My sister is allergic to bee stings. We didn't know that, of course, until she got stung. We were little girls playing in the local swimming hole in small town Oklahoma. The next thing I remember, we were being whisked off to the Emergency Room. And, she was gasping for air. That's about all I can recall. She was okay and from then on we were always on the lookout for bees.

I've been always on the lookout for something. I guess as a hated minority, I just learned to be aware of my surroundings. Always being careful of how we conduct ourselves in public, never showing affection in the presence of others, watching carefully what we say, how we say it and to whom we say it to. Makes me sick.

So, I have been thinking back on my life as a closeted, dreaded, leery old lesbian. Were there specific incidences that triggered these automatic responses? Did I just figure it out by observation, know it intuitively? How did I get so good at deception? But most importantly…..when did it become okay with me to act contrary to my nature?

Yikes. How did all of this nonsensical behavior I regularly participate in get inside of me and make itself at home?

Then I figured it out: I must've gotten stung. Many times. Over and over. Otherwise, why would I continue to respond they way I do to some things? I fear the sting. It could've killed me if the right antidote hadn't been found. Or, unlike my sister, maybe it would have only hurt for a few seconds, made a red mark, and then gone away.

		After you get stung, you can't get unstung, no matter
		how much you whine about it.   ------Sue Monk Kidd

We can't get unstung. We can't get unmarked. We can't just go away and hide from the stingers in the world. We must stand up to the venom…it might not be lethal after all.