7 Girls
SEVEN
Girls
Every time Mom and I went to the mall to look for school clothes or an outfit for an audition, I headed straight to the boys’ section.
Jeans, T-shirts, and baseball caps were my style, and I bristled at dresses, tights, or fancy shoes.
Mom never went with it, and without fail we left with bags exploding with pink.
Mom then laid out my clothes every night, and I dutifully put them on the next morning.
I did this until around middle school, when I broke down and told Mom that while I valued her help, I really, truly could dress myself.
Before auditions, Mom insisted that dressing the part would get me the part, and if I leaned more into my feminine side, I’d get the part instead of all the other girls.
She was mostly right; I worked in an industry that styled my hair with hot rollers, costumed me in dresses, and never failed to cast me as a sweet, spunky little lady.
Deep down I knew that’s not who I wanted to be.
I wasn’t the stereotypical girl child my mom laid out on the bed every night.
If I wanted to dress in boys’ clothes, what was wrong with that?
I also had another secret: while I didn’t want to act or dress like a girl, I sure as heck wanted to spend a lot of time with them. And not just as friends.
I can’t remember when the feelings started, but I think it must have been around kindergarten.
While my friends developed crushes on boys and spent hours at lunch and recess obsessing over what boy had noticed them, I was oblivious.
Aside from the nine-year-old Chex actor who’d cost me a job and the cute Kodak boy who sent my nervous system into overdrive, girls were much more my speed.
There was something soft and approachable about them; girls were what I’d now call sensual, but at the time I couldn’t put a name to it.
Girls made sense to me, and I related to the energy they radiated.
Their hands were smooth, and their hair smelled like Herbal Essences.
I liked how delicate their cheekbones and lips were.
Girls made me feel warm and welcome… and also a little bit turned on.
The first time I experimented with a girl was when I was about eight or nine.
I had a friend over, and as we played pretend and talked about our favorite shows and books, I decided to tell her my secret.
I wasn’t all that embarrassed; my feelings about girls felt natural, and I was curious if she felt the same.
This was also the late-1990s—a time when same-sex relationships had begun to move from the fringes and the forbidden into an issue you saw on television.
Buffy’s best friend, Willow, had come out as bisexual, and Will and Grace had just premiered on NBC.
Dawson’s Creek was about to show a gay kiss on television.
I hadn’t quite absorbed any of this cultural shift, but it was out there, and perhaps I sensed that my feelings weren’t taboo.
Besides, I didn’t assign myself to any category; I was just Hayden, and I thought girls were great.
“Well, that’s okay,” my friend said after I told her. Then her eyes lit up. “Do you want to…?” Her gaze moved down toward her pants, and while I wasn’t exactly sure where she was going, I figured it was harmless. We could play a little game of trust.
Tale as old as time. Kids experiment, and they always have.
My friend scooted toward me and motioned for me to put my hand on her belly. I hesitated, then placed it right above her jeans. I took a deep breath, then scooted it lower, then lower.
“That tickles!” my friend squealed. I looked at her to make sure she was okay, and she nodded. I wiggled my fingers and slid my hand right down toward her underwear.
I couldn’t really tell what my hand landed on, but none of it felt like a big deal; what made up her body was exactly what made up mine. But at the same time, I sensed that I’d unlocked some mystery. I’d discovered a girl’s body, and it felt perfectly natural.
Just then I heard a noise. I looked up, and I saw the doorknob turn.
“Hayden, are you in here?” a voice called out. It was Dad. Oh my God, it was Dad.
My friend jerked to the side and scooted back away from the door, but as she moved, I got dragged along with her.
My arm was stuck in her jeans, trapped under the waistband.
I pulled as hard as I could to get my hand out, but between the squirming and the vise grip of her pants, I was hopelessly stuck.
“Dad! Don’t come in!” I screamed. “Do NOT come in!”
It was too late. My eyes darted to the door, and there was Dad, frozen in shock. Heat flooded my face, and I stared at him, then at my friend, then toward my poor, trapped hand, then back to Dad, who had started to tiptoe backward out of the room.
“I am so sorry,” Dad whispered, his shock turning into laughter. “So sorry. I am getting out of here right now.”
The door closed quietly, and just like that, Dad was gone.
As far as I know, Dad never told Mom the ridiculous scene he walked into.
Mom didn’t discriminate against anyone, but adding this to my refusal to act feminine would shake her up too much.
I didn’t want anything to disturb the world she’d help build and cultivate for me.
In fact, I didn’t want anything to disturb my parents, period.
I’ve also never told the public I’ve been with women. And I say “been with women” because I haven’t fallen in love or had anything beyond sexual relationships with any, though I suppose that could happen someday. But I have been attracted to women just as long as I’ve been attracted to men.
At a certain point in my career, actors began sharing their sexual exploits and preferences far more publicly than they had in the past, and I didn’t want people to think I was hitching my wagon to a fad.
Although, because sexual feelings are fluid—and they always have been—I know it wasn’t a trend at all.
I also think it’s healthy and cathartic for stars to be honest with themselves and the public, and I don’t look down on anyone who’s been open about who they are or who they sleep with.
In fact, I celebrate it; if you want to live your truth out loud, do it.
It’s just never been my time to discuss this—until now, when I have the confidence and trust in who I am.
Years ago I worried about sharing something that would invite harsh judgment or unwanted opinions, but now, I just need to live my truth.
This is me. I can’t be transparent about my life if I’m not honest about my experiences, so I hope my revelation and some of the stories I’ll tell in this book make a difference to someone out there.
For the sake of your mental health, your relationships with others, and your path forward in life, it’s so important to be comfortable with who you are—no matter who you’re attracted to or where your hands end up.