A year ago, I took the plunge into living more authentically by publicly coming out as gay on this blog. To honor my anniversary, I thought I would tell more of my life experiences chronologically and share where I am now. This post builds off of my coming-out post.
If I were writing an academic article, I would be scolded for not having a thesis. But this is just a frivolous little blog, so I can do what I want.
Early Years and Elementary School
Even before I really knew the differences between boys and girls, I was always more attracted to boys, and not just for the usual, "eww, cooties!" reason. I spent a lot of time looking at this picture in a children's science book we had.
Early on in kindergarten, I totally had a crush on a boy in my class. (In 2013, I remembered his name being Wesley, so let's go with that.) I had no concept of crushes or gayness, but I just loved Wesley. We did show-and-tell on the same day, so one day we were sitting on chairs in front of the class, waiting for everyone to gather. I kept kissing him on the cheek, and he pretended that the piano was kissing him and kept getting mad at the piano. Some of our classmates were watching this and thought it was hilarious. I also invited him to my birthday party. I threw a tantrum and hid under my bed, and when the other kids came to get me, I would yell at them—but when Wesley came, I was very nice to him.
I was probably in second or third grade when my mom explained to me that "gay" meant when a man loved another man. She didn't explain what was wrong with that, but I just understood it was very bad.
In fifth grade, we had a maturation program where they explained that we would get taller, grow more hair, and start to notice girls. I remember thinking, "Well, that part definitely hasn't happened to me yet." My classmates would talk about their crushes and the people they liked. I arbitrarily and awkwardly decided I liked a girl, because I really admired her. But of course I didn't actually "like" her.
Junior High
In junior high, things started to click. I had dreams about boys and men, and I didn't see girls in the same way the other boys did. For example, in seventh grade there was a school assembly where the boys sat on one side of the gym and the girls sat on the other side. One boy nearby said, "It's a good view from here," referring to the view of the girls. But I really didn't care about the view.
In ninth grade, I started seminary with a conservative, fundamentalist teacher. I had always been a Goody Two-Shoes, but I only ramped up my righteousness in ninth grade.
I was an astonishingly weird, awkward kid. In one of my most shameful moments, I said to myself, "I'm sick of being weird. I want to be normal. And normal boys like kissing girls." So I tried to forcibly kiss a girl because I thought it would be funny or cool. (I picked her because we were in a play together, and she had to "kiss" me in the play.) I didn't realize it was bad until a friend asked me seriously, "Did you really try to kiss [the girl]?" I think I am more embarrassed by this incident than anything else in my life.
Today the Church teaches that being gay is not a sin, but acting on it is. I have major issues with that. But when I was young, I didn't even get that messaging. I just got that being gay itself was evil.
In the summer between ninth and tenth grade, I was really contemplating whether I was gay, and of course I thought it was horrible if I was gay. I remembered my childhood experiences, but I tried to rationalize them away. I didn't really like Wesley; I just thought he had a cool mullet. Those experiences I had at five still resonate with me, but five-year-olds aren't gay or straight. They're just kids. So if those things still resonate with me, it just means I have the mind of a five-year-old. I'm just not fully developed yet.
So I prayed about it, and I believed that I received personal revelation that I wasn't gay. This state of denial protected me through painful moments in a homophobic world.
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| "This past Sunday I got a Patriarchal Blessing interview and the recommend. I told the bishop a secret that I haven't written about in case someone read it. For a while I've wondered if I was gay. I'd prayed about it, but not received an answer that was sufficient. Sometimes I felt I was and sometimes I wasn't. When I think back, the times I felt I wasn't seemed like more spiritual inspired thoughts. But I was still unsure. Logic—and a desire not to be so—would try to convince me: 'If this, then this...but if that, then that.' So I thought 'maybe I need to tell the bishop, and then my prayer will be answered'. So I did. And that very night I got my answer. It was a bit of inspired logic. It made more sense than anything I'd thought of before, and was hard to contradict. I'm not! :) I'm just immature." The fact that I felt a need to tell the bishop indicates that I thought it was inherently sinful. |
During this time, there were lots of debates about gay marriage. Though I certainly was homophobic, I didn't understand why the Church should oppose gay marriage, even if I didn't think it was right.
High School
I entered tenth grade with the belief that I was just immature, and there were all kinds of things to remind me of that. I had a theater class that was mostly girls, and on the first day of class, before any of the other boys had arrived, they asked if I liked being surrounded by all those girls. I nodded, because I knew it was the only acceptable answer.
My second seminary teacher in tenth grade said some homophobic things. There was another school in the Salt Lake Valley that had selected a gay couple as "cutest couple" in the yearbook, and the teacher said the school was going to hell. Once there was an entire lesson devoted around the topic "Can someone be born gay?" He was saying that no, it was a choice. I kept insisting that yes, someone can be born gay. (I wasn't going to share that I had wondered if I was gay but received personal revelation that I wasn't.) At the end of the lesson, he made a clarification: someone might be born with same-gender attraction, but they couldn't be born gay. That was the first time I had ever heard a distinction between gay and same-gender attraction (which I think is a dubious distinction now).
In eleventh grade, some girls were talking about a boy in our grade, saying he was very attractive. I remember thinking, "Yes, he is, but why would I know that?" And there were all kinds of messages that something was wrong with me—literally. The Davis County Clipper published an article that complained about the revealing outfits of the waitresses at the French restaurant La Caille. They quoted a man saying, "Every teenage boy is going to feel something when he sees those outfits, and if he doesn't, there is something very, very wrong." I had been to La Caille with my French class, and I didn't feel anything about the outfits. So was something "very, very wrong" with me?
I still hoped that one day I would like girls, even though it became less likely with every passing day. I didn't go on any dates or go to any dances, because I wasn't interested in girls, and also because I convinced myself that everybody hated me.
Mission
I entered the mission as an exceedingly weird guy, still in denial about being gay. My MTC companion put up a picture of his sister, who was a professional dancer. The other elders would come in and say, "Who is that!?" But I wasn't interested in her picture. I would say that I didn't like pretty girls; I only liked homely girls. Now I see that as a bizarre and problematic thing to say. Part of it was that I knew I wasn't a great catch myself, so the pretty girls were out of my league. (After all, TV and society in general portrayed men as selfish, smelly, ugly slobs.) But also, I wasn't interested in any girls, so pretty or homely didn't make much difference to me.
I was on my mission during Proposition 8. Whereas I had been ambivalent about gay marriage in 2004, now that I was a missionary, I thought, "Well, if the Church is against gay marriage, I guess I am too now!" I heard—and, unfortunately, said—many homophobic messages. I had one companion who came out as gay a few years after coming home and left the Church. I had another companion who I'm pretty sure is asexual, but he would have a hard time admitting that.
When I had four or five months left on my mission, my companion said something to me about when I would see my wife topless—and then he said, "Because I know you'd like that." I remember thinking, "You know, I really wouldn't care to see my wife topless. I'm twenty years old, closer to twenty-one. If I ever was going to be attracted to women, it probably would have happened by now."
And yet, I remained homophobic. With my last companion, we were looking at a CD that had six men on the cover, and I said, "They all look like a bunch of fags." He said, "That's the worst language I've ever heard you use!" Then he told me about a family friend who was gay and said he had no problem with that. I was surprised and a little disgusted that a faithful Church member would be OK with gay people. I feel really sad that I was essentially taught to hate gay people—which literally means I was taught to hate myself.
When I had my exiting interview with my mission president, we talked about marriage. I expected I would get married in my late twenties, since I knew I wasn't interested in marrying any time soon.
College and Beyond
I began college at BYU with pressure to date, even though it wasn't something I was really interested in. And I also had a hard time believing someone could be interested in me. I didn't go on my first date until I had been home from my mission for more than a year.
I went on a few dates with a girl I had met in my first year at BYU. Since I hadn't really had friends and I wasn't interested in girls, I didn't know what romance was supposed to feel like. Eventually, I stumbled across her blog (which she did not publicly share), and I found a post in which she said that all the men who were interested in her were "WEIRD. Really, really weird." I knew from context that I was one of the weird guys. (In fairness, she also said, "They are all good guys, and all friends." And also in fairness, I was [am?] "really, really weird.") I was really embarrassed, so I never saw her again. I feel sad that I lost a friend because I mistook friendship for romantic feelings, since I was never allowed to experience what romance was supposed to feel like.
In the spring of 2012, there was a viral post by Josh Weed about being in a mixed-orientation marriage. I thought, "Yes, that's what I want to do! If he can make it work, I can make it work too!"
They received a lot of flak for telling their story. I believe they did not deserve all the anger; they had a right to tell their story. But I will say that their story set up unrealistic expectations for me and the way I planned to live my life. I was devastated when they got divorced six years later—if it didn't work for them, could it really work for me?
In August 2012, I bought Kelly Clarkson's Stronger CD (because of course that's what a gay guy in the early 2010s does). That CD had the song "Dark Side," and I imagined that one day I would tell my girlfriend or fiancée about my own "dark side" of being gay. The CD also had a song with the lyric "Some pretty legs go by, your gaze is wandering," and I just couldn't imagine gazing at a woman's legs. That was the same day I first came out to my mom.
I dated sporadically in college. During this time, I began to realize that a lot of the arguments against same-sex marriage were not very convincing.
After College
After college, I set up quotas and goals for dating. It wasn't something I wanted to do or enjoyed doing, but I knew it was something I "should" do.
During this period, I passed as straight. (In 2018, I even had a very gay man set me up with his woman friend.) There were two times I know of where people wondered: In 2015, a guy in my ward seemed concerned that I wasn't more interested in girls, and he asked, "Do you have same-sex attraction?" The friend in the car with us looked at him like, "Why would you ask that!?" I just didn't respond, because of course the answer was yes, but I wasn't ready to out myself. And in 2017, my mom's long-lost uncle (who is gay) came for a visit, and he asked her if she wondered if I was gay, since I was in my late twenties and unmarried.
In November 2015, the infamous "policy of exclusion" came out. My mom asked me how I was feeling in light of it. We had never talked about me being gay since August 2012. I was surprised she remembered our conversation three years later, but I guess you don't forget something like that. I told her that I didn't consider myself gay (since there was a distinction being gay and having same-sex attraction), so I didn't feel personally affected. I came to the conclusion that the policy was done with good intentions, but it was misguided. That's approximately how I feel about it now, but I'm glad I was in a state of denial to protect me from the hurt it would have caused me.
In late 2017 and early 2018, I went on many dates with a wonderful woman. If I had been straight, we would have been considered boyfriend and girlfriend. Or, on the other hand, if I had been straight, I would have recognized that we were incompatible and would have quit dating her sooner. But since I wasn't interested in women, I liked her as much as I would have liked anyone, and I felt comfortable with her.
In February 2018, we were going on a day trip to southern Utah. A few days before the trip, I remember feeling just horrible. What if, during our long car ride, she talked about getting more serious? What would I tell her? I didn't want to give up on dating her, but I also knew nothing was clicking. I said to my mom, "As much as I try to deny it, I really do experience same-sex attraction." But it was still my deepest, darkest secret, so I wasn't comfortable talking about it.
During our trip, we stopped in the Cedar City Temple. I remember sitting in the initiatory room and feeling inspired that I needed to quit dating her. This was sad for me, because she was great, and if I couldn't marry her, then who could I marry? But I knew it was right, because neither of us deserved to be in a marriage where I couldn't authentically care for her. I never went on a date with her again. (I recently took her to dinner to explain all of this.)
In the spring of 2019, the Church reversed the policy of exclusion. I just felt confused. Dallin H. Oaks called the new position "very positive policies," so did that mean they weren't positive when they were introduced less than four years earlier?
That year was my last year in the YSA ward. I remember feeling dark many times that year, because time was running out for me to find someone. I felt horrible before I had a date with a friend, because I knew I only liked her platonically, I never liked any girls more than platonically, and I didn't know if I ever would. But my goal was to find someone, a goal that became less and less sustainable.
At the beginning of the pandemic in March 2020, I went on my final date with a woman. (I actually asked her out again in October 2021, but she never responded to my message. Pro tip: responding "no" is almost always better than not responding at all.) I was glad to have a pandemic and grad school as excuses not to date. In the fall of both 2020 and 2021, I listed my orientation as "questioning" on the University of Utah's student surveys. I'm glad I was self-aware enough not to call myself straight, even though I wasn't ready to come to terms with being gay yet.
And then 2022 happened. I realized that every time I thought about dating and marrying women and living a heteronormative lifestyle, it just stressed me out. When I saw weddings on TV, I simply couldn't imagine being happy on my wedding day. And I realized that one of my motivations for dating was just so that I would have something to report on when relatives nagged me about dating. (One of a multitude of reasons why you should never nag people about dating!)
In a period of eight months, I went from planning to find a wife to publicly coming out as gay. That was a substantial shift in a short amount of time. It was honestly the most painful year of my life, even though I had a lot of good things going for me.
The Last Year
Over the last year, I have begun to experience a truer life as a gay man. I have talked about being gay on this blog and elsewhere, though I find that I still tiptoe around it. I have been collecting more rainbow things. I joined a midsingles ward and mentioned being queer in a sacrament meeting talk. (As far as I know, I'm the only queer person who is out in my ward.) I have made a variety of friends in the gay Latter-day Saint community, from the Gather conference and Lift + Love meetings.
I began attending group therapy with other gay men. We're all working on recovering from a lifetime of shame.
I have been on a date with a man. You know how if you're using a flashlight with old batteries, it doesn't work very well? But then you put fresh batteries in, and you're like, "Oh, that's how it's supposed to work"? For me, dating women was like using old batteries in a flashlight, and dating men is like using fresh batteries.
I simply do not and cannot believe that the Church's current LGBTQ+ policies come from God. Their reasons and explanations keep changing, because their old reasons don't hold up to scrutiny, and I don't think their current ones hold up either. It's easier for me to believe in Church leaders who get things wrong (which we see all throughout the scriptures and Church history) than it is for me to believe in a God who would set me up to fail. Even if I do everything the Church asks me to, I will still never be good enough—I will die alone, I will never be a bishop or a general authority, I might not be exalted, and I will spend my entire life sitting through lessons about how great and important it is to have a family, but not for me. I have to make more sacrifices for fewer blessings.
- God creates gay people, who make up 3 to 10 percent of the population. Does he really expect them to be alone forever?
- I am not allowed to have a family because of a document that is literally called "The Family."
I'm not looking for a relationship right now. But if I happened to meet the right man, I think I'd be willing to marry him, despite the consequences. I think God would be OK with that, even if it would not be OK with current Church leaders.
Thanks
I want to thank everyone for how supportive and loving you have been. If anyone has not been supportive of me coming out, they have kept their thoughts to themselves.
I ask again that you not share links to my blog online. And if you want to share it with an individual person, please ask me first. I know of at least three instances where people shared my coming-out post last year without asking me, and it bothered me more than I expected.
And some of you have felt/might feel a well-meaning desire to share quotes from general authorities about the celestial kingdom or other things. Before you do, I invite you to consider whether you are mourning with me and making my burdens light, or whether you are trying to make yourself feel better by not grappling with the dissonance I face. Well-meaning comments can come across as dismissive straightsplaining.
As always, if you have questions, feel free to reach out.
Thank you!
