bisexual
clients may include additional education, training, experience, consultation, or su
pervision in such areas as (a) human sexuality; (b) lesbian, gay, and bisexual iden
tity development; (c) the effects of stigmatization upon lesbian, gay, and bisexual
individuals, couples, and families; (d) ethnic and cultural factors affecting identity;
and (e) unique career development and workplace issues experienced by lesbian,
gay, and bisexual individuals.
Acknowledgements
These guidelines were developed by the Division 44 / Committee on Lesbian, Gay, and
Bisexual Concerns Joint Task Force on Guidelines for Psychotherapy with Lesbian, Gay,
and Bisexual Clients (JTF). They were adopted by the Council of Representatives on Feb
ruary 26, 2000. The JTF co-chairs were Kristin Hancock, PhD (John F. Kennedy
289
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University, Orinda, California) and Armand Cerbone, PhD (independent practice, Chicago,
Illinois). The JTF members included Christine Browning, PhD (University of California,
Irvine); Douglas Haldeman, PhD (independent practice, Seattle, Washington); Ronald Fox,
PhD (independent practice, San Francisco, California); Terry Gock, PhD (Asian Pacific
Family Center, Rosemead, California); Steven James, PhD (Goddard College, Plainfield,
Vermont); Scott Pytluk, PhD (private practice, Chicago, Illinois); Ariel Shidlo, PhD
(Columbia Universiy, New York). The JTF wishes to acknowledge Alan Malyon, PhD for
his foresight regarding the need for guidelines and for initiating their careful development.
In addition, the JTF is grateful to Catherine Acuff, PhD (Board of Directors) for her vision,
support, and skillful guidance; to Ron Rozensky, PhD (BPA), Lisa Grossman, PhD/JD
(COPPS), and Dan Abrahamson, PhD (BPA) for their thorough and thoughtful review and
editorial suggestions; to Kate Hays, PhD, Harriette Kaley, PhD, and Bianca Murphy, PhD
(BAPPI) for their assistance in providing important feedback on several earlier drafts o f the
guidelines; to Ruth Paige, PhD (Board of Directors), Jean Carter, PhD (CAPP), and the
many other APA colleagues for the consultation and assistance they gave to this project; to
Board for the Advancement of Psychology in the Public Interest, the Board of Professional
Affairs, the Committee on Lesbian, Gay, and Bisexual Concerns, and especially Division
44 for their kind support; to Clinton Anderson (CLGBC Staff Officer) for all the hard
work, patience, and counsel he provided to the JTF throughout this project; and to
CLGBC’s Task Force on Bias whose work (published in the September, 1991 issue o f the
American Psychologist) formed the basis for the development of these guidelines.
1 Throughout this document, the term “client” refers to individuals across the
lifespan. This includes youth, adult, and older adult lesbian, gay, and bisexual clients.
There may be issues that are specific to a given age range, and where appropriate, the
document will identify those groups. (Return to text)
Hereafter this document will be referred to as the Ethics Code. (Return to text)
Psychologists should be aware of relevant federal and state laws, regulations, and
professional standards that address these treatment issues, such as confidentiality and
informed consent. (Return to text)
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Creator Read, Mary Mildred (author)

Core Title Identity in midlife lesbians: A kaleidoscopic view

School Graduate School

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program Education - Counseling Psychology

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag Gerontology,OAI-PMH Harvest,psychology, developmental,women's studies

Language English

Contributor Digitized by ProQuest (provenance)

Advisor Polkinghorne, Donald (committee chair), Rosenberg, Joan (committee member), Tierney, William G. (committee member)

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c16-423239

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Legacy Identifier 3155466.pdf

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Rights Read, Mary Mildred

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Access Conditions The author retains rights to his/her dissertation, thesis or other graduate work according to U.S. copyright law. Electronic access is being provided by the USC Libraries in agreement with the au...

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