We’d climb into bed at night and it was horrible. It was like an imaginary line had been drawn down the middle of the bed. Julie kept to her side and I was sure to stay on mine. She would read every night, and there was always a book between us—a boundary not to be crossed. I’d just get into bed and say, “Good night.”
The kids turned out to be a tremendous source of warmth and affection for both of us during this time. When you have two kids, you’re getting lots of love and yummies. We both got a tremendous amount of hugs and kisses, and the warm sensation that comes with the delight of holding and connecting with another human being. The kids and our animals filled that void in our lives for most of that time.
The new year was approaching and I had two weeks off from the tour. Julie and I decided to spend the time in our house in New Mexico, doing Christmas and ringing in the new year with the kids and some of our closest friends. There was a huge wall around Julie, and an enormous space was building between us. I barely felt that I knew her anymore. She was the woman I was very much in love with, the mother of my children, and I felt as if I couldn’t touch her. The thought of my hand was too much for her to take. When I tried to show her some affection, she would tell me that I was making her feel uncomfortable. I told Julie that I had been giving our relationship a lot of thought and that I deserved someone in my life who would cherish and love me. I asked her if she thought she could be that person. She said, “No.” It was Kathleen all over again. To me, that was it. We were over. This was not the way I had planned to ring in the new year, the new century, and the new millennium. I had so desperately hoped it would all bring a new beginning. I was crushed.
Oh, I cried, and cried, and cried, and cried, and cried, and cried. Inside, I was finally realizing that I deserved to be in love with someone who loved me back. My stand on my own self-esteem was that I deserved to be cherished, and loved, and kissed in the morning, and wanted. I am too young to settle for a loveless, sexless, passionless relationship. It’s not even an age thing. I’m just not ready to quit all of that in my life. I think I can have that someday—a belief I haven’t felt for a very long time.
In a way, I was relieved that we had, at the very least, come to a mutual decision about our future. I told Julie that we’d figure everything out. I wanted her to be happy and I deserved to be happy too. We were still vacationing in New Mexico, and a couple days after our final confrontation, we got our friends Heather and Alex to babysit, and Julie and I went out to dinner. We had a few drinks and then decided to go to an Asian spa right outside of town. We liked to go there from time to time to get a massage, sit in one of the private Jacuzzis that are built in the trees, and relax in a pagoda. As bizarre as it seemed—I don’t know, maybe I am a misogynist, maybe I was a little tipsy, whatever—it seemed right to head up there that night. It was the kind of setting that would surely induce an evening that would end in sex with a regular partner. This kind of night would normally be sexual. I was so confused. We drove home and, sure enough, we had wild, crazy, passionate sex—the kind we hadn’t had in a very long time.
We had finally made a decision to break things off between us. Then, suddenly, I became attractive again to Julie. It was terribly confusing for both of us. I don’t think either of us planned to wake up the next morning under these circumstances, but there we were. In each other’s arms, feeling something that I thought had died a long time ago. Julie said that there was something in me that she hadn’t seen in a long time—something attractive. And, well, maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe it was something in me that was different.
I thought, “Wow! There is something there. But what the hell is it?” What was different this particular night that had been missing for the past three years? I thought that maybe she liked the independence I’d found. Maybe that’s what she thought was new and attractive. We went home to Los Angeles, and we had sex for nine consecutive days. It was great. And it was crazy, and we were confused. It made me seriously question our earlier decision to split. Things were great, and I really don’t know what made them that way. But when February reared its head, the walls started going up again.
In the midst of all of this unsettled emotional turmoil, I was busy trying to promote Breakdown. With this album, more than any other, I felt rather conflicted over the fact that my persona was bigger than my music. As I traveled around the world promoting and touring for the album, people would recognize me everywhere I went. They would tell me that I had made a difference in their lives, whether they were gay or not. What was really hard to take was the heavy focus on who the father of my children was. The attention wasn’t about my music. I was interviewed by David Letterman, Jay Leno, and others, and the only thing anyone wanted to know was: Why wasn’t I talking about who the father of my children is? It was all about this very private thing for Julie, my kids, and me, and the focus was all wrong.
The media love a good secret. There’s a lot of power in possessing a secret like that. Personally, I have never liked secrets. It’s not that I wanted to keep the identity of the father from anyone, I just believed that it was our personal business and no one else’s. It drives people crazy not to know something like this. It’s a natural curiosity. I don’t blame anyone, but, frankly, it was no one else’s business.
I realized that it was bigger than I thought it would be, and, sooner or later, Bailey might be approached by someone and asked about her daddy. I would lose my mind knowing that my daughter was vulnerable in that situation. There was a remote but slight possibility that something I’m not telling the world could actually harm my daughter in some way. That thought just made me crazy. Beckett was too young and not as vulnerable as Bailey when we chose to go public. Her well-being really concerned Julie and me.
The more interviews I did, the closer I got to telling the world. Letterman did a whole segment on the topic the night I was on, in 1998. Dan Quayle was on right before me. I came out, and the first thing David said to me was, “So who is the father of your kids? I’m no anthropologist,” he said. “But, you got two women and two kids and there’s something missing.” The whole time I was on the show, this was all we talked about. Not my new album, which is why I was there in the first place. I like David Letterman. He has always been really kind to me. I use him as an example of how out of control the topic was getting. It was just spinning in a downward motion. He finally said to me, at the end of the last segment, “If I guess, will you tell me?” He’s sitting there thinking. And all I could think of saying was, “All right, it’s Dan Quayle.” My answer got a big laugh and it was great fun, but I left there saying, “Damn. That’s all I am now is a joke about who the father of my children is.” This was not okay.
I’m proud of who the father of my children is. I don’t want a secret hanging over my kids’ heads. Right after Beckett was born, I saw Jann Wenner, the publisher of Rolling Stone magazine, at the “Concert of the Century” in Washington, D.C. in the late fall of 1998. I’ve known Jann for years. He was talking with me at the concert, and I threw out to him the following question: “What if I tell you who the father of my children is?” He looked at me and said, “Really?” And I said, “Yeah. Do you want to know? It’s David Crosby.” He was shocked and thrilled that I had shared this exclusive news with him. The truth is, it was time to reveal our last secret. I asked Jann if he wanted to print the truth in his magazine. He thought it was a spectacular idea.
When I agreed to do the Rolling Stone article, which was the first place we revealed that David Crosby, this musical legend, was the biological father, I was well aware that the issue was to be the first of the new millennium. It would display what the new American family looked like. It was a lifestyle statement. It was a political statement. It was musical in nature because of David and myself, and it certainly was all of us standing in our truth. “Yup, this is what we did.” I liked that we chose Rolling Stone as the place to share our story. It’s a liberal magazine and there was no fear of someone going to interview the Reve
rend So-and-So about samesex marriages and parenting. I knew that Jann would handle the story right. There was a certain safety in that knowledge for me.
David Crosby with my mom
Showing my appreciation to David on stage during a benefit concert in Ojai, California
© 1999 MELISSA ETHERIDGE/PHOTO BY CATHERINE CASTRO
Jan, Julie, David, and me MARK SELIGER © 2001
Jann kept this supersecretive. He allowed only three people in on this covert mission. He wouldn’t even tell the people in his office. Jancee Dunn did the interview with the Crosbys and me, and Mark Seliger took the photographs. Everyone thought it was going to be a Mariah Carey cover. Jann kept the pictures secret. He didn’t want anyone to have a jump on his story. I thought that the article was great and very open, even though, behind the scenes, Julie and I were still in the midst of deciding whether we had a future as a couple. If you read the article, there’s a few lines of, “You know, I don’t know about the future. Relationships are hard; who knows what’s going to happen? It’s a lot of hard work.” That was also the last line of our 60 Minutes II interview with Charlie Rose. (Pretty perceptive producers on that show!) If you really look at those two interviews, you’ll see a little seeping through of what was going on with me—with us.
During subsequent interviews, everyone tried to point out how perfect things seemed in my life. I kept denying that things were perfect. I did an Advocate interview. “It’s not perfect, it’s not all rose-colored glasses.” It was right there in front of everyone’s face. And my new album was shouting to the world. Songs like “Enough of Me,” “My Lover,” and “Stronger Than Me” speak to the problems in my relationship with Julie. I didn’t even recognize the connection or admit to it until I started writing this book. It was a very dark time in my life—a time shrouded in all kinds of denial and desperation.
The revelation of David Crosby’s fatherhood became a source of unending comedic fun. All of the late-night talk shows took a turn at poking fun at us. I knew that we had penetrated the core of the debate on the issue of same-sex parenting, but I didn’t have any clue as to how deep inside the American—and even the global—consciousness we had gone. I thought it would be a little ping on the radar screen and then would dissipate. I was somewhere in Germany during my last European tour, and I couldn’t sleep. I was jet-lagged, so I turned on the television. The Academy Awards were on. Billy Crystal, who was hosting, was spoofing The Sixth Sense, telling different actors and actresses in the audience that he could read minds. He went up to Michael Duncan Clarke, the big guy from The Green Mile, and said, “I see white people.” Big joke; ha ha ha. He saw Annette Bening, who was very pregnant, and he said, “I hope it doesn’t look like David Crosby.” Even my friend Ellen DeGeneres milked it for her red-carpet gig during the Grammy Awards that year. She was standing on the red carpet, interviewing all of the people coming in. She was holding a plastic cup and asking for any donors.
I didn’t mind the jokes; mostly, they were funny. It was crazy and wacky. David has a colorful past anyway, so he was used to it. A comic strip in The Toronto Sun projected a Grammy acceptance speech in the year 2050. It was captioned “The Sons of Crosby” and pictured seven little David Crosbys, with big thick mustaches and balding heads, standing on a stage. They were holding their Grammys and thanking their mom, Melissa Etheridge, and their dad, David Crosby. I actually saved that one.
The End
• • •
BIRTHDAYS ARE HUGE FOR ME. THEY ALWAYS HAVE BEEN. I had my first romantic kiss with a woman on the night of my seventeenth birthday. I moved to Los Angeles on my twenty-first birthday. I swore I’d be signed to a record contract by my twenty-fifth birthday. I never wanted to be the kind of person who moped around on my birthday. I am “Miss Celebrate-Your-Birthday.” After my eighteenth birthday debacle, when my birthday was just forgotten, I decided that I was never going to go through that kind of disappointment on my big day again. Just to make sure that I have fun on my birthday, I throw a big party for myself every year.
My thirty-ninth birthday was coming around, and I realized that I wasn’t happy—not at all. I usually have my astrological chart done every year around my birthday, and that year the astrologer told me that things were going to be insane. She said that my thirty-ninth year was a year of change. All of my planets were lined up and though the years leading up to this one seemed to be sort of slow and boring, my thirty-ninth was going to change all of that. Boy, did it ever!
I remember being in high school and figuring out that in the year 2000, I would be thirty-nine years old. I wondered where I would be and what I’d be doing. As far back as I can remember, I had dreamed of becoming a rock star. Somehow I knew that I would be on stage. I am more comfortable there than I am anywhere else. The stage feels like home to me. I thought that if I could become a famous singer, all of my problems would be solved and I’d be so happy. And I’d fulfilled those dreams. I couldn’t go out in public without being recognized. I had five platinum albums. Someone called me “America’s foremost female rock ‘n’ roller.” I had everything. Except a relationship. As my thirty-ninth birthday snuck up on me, it was time to admit my personal life was in a shambles.
Julie and I had gotten to a point where we couldn’t even say “good night” to each other. All of our emotional walls were up—way up. Our therapist had said that we had gone through a cycle of approaching and avoiding. Meaning, “I only want you if you are not available, and if you’re available, you’re not attractive to me anymore.” We had had years of this kind of back-and-forth emotional pull. I’d be, like, “You want to be together, then here I am. Okay, now you don’t want to be together, so I’ll just go away for a while. Oh, you want me again because I am away? Okay, then, I’m back.” It became a vicious cycle for both of us. Our therapist could pinpoint exactly where we were in our cycle on any given day. She knew our pattern like it was mapped out on a graph. It became completely exhausting for us. I kept going around and around that damn track. I knew that I would have to remove myself from the pattern in order to see things more clearly. And in May of 2000, I finally did.
Julie had been so distant leading up to my birthday. I just thought to myself, “Well, this sucks. I’d rather be alone than wishing for something I will never have in this relationship.” All I could see was that my partner wasn’t looking at me anymore. At my birthday bash, a few days before the actual date, Julie and I had pretended that everything was fine. And I did have fun. Dancing. Body shots. Tequila and cake with all my friends. It was exactly the kind of party it should have been. But, clearly, Julie wasn’t sharing it with me.
When I woke up on the morning of my birthday, Julie wouldn’t even kiss me. She was so distant. I just sat on the back patio, played with the kids, and felt so alone. And whammo! I had an awakening like I had never had before. I decided right there and then that it was time to get off that track. To pull out. The night of my birthday, I decided that I was through. I was no longer going to look out for Julie’s interests over my own. For the first time in our relationship, I put what was good for myself over anything and everyone else. If I wanted to know how I looked, I would have to look in the mirror. If I needed affection, I would find a way to love myself. If I lost weight, I would do it for me.
I woke up the morning after my birthday and thought about what my new life was going to look like. Julie and I were still living together, but that was all we were doing together. That afternoon, I went out and bought myself new clothes. Clothes I liked. Things I felt good in. I was dressing for me for the first time in years.
I no longer felt this need to be committed. I wanted to find someone to connect with and, frankly, just fool around with. A week after my birthday, I had to go to Atlanta for a solo performance. The first night I was there, I went out with a guy friend of mine and, for kicks, we decided to go to a straight bar. It was there that I met a gal, a beautiful blonde, Britney Spears look-alike, wearing this funky cowboy hat. She saw me ac
ross the room, and I looked at her and said, “Give me your hat.” I snatched it right off her head and put it on. We ended up going out all night long, her and her friends and me and mine. We went to a strip club. I’d never been to one! I was, like, “Whoa. I missed out.” And of course the girls in the club recognized me and all of them wanted to dance at our table. It was a crazy good time. The truth is, I wasn’t all that turned on by it. I can imagine that for a guy it would be really great, but for me there was no emotional attachment. It was all very physical. Oh, I enjoyed the attention. I liked having every dancer come up and ask me to do a shot with them or just dance in my face. The funny thing was: I didn’t have any money on me. The owner of the club gave me money to tip the dancers. It was just crazy. They were paying me to be in the club!
Why should I deny myself? Yeah, I wanted to keep my family together, but this physical issue was a very big part of our decision to split. It’s a big part of who I am, and I’m not interested in not having this in my life.
I came home and I told Julie everything. She hated hearing it. I informed her that I intended to spend my summer having a good time and getting myself together. And, once again, my pulling away started the cycle that Julie and I had become so very good at. The further I stepped out of the relationship, the more she wanted me. Suddenly I was desirable again, because I was on my own independent path.
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