I have to tell you I sobbed. In the car on the way to the studio I was singing with old Patty Griffin and then I just sobbed out of left field. I told myself I was going to be a good soldier and take my lickings.

But that’s the thing about hope. It requires a piece of your heart. Belief that things can be better though I was pretty sure it would pass. When we put our civil liberties in the hands of the majority, we come away with none. That’s how it’s always worked.  Amendment 1 makes it ok for my government to say I am not even “separate but equal” but lesser.

If I had the opportunity to – I would knock on every door and have a conversation. Every door. I am not scary or sick or wrong. And I carry the hope that if I could sit down with most people, they would start to see me as human too. I still have hope. Hurt by rampant ignorance. Let down by my government. Saddened at the amount of fear and the dogmatism that propels folks forward. But hopeful.

People say, let it go – the younger generation will vote it in eventually. That’s where you’re headed. But the reason younger folks are more tolerant is because brothers and sisters have died standing up and coming out. Mother’s and father’s have had their hearts broken open over their gay children, the death of those children, the discrimination of those children and they have grown bigger – grown taller, and come to stand by our sides. Allies call us friends. And we slowly erode the shores of hate. I will not wait. I will not sit quietly down. I am heart broken but I am not defeated. In my corner I have a treasure chest of comrades who know me. Friends who hold me up. A family that carries me. And a wife no one can take from me. Regardless of the wording of the law.

Today I am heartbroken. But I am not done. We have more work to do. Thank you for your service. Thank you for your efforts. You have made a difference. Because of you I have more than enough strength to Carry On.

our celebration with close family in madison co NC

in NY – after being married by the clerk of courts.

You know every so often I go on a tear. I’ve been working on this bit of posting for months – maybe even a year. It’s something I look at, type on and then put away. But as I look around at the women I know, the women I’m friends with, clothe, see on the street, read the blogs of, I’m struck that by and large – posting about real bodies applies to all of them. I am a fashion designer. Bodies are my canvas.

Today I’m over pretty. I’m irritated by the idea that we’re all girlish all the time and that we wake up in the morning with perfectly tousled hair and smooth legs and underarms. I mean it. Sometimes I spit. Oh I do. I spit maybe even every day. And though I think about eatting with poise and grace – often – I’ll drink OJ straight out of the jug.

I’m over all the pretty little things on blogs and pinterest and in magazines. I’m over the idea that clothes don’t crease & wrinkle around the hips when you sit in ‘em – hell, even the idea that women have hips seems like a dirty little secret.

I have to ask myself before I find something “inspiring” – do I like the clothes, the styling? Or am I pining after a thin image I’ve been programmed to believe is the holy grail?

In an age of digital cameras so fine you can see the mere thought-form of a future wrinkle, our media is obsessed with airbrushing not realism.

Every so often, sometimes standing in front of my wardrobe, I find myself making disgusted noises- like I’ve eaten way too much processed sugar. All these pictures of teeny young girls wearing perfect clothes with perfect skin next to the perfect man in a perfect forest- oh – it’s just so much bs.

Do real live folks wear well put together outfits anymore? Yes they do – I have a friend in her 50s (she informed me this week that she’s actually in her 60s that has some of the most fabulous freckles and a bit o curve and let me tell you – she can dress. She looks killer. Always – Modern and Classy and Stylish.

I start to exclaim – demand:  Where are the blogs that document real live folks in well put together outfits?!
But I know – the dude from The Sartorialist says that curvy women are the main group of folk that consistently say him nay when it comes to snapping street style for his blog. So we’re inundated with gazelle like young women, or waif like older women that are mightily eccentric and artistic.

Because gals with any bit of curve are, by and large, self conscious. Every so often we come across a pretty picture of a woman with a slight bit of padding and hold it up – tape it to our fridge – vow to let self acceptance into our lives. But as the photos of good looking curvaceous are so few and far, we’re back to our wistful ways soon.
Marilyn Monroe is the pinnacle of bit-o-padding and beauty appeal. Why? In front of a camera – on screen, she owned her appeal. She was comfortable in front of a lens.

You know what irritates me most? There isn’t a great source of inspiration for how to dress realness well and I’m not talking about how to “camouflage those problem spots” I hate those articles you find in Oprah or In Style. How many items of clothing does one ever look at and say, well that won’t look good on a skinny girl?

Now I am not advocating American obesity. I think in shape bodies look better in clothes than out of shape bodies – skinny or curvy.

I am advocating that we take refreshing walks, eat whole delicious I-can-pronounce-all-the-ingredients-in-it food and learn to actively be joyful in movement. If after all that, you, like me, still have a pot-de-creme (that means belly chub) then you let it go – and say, yes, take my picture Mr. Sartorialist, because this is what a healthy, happy, beautiful spirit looks like – and it’s housed in my incredible body.

You’ll see a range of non-professional beautiful models grace the digital pages of Unabashed apparel. I meet women with that joy de vivre and I can’t help but beg them to model. Role Models as well you see.

I’ll be looking for some women about the streets of my small town to photograph in their style savy ways. Pictures will be few and far between – but I hope I’ll capture a few for you – and hope even more that more blogs, magazines, and pins will include more attainable inspiration as well.

Hi friends,

Thank you all for your numerous kind, supportive, loving and gracious responses to my post yesterday. I wanted to clarify just a couple of things that were brought up.

1, I’ve been “out” to my family, friends and community I live in for years. The strange thing about the gayness of life, as I like to call it, is that for those of us that realized it later in life i.e. after high school,  it means that while you may be out now – the community you grew up in might not know.  This is probably true for me and in some ways this was easier for the more conservative members of my family. They didn’t have to deal with questions, could just leave it out of conversations and so forth.  Which leads us to:

2, I pass. As in, you can’t see that I’m gay by just looking at me and so in my professional and public face on the internet, most people don’t know. Being southern, I’m not so good at making folks feel uncomfortable and so for the most part I chose, up until yesterday, to just leave my sexuality out of my work life. Circumnavigate the awkward moment of, Hi, I’m Sarahbeth, women’s apparel designer, environmentalist, and gay. As I said in one of my responses yesterday, this means that I have the unique experience of being able to walk around without ridicule while still being a discriminated against minority. It comes with the price of a lot of other bs when I speak up. That’s why I addressed my post the way I did yesterday. I’m assuming folks who may have known me when I was younger, or folks who only know me via my online community and work probably didn’t/ don’t know.

3. Why it’s important: There are so many wonderful things about me and the queer friends I have in my life. It’s a luxury that I get to know people through my work  and life for who I am and not because of one insignificant detail but the truth remains that some folks have a problem with it. I believe that it will take a large part, if not all, of the LGBTQ community to stand up and be counted out of the closet in every facet of our lives in order to create effective change. I am who I was 2 days ago to folks who did not know me as gay. It doesn’t change who I am, my values, my talent or what I create. Why should it affect what you think of me or how you relate to me, and if it does, What’s your reasoning? Let’s talk about it. Let’s dive in and do the work. There’s a place set for you at my table. Will you meet me there?

I don’t talk about it here. I don’t want to look you in the eye and make you uncomfortable. About this. This isn’t what it’s about. My business. But if I was to be honest, it’s always there, a part of me. Who I am and how I live. It’s even a part of that Unabashed spirit in me.

To have this conversation I first had to wash my face, brush my teeth and pour myself a fresh cup of coffee.

I’m gay. While I’ve been out to my family and in my community for years, I waltz around it more than you realize in my posts. I don’t lie but I refrain: from mentioning it, explaining who I live with, who I make decisions with – I don’t want to offend you. And, it’s no one’s business. But it rankles me. I’m not exactly quiet.

If I was going to be completely honest. I haven’t wanted to be a spectacle for all those people, who don’t really matter, who knew me back when: when I had boyfriends (cause I did), when I was a fledgling struggling to find my way, when adolescence was cruel, there’s just no way around it. And so I think I’ll take a minute to address a few things:

Homosexuality isn’t like being born with green eyes. You don’t just come into existence and know. We live in a heterosexual world and sometimes it takes years to figure out if you’re not in the norm. And sexuality isn’t black and white. I know we’d like it to be but it isn’t, after all, it’s all that gray that scares us and challenges us and requires of us to reach deeper and ponder more.

I’m quite pretty. Yes I am. Yes I said it. Yes I know it. Yes I’m still gay. And it’s not because I haven’t found the right man, or dated enough – god knows – I’ve dated so very many, so very very many, or dated someone man enough. So stop that. That’s to all those ex boyfriends that are bewildered and smirking and thinking things that cover up the uncomfortableness of a simple fact. It’s not you, it’s me. And I’m fine with that. And it’s not a shame. I’ve heard that. A lot. That it’s      ”A shame”. And it makes me livid, and it makes me sad and it makes me oh so very tired.

I love men. I have great guy friends. One of my bestest friends in the entire world is my fire fighting, baseball playing, cowboy brother. Another is my dad. We have a great relationship. He won stars in his crown for his reaction to me being gay. I didn’t expect it. I expected a lot of things. I got none of them. I got unconditional love. Somewhere in your life, you’ll have a wound you won’t even know about. You won’t know about it until unconditional love heals it. That’s my dad.

That wasn’t my mom. She won’t like that I tell you this. She’s ashamed of how she reacted now. But it’s more important you know this than anything else. She was her worst self. That’s who she was when I told her I was gay. All those negative things you could think, and maybe are thinking, about a pretty, intelligent, charming girl being gay – she said them. And she meant them, at a moment in time. You need to know that to know, I’ve heard it all and it didn’t change me, falter me or fix me. But it did do that to her. And that is more important than pure acceptance. It’s beauty. The ability to be someone you’re not proud to be and step up, dig deeper, move in and stay a while until you’re ready to grow. And she did.

When you meet me, you won’t know. You’ll probably like me, you’ll probably ask if I’ve got a boyfriend and then I have a second to make a decision and prepare. Because that’s what I always have to do, prepare. For shock, a shrug, a taken aback look. This is what my momma was worried about, that her little girl would always have to struggle a little, fight and prepare for countless glares of animosity and attack. It’s true, but I’m my daddy’s daughter and I’m ready for the fight. I won’t win it the way you think I will.

Why today? Why am I telling you all this today? New York. It did things to me I wasn’t ready for. It made me cry. It made me smile. It made me feel like sometime, somehow, a day might come where it doesn’t matter if folks are still uncomfortable, I’ll be safer and my children will be safer and my community will be safer. Some day I won’t worry about being fired, or harassed.

You see, this is my country. This is my south. I’m not moving. I’m not giving up my flag, my patriotism, my pride, my southern accent, my love of sweet tea and baseball, how well I cook fried green tomatoes, that I was born and raised in Belews Creek, the clay in my blood, rocking on front porches with my grandma, stories with my grandpa, my righteous storytelling skills and Moravian roots. I didn’t choose to be gay, but I’m not ashamed that I am. I’m charming, I’m talented and I’ve got good things to do in this world. And the gay part? It turns out to be just like my green eyes, a part of who I am and hurting no one.

It’s time for us to look our friends, family and community in the eye. It’s time to say, This is who I am and I’m beautiful, I’m worthy of your friendship and your respect. I work hard, I care for others, I want to leave this world better than I found it. Being gay isn’t my agenda, making a difference as your teachers, scientists, doctors, healers, farmers, artists, environmentalists, leaders, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers and friends -is. Take my hand. We can make this world better together. This is all of me, is your heart big enough for it all?