On average, lesbians take years longer to come out than gay men. Emily Draper looks into the late-bloomer phenomenon. 

For most of her life, Kalli Fox was convinced she was straight. Growing up in a religious family in the US Midwest, she joined the military and was deployed overseas, where she met Mike, a Kiwi. Their romance was easy and simple. They moved to New Zealand together. They got married. She was happy. 

Then, one unsuspecting evening at a local poetry slam, a realisation changed everything. “This woman came up and read a poem about coming out later in life. I thought – holy shit. I didn’t even know it was an option.”

It was the start of an unravelling. The confusing feelings she was having about a close friend suddenly made sense.

At first, Kalli wasn’t sure if she was bisexual, and if that meant she could remain married to Mike. But as the weeks went on, it became clear that these feelings were different to anything she’d felt for a man – any man. She packed her things and moved out. She officially separated from Mike – “a really peaceful, respectful uncoupling” – and when she was ready, she started dating women.

With Billie Eilish singing about eating a girl for lunch on mainstream radio, and lesbian pop icon Chappell Roan drawing the largest crowds in Lollapalooza history, queer women are having a moment. If you looked at pop culture alone, you’d be forgiven for thinking that the path to becoming an out-and-proud lesbian woman is more straightforward than ever: slap on a pair of Doc Martens, some low-rise Dickies and a tattoo sticker sleeve and you’re H-O-T T-O G-O. 

However, the journey to identifying as a capital-L Lesbian for most queer women is a lot more winding and complex. On average, lesbians take years longer to come out – to others, and to themselves – than their gay male counterparts. Key milestones for queer women often come well into their 20s and 30s (and later).

Reasons for this delay depend on who you ask. The New York Times has explored how women who are devoted to motherhood, or view their sexuality as taboo or unimportant, might not fully realise their true sexual orientation until later in life. Glennon Doyle, author of late-bloomer memoir Untamed, attributes much of her delay to internalised expectations of womanhood, while writer Carmen Maria Machado has written extensively about how religious messaging around sex can keep women in the dark. 

In 2008, psychologist Lisa Diamond published research on how women’s sexual orientation can change over time, complicating the coming-out process. And much has been written about the dire lack of diverse lesbian representation in media, and how this can leave questioning women without obvious role models.

With all this and more at play, it’s perhaps unsurprising many women find themselves halfway down the heterosexual highway, with marriage and kids in tow, before realising their GPS is on the fritz. 

It’s an experience that Carol Davey, a facilitator of a support group for queer and questioning women through the Auckland Women’s Centre, has seen play out time and time again. A primary teacher on Auckland’s North Shore, Carol first attended the group as a participant 11 years ago, on the eve of her 40th birthday. 

At first, she was nervous – terrified even. “I sat in my car for an hour beforehand,” she says, “thinking do I get out? Do I go in?”

 “I had this big fear that when I came out it would end my teaching career,” Davey continues. “But I had never really dated. All my friends thought I was asexual. I was like, if I don’t do this, I’m going to be alone forever.”

Six weeks after her first group meeting, Carol had come out to “just about everybody” in her life. And within three years, she was married – to a woman who also came out at 40 – sharing three stepkids and three grandkids. “I’ve always been confident and happy enough,” Davey says. “I had my own home and a good job. But now, I just feel like a complete person. It was the best thing I ever did. I found peace.”

For women who face cultural, religious, or other social barriers to acceptance, groups like the one Carol facilitates can serve as an important lifeline to the queer community. However, the group is also helpful to the many “late bloomers” whose obstacles less resemble an overt pressure from others, and more a sense of inner blindness to their true selves – the later-in-life discovery which can be incredibly overwhelming.

“Ask anyone who knew me before I came out – the closet was glass,” says Hannah, who realised she was a lesbian in her late 20s. “I was playing a women’s contact sport with the Auckland Roller Derby League, and I was also the editor of LGBTQIA magazine Express (now Your Ex). I genuinely believed that I was just a very, very fierce ally to the community. The first time I looked at a woman and realised I had feelings for her, it felt like a stunning realisation where so much about who I am fell into place. My queerness was absolute news to me.”

It was a similar experience for Jess, who, in her early 30s and happily married, realised she was developing feelings for a female colleague. “I was really confused about how I could not have known.  I was hung up on, ‘If you were really gay, you would have known by now.’ I struggled to make sense of how there could be this huge thing that I had just been blind to.”

For Jess, like many women, compulsory heterosexuality was undoubtedly at play. “Being straight was the only thing I saw modelled in my life,” she says. “My family didn’t know any gay people. No one in my high school was out. It was like having blinkers on. I was a girl, and that meant I would grow up and like boys. And when that experience felt sort of flat, I didn’t have anything to compare it to, so I just thought that was what love and sex and romance was.”

For Kate, who identifies as non-binary and only came out as a lesbian earlier this year, a useful antidote to feeling overwhelmed in self-discovery has been to check in with how they’re feeling physically. “I think we’re quite disconnected from our bodies. Especially if you’re raised as a girl, you’re told to put other people’s needs before your own. Listening to your body and trying to unlearn the shame you’ve learned through media or family or whatever – that allows you to figure out who you actually are.”

It’s clear there are many competing pressures, both overt and subtle, keeping numerous queer women in the dark about their own sexuality until later in life. The good news: it’s also clear there is a huge community of late-bloomer lesbians ready to welcome newcomers with open arms. 

“There’s a special place in the queer community for out-later femmes,” says Hannah. “We’ve had to fight hard for our identity, both internally and in the community at large, and it’s made us much more resilient – and interesting, if you ask me.”

More good news: getting a good look at who you truly are, and then living in line with that, seems to be a pretty unmatched experience. “Starting to date women has been the most incredible thing,” Kalli says.“I feel like I’m a kid again. I feel so authentic. I’m so much more comfortable in my body than I ever felt possible.”

“It’s made me a better friend, a better listener, more present with people,” Kalli continues. “Being your true self makes you just so much better, in all of the ways.”