Coming Out

A little over a year ago, I wrote the following post.  I feel it is important to share it again, as it is more clear and, perhaps, kind than the last one I wrote.  Thank you to the amazing Jenny Thorup for your help writing this--I couldn't have done it without you, love!  

Remember, love heals and kindness costs you nothing.  

Always, Josh 

Warning: long post ahead.

I feel like I have to say something about the two parts of my life that I think about more than any others. I have been avoiding writing this for a long time, mostly because I've been afraid of the consequences. However, I have felt compelled to write it, so here I am.

They may seem silly or obvious or inconsequential to you, nevertheless they are real and intense for me. So intense that, as I write this, my hands are shaking and my heart is hammering against my chest. The fear of being vulnerable and then getting hurt fills me as I weigh speaking or staying silent - a fear that pinches my throat and makes breathing and thinking difficult. Anxiety over misspeaking rattles inside me as I struggle to find the right words to adequately and accurately express my thoughts and feelings. My fight/flight/freeze response is kicking in and I have to consciously keep myself in my chair, will myself to keep writing, and fight my instincts. Instincts that tell me to run away from this post, discard it, or "take a break" (read hide) from it. However, I believe that there is value in doing difficult things, so I shall sit here in my discomfort and ask your indulgence as I struggle to express myself.

To give appropriate context for why I want to talk about this, I have to say something that I have avoided saying publicly for years now. Here it goes...

*Takes deep breath*

I'm gay.

I can hear that echoing in my mind and in my heart. I have resisted saying so because, for a long time, I didn't want it to be true. I didn't want to have that be a part of me. I wanted to be blissfully and blessedly “normal”. I thought that, if I denied or ignored it long enough, it would go away. And, for more years than I care to admit, I have hated myself for it. Let me explain why this is. To do so, I will have to talk about another part of me that, by all measures, doesn't get along with my sexuality. It is my membership in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I grew up in an actively Latter-day Saint household. There was never any discussion of “other lifestyles” without their swift condemnation. Therefore, until I was in junior high, I had no idea what “gay” was except that I did not want to be it and the church did not support it. These teachings were accompanied by the modeling of appropriate responses to stereotypical homosexual behavior, which would often become the butt of a joke or warrant commentary such as, “did you see that guy? He was floating so far off the ground!” Circumstances that were considered undesirable would often warrant the exclamation, “that’s so gay!” Perhaps the most damaging message came from a discussion of some sort of homosexual behavior seen on television. Commenting on the show, the phrase, “ugh, it [gay behavior] just grosses me out” was said over and over again. When I asked why, the response was, “it is just gross, disgusting, evil, and wrong.” By 12 years old, I had been programmed to think homosexuality and the people who “practiced” it, were not only bad, but evil. This perspective, of course, has changed over time, and the world is, luckily, far more accepting now than when I was a child. However, one thing stayed internalized—whatever being gay was, I shouldn’t want to be it.

As I grew up, I could tell I was different from other boys around me—I was more sensitive and liked spending time with the girls in my grade. However, these differences made me hate myself because I was different, and I became depressed at a very young age. My familial and church cultures made it necessary for me to hide my growing homosexual feelings. I had become curious about what “gay” was and, not surprisingly, my parents found out. They needled me asking if I was gay. However, the questions were asked in such a way that I believed any answer but the negative would have been incorrect. To their credit, my parents did say that they would love me no matter what. This gave me hope that, somehow, everything would be alright. I was still terrified that someone might find out about me, so I pretended to be straight as much as I could, even without knowing I was doing it. Eventually, I got so good at shoving my feelings down and I managed to hide in the closet so well that I lost myself. I thought I had “recovered.”

I served a mission and grappled with my sexuality the whole time, and my missionary work suffered from it. However, after serving the whole two years without too much of a problem, I figured I would be OK to follow the LDS template of getting married and having children. I started dating my girlfriend from high school and, try as I might, I did not feel comfortable pursuing anything more than dating. I began slowly coming out to close friends who I felt I could trust and get their perspective on my conflicting LDS and LGBT identities. They were kind, full of love, and wanted me to be happy. For many of them, however, happiness meant maintaining activity in the church and choosing God over dating men.

I wanted to hear this because it made me feel terrible, and I felt that I deserved to feel terrible. For, if I was going to do something against God’s wishes, shouldn’t I feel terrible? And if I choose to sacrifice the desires of my heart and choose God for the wrong reason, shouldn’t I still feel terrible? I wanted to feel bad, because I thought that I should, and I could see no other alternative. This deepened my self-hatred and supercharged the negative feedback loop my life had become. Church ceased to be a source of strength for me. Instead, it became an albatross I hung around my neck to drag me down. I did not get any better and I felt less than human and somehow that felt right. I felt alone and that I would always be alone—especially with the secret I was guarding so closely from so many.

For the next few years I weaved back and forth with my activity in the church and I began dating men. Unfortunately, this put a strain on my relationship with my parents. They, understandably, were against my decision to openly date men. Our ideas of what would be best for me and my happiness did not align. I did not know where to go for help. There were—and are—lots of resources available for my LDS and LGBT identities individually, but hardly any to help me navigate the two of them together or to help me figure out how they interacted. How could such shockingly opposite pieces of me get along? I felt that I was too LDS to be gay and too gay to be LDS.

I knew that I couldn’t stay caught up in the negative feedback loop of self-loathing and self-hatred. In trying to live two lives, I was developing a bitterness toward God and His Son for which I hated myself just as much as for my sexuality. I was beginning to wonder if life was worth living and thought about suicide several times. To be healthy and to heal, I knew something had to give. I had tried to cut my sexuality out and it did more damage than good. So, I have decided to embrace it. In the time since that decision, I have felt peace and healing. The connection I have with myself and with God have improved and become more tender and more real. I no longer feel the need to hide from Him or that I have to earn His love by my perfect actions. I don’t have to be “normal” or straight to have my Father in Heaven love me and bless me for being the loving, gentle, and tender man that I am. Indeed, I believe I would not be these things if I had been born any other way. I am the same me that I’ve always been, just a little more authentically and a little more visibly. So here I am, it’s nice to meet you. This is me! *cue music*