Eighteen years have passed and I still can’t understand my behavior. Why did I take it so hard when my daughter came out as a lesbian at the age of 17?

I was after all the quintessentially cool mom. Lila and I regularly attended experimental theatre together, much of it gay. Her dad and I supported her throughout her Rocky Horror obsession, to the point of sanctioning her attendance at a Rocky convention in New York.

However, all my worldliness and coolness evaporated in a flash when Lila told me she was a lesbian. Maybe it was the way she did it, so suddenly, and so completely unexpectedly. Little did I guess at the agony and planning she had gone through to achieve that goal.

I am ashamed of how I behaved. I regret it so much. I cried for three days. Lila’s dad convinced himself it was just a phase and refused to discuss it. Meanwhile poor Lila was left to cope with the disintegration of her hopes and dreams utterly alone. Sadly, apart from one friend, she had confided her sexuality to no-one but us.

After one heated and futile argument, none of us spoke about Lila being a lesbian for the next three years, hard though that is to believe. We talked openly about every other subject, we went on family holidays, we continued to attend the theatre and we squirmed through the TV sitcom episode where our favorite comedian Ellen came out. It was business as usual – except that it wasn’t. Luckily I received much needed help and support from colleagues and friends throughout this time.

Traumatized by our reaction, Lila still hadn’t found the courage to come out to her university friends. I can only guess at her continuing angst and trauma.

Three years later, Lila moved out and suddenly the situation was resolved. It was as if one day we didn’t talk about Lila being gay and the next we were happily grocery shopping with her for her first Valentine’s Day dinner with her girlfriend. That day our family was reborn, stronger, more loving and closer than ever.

I was recently forced to confront my initial reaction to Lila being gay when I decided to write my memoir, ’Oy Vey My Daughter’s Gay’. I’m not even sure why I wanted to write it. It just seemed right. Lila was supportive of the idea and through our collaboration I was forced to face the full depth of my failings and her pain. Maybe that was my reason for writing the book. It was finally time to apologize and lay my guilt to rest.

Maybe another reason for writing the book was for me to finally understand my reaction to my daughter coming out. The best I can offer on that front are some theories:

Lila and I were incredibly close. Suddenly I was confronted with a new version of my daughter. One I knew nothing about. Conceivably I was mourning the loss of a life I thought she’d have, including grandchildren. Most of all I believe I was mourning the loss of my own idea of self. I thought I knew who I was as a mother and a person. Two simple words, ‘I’m gay.’ blew that image apart

If there’s a central message in my book, it’s that things get better, even if, like me you get off to a horrible start. I am in no way condoning my behavior. Many people have remarked that my writing is brave and brutally honest. ‘It certainly doesn’t make me look good,’ I remarked to a friend. ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘It makes you look human.’

Sandra McCay’s new book Oy Vey My Daughter’s Gay is available on Amazon.