The Inevitable Coming-Out Story

A few years back, I asked Amy, “Who was the hardest person for you to come out to?” We were standing in line at Disneyland surrounded—or nearly so—by heterosexual couples and families (as per usual.) Every once in a while my minority status becomes suddenly, startlingly clear, and I find myself needing to talk about something gay as a means of clearing breathing room for myself in a world that stifles. Anyway, Amy didn’t hesitate before answering: “Oh, my mom. Hands-down.”

But her story, fascinating as it is (And it really is a good one. Maybe I’ll tell you some time) isn’t the point of this post. The point is my own experience. You know how sometimes you ask someone a question just so they’ll ask you the same question back? “What’d you think of that movie?” you ask coyly, hoping they’ll answer briefly and then return the question. Because, while you’re not uninterested in the other person’s opinion—really you’re dying to share your own. Well, that was my motivation in asking Amy, only we got so caught up in her answer that I never said mine. So here it is:

The hardest person for me to come out to was myself.

That doesn’t mean that it was easy coming out to my parents, or to my siblings, or to the half a handful of bishops whose offices I sat in early in my journey. None of those experiences was a walk in the park, and each of them left me shaken and tearful. But the truth is, they were nothing compared to my highest hurdle: admitting it to me.

I started “figuring things out” about myself when I was eighteen, right around the same time my four-year romance with marijuana was waning and my interest in the Church was suddenly piqued. Sobriety made me beholden to some things about myself that I hadn’t recognized before, among them, the fact that I liked girls more than boys. A lot more. As I wrote in my journal back then, “it was like I suddenly realized there was an alternative [to liking boys] and the alternative was so much more appealing.”

In spite of the incredible allure of women, the Gospel won out, and I found myself immersed in the Church in a way I hadn’t been since I was a kid. I caught a bad case of missionary fever then, and spent the next years preparing to serve some place exotic and thrilling (like Outer Mongolia or Guam. Or Seattle. At least I got to speak Spanish.)  I did a little bit of therapy with LDS Social Services, fell in love and got my heart broken, and, as far as I could tell, left my unwanted attraction to women behind. Flawless Victory. As I went into the mission field, overcoming “SSA*” became one of a list of things I’d accomplished in my life: finished high school early, check; quit smoking weed, check; started exercising, check; stopped liking girls, check.

When I came home, though, that illusion came tumbling down. With my mission now behind me, the only thing I had to look forward to was marriage. To a boy. Imminently. I mean, in the Church there’s an inevitable order of things, right? You move through the successive growing-up milestones (nursery to primary to Young Women or Young Men), graduate high school and do a little bit of college, go on a mission (this is optional if you’re a girl, but for me it was the only option), come home and get married, have some kids and the process starts all over again.

Meanwhile, it turned out I still liked girls just as much as before. Maybe even more, in fact, because I no longer had the fervor of mission prep to stifle my feelings. And school and work weren’t enough to fill my suddenly barren post-mission days, so me and those feelings spent a lot of time together. Staring at each other, feeling each other out, trying to see who was stronger.

So who was stronger? (wink) You’ll have to wait until next time to find out, because this post is…To Be Continued

*“same-sex attraction,” or what I now call “being gay”

A Peculiar Life

In the scriptures, disciples of Christ are referred to as “a peculiar people.” This is a phrase Latter-Day Saints have taken and run with. We’ve sung songs about it, written articles about it, quoted it in General Conference. On lds.org it comes up with more than a hundred hits. Thing is, it’s the truth in so many ways: As Mormons, we have peculiar customs and symbols, peculiar ceremonies and rites of passage, even our own peculiar terminology and intonation. Stateside church buildings almost universally have a stage and a basketball court as part of a burlap-walled “cultural hall,” (bizarre if you really think about it) and 12- to13-year-old girls in the youth group program are referred to as “Beehives” (which, given the buzzy, busy nature of girls at that age, maybe isn’t so strange after all). Monthly church meetings invariably include women crying from the pulpit and kids “burying their testimonies.”

On a more serious level, there are also wise but rigorous standards of conduct that impact everything from health to finances to sexual behavior. And there is a level of service-oriented (read: unpaid) commitment for active members that may rival that of a full-time job. In fact, for missionaries, such service becomes a full-time occupation: during those eighteen to twenty-four months, your entire life revolves around the Church. In a culture that reveres secular living, what could be more peculiar than that?

Here’s something: Try being gay on top of it all. Try growing up crushing wildly on your youth leaders—so that your whole family knows and thinks there’s something wrong with you. Try gulping down doubt and anxiety as you attempt to teach temple marriage to a family of investigators on your mission—while, in the back of your mind, questioning your own conviction. Try coming home from said mission feeling like you’ve conquered your issues with sexuality—only to find yourself in the distinctly peculiar position of needing to say a prayer before English class each week that the girl across the room won’t notice you staring. Now try living a life where you can neither embrace nor deny the gospel that has lit your life since birth. That’s peculiar.

Members of the Church certainly don’t have a corner on the market of peculiarity (I mean, look at Amish lifestyles or Catholic canonizations*?) nor is the peculiarity of being a lesbian who tries to follow Christ exclusive to my experience. But it’s enough to render this life of mine pretty complicated—a life that has run the gamut from full-fledged rebellion to ardent conversion to my current unenviable place of spiritual ambivalence. Here’s hoping I get things figured out one day!

*This is meant in an entirely light-hearted, affectionate way: I mean, “Some of my best friends are Catholic!”

The Point of It All

As I sit down to (finally) start this thing, it is with a keen mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Ten years after coming out to myself—which is about eleven years after it should have been fairly obvious to someone as introspective as I am—I’m still trying to reconcile my religious background (Mormon) and my sexuality (lesbian). (Obviously, or there’d be no need for reconciliation.) This, I’ve discovered, is a process not unlike conversion itself: an explosively amazing experience followed by a whole lot of work.

But before I get too deep into my own experiences, some disclaimers:

• I am not blogging as a representative of all gay Mormons. In fact, after perusing some other blogs, it seems I’m quite different: I neither abhor so-called “SSA” nor the Church. They are both part of who I am. That being said…

• I do not consider myself to be only gay or only Mormon—or even mostly either of those things. I am also an auntsisterpartnerdaughterteacherfriendreaderwriterartistdreamerthinkertraveller and I could go on. The gay thing and the Mormon thing just happen to be the two parts of me that are in the most conflict.

• And speaking of conflict, I am not writing this to stir up any bitterness or negativity towards the Church. I credit the Church with bringing a lot of light into my life, and while my feelings are inherently conflicted, I don’t want to create external conflict.

• One more thing: I don’t pretend that my life, joyful though it is, is a template for others to follow. I don’t believe that I have all the answers or that my “lifestyle” (which is much more similar to that of my sisters than to, say, the cast of “The Real L Word”) is right for everyone in my situation. Please don’t read this any other way.

When I told my younger sister about this enterprise, she said “You realize you’ll be opening yourself up to criticism.” I do, and that’s where the trepidation comes in. I’m out to my family, my friends, my colleagues, my students. I feel like I’m out to the world…but then there’s the Church. Most of the people I grew up with have probably heard things through the grapevine or figured out my situation on their own (I’m halfway through thirty and there’s been no wedding reception; that says a lot in this culture.), but because of those who maybe haven’t, there’s an element of nervousness I feel. Isn’t that funny? All those years and miles between us, and I still don’t want to disappoint people.

Well, enough self-disclosure for tonight. More to come.