Ownership
The Power of ownership
Many of my considerations happened almost naturally, guided by logic and reason. But if I had to capture it in a single word, one stands out above the rest. A word I heard during a podcast. In an openhearted conversation, Rachel Gilson spoke about her journey from being an atheist teenager with feelings for women to becoming a convinced Christian woman in a heterosexual marriage. I deeply recognized myself in her careful way of weighing things.
At one point, the word ownership came up. And I thought: that's exactly it! It doesn’t sound quite as natural in Dutch, but in English it carries more authority. That’s why it became the title. Basically, it’s about taking the lead yourself: owning your feelings instead of letting them control you.
I was alone and standing in the diningroom by the table — I don’t even remember why, it’s been a few years now — when suddenly an image came to mind: In this image I was holding a glass jar with a banana inside. My hand was clenched around the fruit, trying to pull it out, but it wouldn’t work. As long as I kept holding on to that banana, it was impossible to get it through the narrow neck of the jar.
And in that very moment, I knew exactly what the image meant. Rarely had I seen such a clear and tangible picture of the difference between being the owner and being owned. It was liberating to have it before my eyes with such clarity.
I immediately knew that the banana symbolized my sexual orientation, the sense of longing I carried within me. I acknowledged that I had consciously chosen not to act on it.
The glass jar represented the emptiness that decision brought with it — a feeling I could never completely let go of. Ignoring those feelings was not an option, for that would mean denying myself and living a lie. The narrow neck reflected the complexity of my situation, exactly as I had experienced it until that moment.
And yet, right then, something shifted. I thought of the monkey-trap: as long as you keep holding on, you cannot get free; you remain trapped.
That truth struck me with absolute clarity.
I first asked myself: why are you gripping that banana so tightly? Almost at once, the next question followed: does that fruit even need to come out at all? Is it really a must to try to take it out? That was the contrast. Holding on meant being stuck in what already was. Letting go created the possibility of movement. Staying stuck, or moving forward. Not a complicated or roundabout path, but a choice that was effective, clear, and inevitable: the choice to let go of the old.
Holding on to it is one thing, but the question of whether you should even want to grab that fruit is just as meaningful.
Yet it would be far too simplistic to say that I simply had to let go of my orientation. That would mean convincing myself of something that wasn’t true, as if an essential part of me didn’t exist.
In this context, it’s important to emphasize that, prior to this moment, I had consciously chosen to continue our marriage. My husband and I loved each other and were committed to remaining faithful.
In this context, it is important to emphasize that, prior to that moment, I had consciously chosen to continue our marriage. My husband and I loved each other and were determined to remain faithful to one another.
My choice was far from “reluctantly made” or “trapped by faith.” The fact remained, however, that my sexual orientation – that undefined feeling nestled deep within me – had not changed. There, at the dinnertable in the back room, with the metaphor of the monkey trap etched onto my mind, its meaning came into focus through the image of a glass jar.
And thus, also the authority of a conscious choice… In other words: the question of whether to prioritize sexual orientation or my relationship. The intended purpose of each is different, yet both are meaningful. For me, my relationship was the starting point. Every action and consideration needed to be viewed from that perspective — not from my orientation as the central core.
At that moment, it hit me with full force that, until then, I had been (unconsciously) blind to that distinction. Despite my own choice for the man I loved and my will to be in a relationship with him, my feelings for women remained front and center, as if on the front page of my internal world, with the spotlight misaligned.
I had been prioritizing my sexual orientation above my relationship, my husband, my commitment. My “self” clung tightly to my sexual preference, still setting the internal framework. It was no wonder my feelings followed along. Yet the outcome of my actual choice was different: my relationship.
Was this clinging not precisely my greatest pitfall?
Was the need to “want to grab” in the first place the wrong approach in light of the path I had already chosen?
The path and choice required that my priority no longer rested on my preference, but on my relationship. And that is something entirely different. It wasn’t that I could no longer acknowledge my orientation as such, but I had to recognize, acknowledge, and act on the importance of my relationship.
Letting go of my preference as a frame of reference.
My relationship, my marriage, and my commitment held a higher and truer significance. This meant not simply letting go of “the banana.”
It also meant this: I know that “the banana” (that is, my preference) simply exists and is allowed to be exactly where it is. It’s not a problem that it exists. I don’t need to hold onto it desperately, as if it might slip away, nor do I need to ignore it. I know that I have this preference. I don’t need to deny anything. But I also don’t need to embrace it as the only or sacred truth.
In the same way, I know that I am married. That is, for me, a deeper and more important priority — consciously chosen and part of who I am and want to be. It may and can evoke love and desire in me, allowing me to think, to fantasize, and to act upon it.
There are no limits — except those I impose on myself.
This made me no longer a victim of a feeling, but the owner of who I am. I took control of my own emotions, rather than the other way around. I was no longer bound by my preference — being attracted only to women — but free to give my love to whomever I choose: my husband.
For me, it’s not a matter of either-or, but of both-and.
You can have a preference and at the same time serve another, higher priority. The same goes for my husband. After all, for him, the context was similar — from the perspective of a straight man, my feelings for women were not exactly a “bonus,” nor something he necessarily had to find pleasant.
I am the one who decides. Not culture, not the media, not friends, and not even my own feelings.
It has given me freedom. It has enriched and deepened both my life and ours.
It hasn’t healed my sexual orientation, but it has healed our marriage.
It has straightened what first was bent.
A potcast (FamilyLife®) met Rachel Gilson:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cHJ_IsyxpY0:
I Struggled with Same-Sex Attraction and Found Freedom | Rachel Gilson
BORN again THIS WAY, and its Dutch translation ‘Onvernieuwd en onveranderd’ (Unchanged and Unaltered), are an encouragement to read for people with a same-sex orientation. In this book, she describes her own unexpected life journey.
