My mother was very supportive of me being gay when I was young. Which was actually kind of embarrassing at the time, because I wasn't.

I was (and still am, although I've only been able to put a name to it thanks to some of the P&P writers) a heterosexual demisexual, which meant I was somewhat slow to display normal hetero affections and really bad at it when I tried. (Possibly being on the autistic spectrum didn't help. Still working on that part. Even at 66, being a people isn't always easy for me.)

First (and only) attempt at a date in high school was an unqualified disaster. First attempt at a date in college was not horrible, but also not a date (which I had no way of knowing because nobody told me—other than the woman I had asked out, who mentioned it once or twice or twenty times). Second attempt at a date in college was a qualified disaster (but still a disaster). Next date was five years later, and it was a success, although at that point the bar was pretty low.

My mother's reaction was to be way more jubilant than circumstances warranted. That was when I realized my mother thought I had been gay this whole time (I had not shared the previous disasters, so that was on me) and was just happy that her son was going to lead a normal life. Hahahaha no, Mom, but thanks anyway.

I'm bookmarking your post, Natalie, in case I need it to pass along to parents of LGBTQ+ kids who are not doing well. Fortunately, the ones I know are handling it pretty well. So far.