A couple of weeks after I had finished filming the show, I was talking with a female friend. She was telling me about her day, but I wasn't hearing a word she was saying because I was staring at her quizzically, trying to decipher what I was feeling. Then it hit me: I was sexually attracted to her.
On the day after I realized I am a lesbian, I invited over the woman I was in love with (we hadn't been together in any sexual way; we had not even hugged or kissed) so that we could watch Oprah's Super Soul Sunday. The guest was Brené Brown, whose new book was about vulnerability.
When my dad left to pick up some dinner, my mom, whom I've been out to for almost two years, said, "Your father saw your Facebook status when I left my Facebook up. The cat's out of the bag." You see, I hadn't told him.
A year ago I thought that disclosing my sexuality would aid in the healing from my eating disorder and my compulsive exercising. However, looking back, I realize that I was looking at my sexuality all wrong.