First Dates, Fresh Eyes and New Growth: Being “My Own Damn Hero”

above NELLY THOMAS SPEAKING AT GENERATION WOMEN MELBOURNE: BEING MY OWN DAMN HERO. PHOTO BY SEVIM DOGAN OZKAN

The voices of women, girls and non-binary folk have often been silenced when it comes to history, politics, science, art… well, you name it. But multigenerational storytelling night, Generation Women, is speaking truth to power, offering a warm and inclusive space where people of all ages can come together to share, celebrate and learn.

Held in Sydney and Melbourne, the monthly event aims to amplify a selection of female and non-binary voices – representing those in their twenties through to their seventies (and beyond) – each sharing their own stories on a specific theme. ⁠

above GENERATION WOMEN MELBOURNE OCTOBER PERFORMERS. PHOTO BY SEVIM DOGAN OZKAN

Peppermint is proud to partner with the Generation Women team to bring you a monthly series sharing the words and wisdom from some of the storytellers. October’s theme was ‘Being My Own Damn Hero’, with such performers as award-winning Australian comedian and author Nelly Thomas telling tales of courage and self-care, of audacity and action, and of the times they inspired themselves.

For more information about Generation Women, including forthcoming events, head to their website here. 

above NELLY THOMAS SPEAKING AT GENERATION WOMEN MELBOURNE: BEING MY OWN DAMN HERO. PHOTO BY SEVIM DOGAN OZKAN

MELBOURNE STORYTELLER TEAM 40S: NELLY THOMAS

In January of 2020, my partner of 20 years moved out. I was devastated. The thought of starting again was overwhelming. In time, it changed and I felt better. No negotiating TV shows or who should handle the remote. I got new linen and luxuriated in a big bed, alone. And most importantly, the dishwasher was stacked properly.

Then I was lonely. Really lonely.

I remember the first night by myself in the house. No ex. No kids. No noise. Exactly what I wanted. But here I was with time and space and I was lost in it all.

Then I did the work. The stuff inside. I devoured books and podcasts and got a new therapist. Ooft, feelings. They’re so overrated. Eventually, I was ready for dating. The last time I’d been on a date was in 1998. Let’s call her Cheryl. Because that’s her name.

Cheryl and I had a coffee date. We chatted, we flirted, we sipped cappuccinos. And then her boyfriend showed up. I have no issue with her having a boyfriend, but I would have preferred that he not be on the date.

Flash forward to 2020. I am dating again. There are no clearly defined lesbian bars in Melbourne. Lots of people my age don’t go out and we were in lockdown so I summoned courage and googled, “How to set up an online dating profile.” I fell asleep and woke to literally hundreds of matches and DMs. 

“Is it really this easy? Was my profile that good?” I thought. No. What I had done was accidentally describe myself in my profile as a unicorn. I DIDN’T KNOW. I meant unicorn in a “whimsical, magical, high-femme, alpha” kind of way. But that’s not what it means on dating apps.

I had all the fears: I’m too old. I don’t look right. Am I enough? Am I too much? I am time-poor. I have kids, and a mortgage, I can’t sleep without a specific pillow. I have a sleep apnoea machine for Christ’s sake. 

For those not in the know, I was accidentally offering to be the third in a sex romp for straight couples. Don’t get me wrong, if threesomes are your thing go for it. But they’re not for me. I don’t even share biscuits.

Determined to keep moving forward, I thought, “This might be better in person,” and signed up for queer speed dating. I had all the fears: I’m too old. I don’t look right. Am I enough? Am I too much? I am time-poor. I have kids, and a mortgage, I can’t sleep without a specific pillow. I have a sleep apnoea machine for Christ’s sake. 

I pulled myself together and shakily walked in on my own. I entered a room of about 50 or so participants. And only one of them was over 30… You’re looking at her. It was the first time in my life that I felt old. 

I came out in 1992 and things were different. Not better – different. There were rules. The irony is, I didn’t like any of the rules and actively bucked against them. I have dated all the genders. When Sinead shaved her head, I grew my hair out. This one is hard to admit, but I didn’t even like Ani DiFranco.

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Young people: your generation is mostly better. You have more role models; you are more accepted; you are more accepting. And you are free to really be who you are, on your terms. It’s glorious. But it also means that alone in a room of you that night, I had no idea what was going on. You even look different. I don’t care how you look, I really don’t – but it struck me. I had this recurring thought: “Where are all the butches?”

Maybe they don’t do speed dating? Maybe it’s the age bracket? Maybe the concept is passé? Did someone round them all up in a Subaru Forester and drop them at a campsite?  Is there a giant Yert being assembled somewhere in central Australia?

Undeterred, I stayed and I went on a series of “dates” with 20-somethings. I started each date by saying, “Obviously we’re not going to date, I could be your mum – Is your mum cute? – but why don’t you tell me your coming out story.” 

Finally, I decided to be proactive and look specifically in my own age bracket. So naturally, I went to Facebook. I had been a Facebook friend with a woman I worked with about 25 years ago. She was intriguing. We messaged a bit, liked each other’s posts and sent memes. ADORABLE. Then it escalated.

We started messaging more in earnest. Once a week, twice a week, 75 times a day. Occasionally one of us would test the waters and ask who the other found hot and in which TV show. THE TENSION.

For the record: Survivor Australia, Dani, Corrections Officer, NSW. “Correct me, Dani, I’ve been very very bad.”

This went on for weeks. Eventually, I was my own damn hero. I wrote her a message saying, “Are we flirting?” She replied, “I think we are.” Well, what do I do now? Do I ask her on a date? Do people date now? Do I need to shave? If so, what bits? Are there guidelines? We were limited to Zoom calls and texts. We flirted. She listened. She found me interesting.

If you’ve been in a relationship of 20 years, I don’t care who you are, you don’t look at each other with fresh eyes. She had fresh eyes. Finally, a rule change permitted “singles bubbles” with a curfew. Yes, my first date in 21 years was in lockdown, at my house, with a 9pm curfew. We talked. And talked. And talked. Women can talk; I’d forgotten that.

Finally, at 8.15pm (she’d arrived at 5pm) I said, “You wanna make out?” (Still got it.) She replied, “Yeah.” And it was on.

Two, fat single mums with some pent-up energy. It. Was. Hot. And then she said, “Nelly, it’s 8.45pm… I better go home to meet the curfew.” And she left. We had one more date and then she decided I wasn’t for her. My first rejection in 21 years. Maybe she didn’t have fresh eyes. Maybe I’m not interesting. But, I was and continue to be my own damn hero. I got up off the mat.

If you’re fearful remember this: it passes. If you’re over 40 remember this: it’s never too late. One day, I promise you, someone will have fresh eyes… and that someone will be you.

A couple of years have passed. I have gotten up and down off that mat many times. I have been in love. I have had my heart broken. I have broken hearts. I’ve had nice dinners and cocktails and kisses on a park bench. And I’ve been on dates that were so boring I tried to tunnel out with a spoon. All of this is part of new growth.

I like myself more now. I know what I bring to the table and I embrace the uncertainty of life because I trust myself.

If you’re fearful remember this: it passes. If you’re over 40 remember this: it’s never too late. One day, I promise you, someone will have fresh eyes… and that someone will be you.

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