MY STORY: Teresa

I helped my husband come out My story

Teresa Leggett realised her husband was gay before he did, and that knowledge changed both their lives. Now this 45-year-old mother of two is a Mardi Gras organiser, and was just recently “best woman” at her ex’s wedding. This is her story, as told to Gary Nunn .

I was in a Brisbane pub with my first love and husband of nine years, Michael. I’d been working interstate for three months and he was taking me out to meet some of his new friends. But as the night progressed and drinks were consumed, something uncomfortable happened. One of Michael’s new male friends became angry and emotional. I looked at him, then looked at Michael. It was the behaviour of someone who felt emotionally betrayed. Suddenly I had this sinking feeling. I dashed to the bathroom and rang a friend in tears. “I think Michael’s gay,” I said. She told me I needed to ask Michael. When I broached it with him at home later that night, he earnestly denied it. It was a conversation we would have again and again. In Michael’s eyes, if he w as gay, he would lose everything: his wife, family, marriage, the love of his pa rents, his friends, his position in the police force. Michael was very similar to his dad, who had served in the army. Michael’s mum once showed me his “When I grow up …” childhood book. In it, he’d written: “I want to be a soldier and a police officer.” And that’s exactly what he’d become. Duty, responsibility and purpose were all important to him – in his career and in our marriage.

Michael pulled me aside and gave me a lecture. He said I was a pathetic excuse for a soldier, that I was drinking too much, that I was an embarrassment to the uniform. And then we began dating.

I still smile when I remember the day he proposed. Everything went wrong. It was Valentine’s Day. He’d planned dinner at my favourite restaurant on top of Mount Coot-tha in Brisbane, but the restaurant wasn’t taking bookings, and it poured so hard we were absolutely drenched and had to book an extortionate hotel. Flustered, down on one knee, he produced a ring his grandparents had made. I nodded, crying like a baby. He cried too.

Looking back, I was convinced I knew it all. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind about Michael. I’d met the love of my life.

The big fairytale wedding was on the hottest day on record in a huge cathedral in Ipswich. The priest was my uncle and my lace dress was made by my grandmother. Ave Maria was played, then a police bagpiper performed to our 150 guests. A decade of married life followed, eight years of which were very happy. There were times we realised we weren’t passionately in love with each other, but I consoled myself that relationships naturally grow less passionate over time.

Michael had this checklist of a successful life: soldier, police officer, married. By now he was in the police force. When you’re with someone who is that confident, you go along with it. It feels right. When a rumour went around that someone

Relationships

Michael worked with was gay, he was so angry. “That slur could destroy someone’s career,” he said.

After my long work trip to Canberra, when the truth dawned on me, I felt shock, then sadness. Our futures had been so intertwined. The second time we really discussed the issue, anger took over. I pleaded: “Just tell me you’re gay and we can move on.” He was stoic and silent. But that uneasy feeling kept returning, along with a very real concern that Michael might take his own life rather than ever come out. I later learned just how justified my fear was.

A rainbow welcome Then the day finally came. Michael had been out late and he walked into our bedroom in tears. When he could get the words out, he told me he was gay. It was such a relief. We fell asleep that night, sobbing and hugging. He later admitted that he’d been sitting in his car for hours deliberating about whether it would be an easier route to take his own life.

Michael was determined to keep his vows to me, saying that even though he was gay, he didn’t need to act on it. I didn’t want that for him. Months passed and our relationship moved fairly easily from lovers to housemates, b ut something was niggling. I was moving on, making new friends, but Michael wasn’t. He wasn’t comfortable in his own skin. He hadn’t yet told his family. He felt by coming out he was letting everyone down. That’s when I came up with the idea of going to the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras.

I’d adored Mardi Gras since I was a child – the colour, the movement, the music, the freedom, all the possibilities – and I still love it. One magical night a year, the road closed and the community c together, filling the stre ets, to celebrate. All the repression, f discomfort, negativity and a are shaken off, and the com roars: “I am here, this is me.” I hell-bent on taking Michael. It was just me, Michael a dear friend of mine, Adrian. us cute fluffy bunny costum it rained so hard, in the en looked more like drowned bunnies than sexy ones! When we arrived in S Adrian had a surprise: h arranged for us to be in t parade. We couldn’t beli it. The marshalling area a whirlwind of noise, co and smiles. I remember to Michael: “You feel so isolated but look, this is community in their tho Right: Teresa with Michael (right) and Adrian (left) at their first Mardi Gras in 2004. Below: At Mardi Gras with Michael’s sband s are es ear,

unity was d a made es, but we ney, e as saying your

ands h Nicholas ght

… they’re waiting for you.” The closer our start time came, the more excited I became but Michael was overwhelmed. At the last moment, he decided to watch instead, and waved us off. As soon as we stepped on to Oxford Street, I heard the crowds cheering and applauding, and I saw the magic of Mardi Gras. I watched as the people in our group grew taller, grew stronger, grew in confidence. They’d fought for so long, so hard for this moment to shine. We met Michael at the end of the parade and all three of us moved on to the after-party. That night, three fluffy bunnies danced till the early morning, not wanting the excitement, the acceptance, the love to end. We are family Michael has come so far. He’s now one of the biggest campaigners for LGBTQI rights within Queensland’s police force, and founder of the Queensland Police Service’s LGBTI Support Network, which was recognised at the 2018 Premier’s Awards. Now he’s older, wiser and realises how much he missed out on by not living his truth – and every day he makes it easier for the next person to live theirs. That’s one of the many amazing things about the LGBTQI community – every single person understands the struggle it takes to live their truth.

After seeing the power Mardi Gras has, I couldn’t stay away. The following year I gathered Michael and the friends I’d met in the community and created a group called Free, Gay and Happy. Today, it has 900 members across Australia and we’re preparing for our 17th year in the parade.

Thirteen years ago, I met my long-term partner John – at a gay dance party! We have two children, Mitchell, seven, and Ethan, five. And I was honoured when Michael asked me to be “best woman” at his recent wedding. His partner, Nicholas, said the eautiful thing to me: “I love how l call him yo ur husband, and now, husband.” ep doing Mardi Gras as long as re LGBTQI people still taking their s, be lieving there’s no place for this world. Michael doesn’t need rdi Gras parade anymore – he’s is place in the community. But I do, ed it, and I think I always will. AWW most u st ’s o I’ll there own li em i the

und still