My Adolescence: Doors In the Walls of Memory

I have always been envious of people who seemingly can remember with ease detailed memories from their childhood. My sister-in-law is one such person. It never ceases to amaze me the things she can remember about her and Mark’s childhood, as if the past is always present, just at the end of her fingertips.

For me, my childhood has always been a distant land full of fortresses and locked doors. I know that this is largely due to the fact that I had an abusive childhood, and pain is best locked away rather than relived. I didn’t make this decision consciously, to lock away the pain and the memories that went with it. Rather, this decision was made long, long ago by my subconscious. It knew what was best for me. It knew that there were certain things that needed to be locked away and others that deserved to be locked away

Away. Away.

Later in my life, I joined the efforts of my subconscious mind when I joined the Mormon Church. There was so much of my past that seemed shameful, not the least of which was my closeted homosexuality. My solution to this was to look at my past through a Mormon lens, reinterpreting and filing away that which was unpleasant or unseemly. In consequence, I lost still more memory.

Still later in my life, I came to a point where I had to deal in some way with the abuse of my childhood. Memories seemed to explode out of me; not in my mind and memory, but in my body, e.g.. heart palpitations, flinging my arms up in front of my face to protect it from the belt. At first, I couldn’t understand what was happening. Then, I understood, thanks in large part to an incredible physician who was also a very wise counselor. 

I searched for memories of abuse and found that other memories, good ones, had been locked away with the bad ones. It was if I stood before a fortress of memory. No matter how many times I pounded on the door, it refused to budge. There was no answer from the other side.

I turned to my older siblings. I had never talked with them about what had happened, nor had they with me. We had never sat down together, all five of us, to speak truth (nor would we ever do so). We all hid it away – until I started making phone calls. Even then, it was difficult to speak of it; but they did. Some of my own memories returned. Most – stubbornly – lay locked away. Finally, I turned in sadness and walked away.

When I came out in the fall of 2010, I returned once more to the fortress and knocked. For the first time in my life, through the medium of my Invictus Pilgrim blog, I took off the “Mormon lens” and wrote honestly and openly of my sexuality and how it had all began – at least of what I could remember. I started with my childhood then progressed through my adolescence to early adulthood. 

But there was only so much I could remember. Unfortunately, the period in which I went through puberty was also the period in which my parents were going through a very messy and painful separation that would eventually lead to their divorce. Because of this, those two years seemed unreachable in my memory, no matter how hard I tried to remember - until the last couple of weeks. 

A couple of months ago, I began working in earnest on a memoir of the year I came out. I knew the first couple of chapters would be the most difficult to write since they would delve into my past. I finished a rough draft of the chapter dealing with the period from the time I joined the Mormon Church until I got married. 

Then, I turned to an even more difficult chapter – that recounting how I came to realize that I was attracted to boys instead of girls and how I “dealt” with this knowledge over the course of the next 12 years of my life. Once again, I went back to the land of memory and knocked on the fortress door. Still locked. Still no answer.

This time, however, I decided to walk around the perimeter of the fortress to see if there was another door. I found one, turned the knob and pushed. To my surprise, it opened. A few “fresh” memories came back. I started exploring and found that I had found an outer ring in the fortress’ defenses. Soon, I found another door. It was locked, but I walked on until I found another one. It opened, disclosing more memories.

And so it has gone over the course of the past couple of weeks. It’s difficult for me to express how much this progress means to me. It has not only brought increased understanding of the little gay boy I was (unbeknownst to me at the time); it has also brought joy at remembering and hope that more will yet be divulged. 

Though I know that the past will never be at my fingertips as it is with Mark’s sister, I have hope that the day will come when it will be much closer to hand and I won’t be afraid of it anymore.

Mixed-Orientation Marriages: Falling Away

I keep noticing that one post I did a year ago entitled A Callous Dumbing Down of Mixed-Orientation Marriages keeps getting a lot of page views every month. Because of this, I am republishing a post that was originally posted on my Invictus Pilgrim blog (now closed) in hopes that it may benefit someone.

***********

James is a gay Mormon man in a mixed-orientation marriage who recently wrote to me. What follows is part of James’ story. You will see that I have asked for input from readers. Please reach out to James through your comments. He could use our support.

“I am in my early 40’s, and my story is typical of others I have read about.  As you blogged this week in behalf of "Dave", I found myself reading the responses with great anticipation to finding the answer to my identical questions.  I must say that I found quite a bit of clarity within the responses; however, I'm still longing for someone to tell me that it will all be ok and that I will find favor with God pursuing a gay lifestyle.”

Question to Readers: I would like to invite readers to share comments and their own experiences of how (a) they came to a point where they received assurance that God is “ok” with their gayness or (b) they came to a point where they decided they neither wanted or needed divine “approval” of their gay identity.

“I, like many of your readers, grew up knowing that I was different. I wanted to be like the other guys who were so masculine and athletic but I always fell short. I wanted to be attracted to women but it just didn't happen. I, too, went on a mission after bargaining with the Lord that I would give him my very best for two years in order to be freed from the clutches of my gayness. I worked my ass off and the day I left my mission, I knew it would never go away. What a ginormous letdown.”

Question to Readers:  Did anyone else go on a mission with similar feelings, hoping that the mission experience would get ride of same-sex attraction? What was your experience?

“I continued to keep my dark little secret, no one knew, but plenty of people speculated. I attended BYU under the assumption that living in that controlled environment would help my situation. It didn't, it made it worse. I dated woman after woman, hoping to find someone who, if she found out my deep dark secret, would have some level of compassion and understanding.

“I never told my soon-to-be wife about my attraction to men. I had the misguided belief that for this marriage to work I had to jump in, feet first and NEVER look back. 

Question to Readers:  I certainly had the same approach to marriage, believing that I had to give it my all, including my Self, in order for me to experience “success”, i.e., in spite of my gayness.  Can anyone else relate/share their experience?

“The woman I married was intellectual, stunningly beautiful, full of optimism and a very faithful Mormon. Her father taught her to be loving and non-judgmental. At the time I thought it was a perfect fit, especially if I ended up coming out of the closet: I figured that if she ever did find out about the real me, there would be some level of understanding and she would be successful at finding someone else. I never told her about my attraction to men.  I deceived her and everyone else, including myself, all under the premise that if I followed the prophet, I wouldn't be led astray. What a crock!

“About three years ago, a perfect storm formed and I just couldn't resist my natural urges anymore. I indulged in an unforgettable affair with an unforgettable man. We fell in love. He, too, was married but gay.  e sought opportunities to spend time together, fell in love and shared intimacy in a way neither of us had ever experienced. 

“Eventually, my wife discovered the affair and the identity of my lover. She threatened to expose him to his wife if he ever contacted me again, and that was the end. She then went to our bishop and our stake president and, not content to stop there, told her parents and her siblings and, for good measure, not one but two general authorities. The closet door was flung wide open. There I stood, naked, vulnerable, exposed and very, very frightened while feeling the enormous loss of losing the precious love I had discovered! 

“For her part, my wife was crushed, disappointed and heartbroken. She thought that the “problem” was with her and that she had driven me to have a gay affair. She begged me to stay for various reasons, none of them particularly healthy. We seriously considered divorce; however, primarily for the sake of our children, for financial reasons and, particularly in the case of my wife, for the sake of appearances in our conservative, close-knit Mormon community, we decided to stay together.

“Two years later, I continue to live a double life filled with inauthenticity and deceit - knowing that I am gay but pretending to be something I’m not - in order to protect those around me from the pain, shame and disappointment that would come from me leaving the marriage. As a result, I have dealt with extreme emotional despair including depression, raging anger, fear, hopelessness, more anger, injustice, betrayal by God, betrayal by the church, anxiety. . . . and so on. I even considered driving my car under a semi truck on the freeway in order to escape the bone crushing pressure and pain.  But, as I thought of my children, I reconsidered and decided to stick around.

“Then there is the letting go of a testimony and tradition of the LDS church. As a result of my wife's anger and her uncovering my secret, I was disfellowshipped from the church and remain so.  I have worked a life time to understand and embrace even when it flies in the face of all conscious reasoning and logic.  I was dedicated to the church in every way, one of its finest members by way of loyalty and service.  My testimony of the “church” is completely destroyed.  I have a testimony in the Gospel of Jesus Christ as it relates to . . . well, Jesus Christ; however, anything institutional I just don’t buy into anymore.  How can something that is supposed to be so right be so corrupting and wrong? 

“I feel like this situation is impossible and that there is no good resolution. There are other problems in our marriage that have contributed to an almost hopeless situation. On some days I feel like giving up. Honestly, I am not living my life day by day anymore; I am now hour by hour. I have lost everything - career, homes, businesses, self confidence, self actualization. The only thing I have going for me right now is my family. On the one hand, I cannot bear to change my circumstances any more than they already are or are about to become. On the other hand, both my wife and I are miserable." 

Question to Readers:  Have any of you come to the point where you knew you couldn’t go on “the way you weren’t” and, though seemingly insane and impossible, stepped or fallen through the looking glass into a world where your sexuality was finally accepted as a reality?

“During a recent, sleepless night, I lied in my bed, staring into the dark, contemplating how my life has fallen apart. Then the thought came to my mind. . . ‘your life isn't falling apart, it's falling away.’ Since that time, I have pondered over these words that came to me, and I have thought of the quote by Anais Nin:

“And the time came when the risk to remain tight in a bud

was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

“So … here's to new beginnings … to taking that step off the edge into the abyss.  To finding meaning among all the devastation …”

****************

In a subsequent post, I will publish comments that were made to this post. I also encourage any who so desire to answer my questions anew by leaving a comment.

Of Coming Out, Anniversaries and Invictus Pilgrim

Four years ago this month, I began the process of coming out. Every year since that time, when October rolls around, I reflect on that process - a process that is still very much ongoing.

I have reminded myself recently of what my thoughts and feelings were in those initial scary months that followed a decision I made to at least come out to myself - to stop beating my head against a granite wall that had stood in front of me for 40 years. That reminder has come from reading the blog that I started shortly after making that decision. I chose to blog anonymously (for obvious reasons) under the pseudonym of "Invictus Pilgrim." Anonymity allowed me to frankly write about what I was experiencing and to protect myself as I did so.

I chose the name Invictus Pilgrim for several reasons.  First, I was very fond of the poem Invictus (which means “Unconquered” in Latin), written by 19th century poet and atheist William Ernest Henley. The words of this poem expressed the resolve I felt to become the master of my fate and the captain of my soul: 

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed ...

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

However, though determined to leave the closet forever, I realized I was very much a pilgrim on a journey. I didn't know what my destination would be. It was the journey that was important. 

Thus the persona of Invictus Pilgrim was born. When I first started my blog, I could not have foreseen where it would go and what it would mean, not only to me but to others as well.  I began writing as a means to free long-imprisoned thoughts, to express long-suppressed emotions and to explore long-forbidden lands in my psyche and soul.  I could not and did not foresee the extent to which my writing would not only prove therapeutic for me, but also expressive of others’ unexpressed thoughts and emotions.

As I have been re-reading my blog, I have found that I have been reminded of so many things that are still pertinent to me today, going on four years later. Then, it was fresh and raw. Much has transpired over the ensuing years, but I have found that those words I and others wrote have inspired me today to continue that journey of seeking authenticity, self-knowledge and self-love.

I closed Invictus Pilgrim some time ago for various personal reasons. I have been recently re-reading it because I have decided to write a book based on the blog. I had attempted this endeavor once before, but I wasn't ready to do so psychologically and emotionally. 

Now the time seems right. It is challenging for me to read some of what I wrote because of the pain associated with that period. But I have also frankly found it inspiring to me to read today what my fledgling out gay self was expressing and writing during the year following October 2010.

Yes, the time has come. Wish me luck.

Thrusting and Parrying With the Bishop

I had just sat down to watch Queer as Folk.* Brian was engaging in his favorite activity. My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered anyway, muting the volume as I did so. It’s a good thing I did: it was my new bishop, calling to see when might be convenient to drop by for a visit. Hmmm. I was distracted by what was happening on the TV screen. “How about next week,” I finally replied. He said that would work. 

“Oh, by the way,” he added, “I understand you play the piano?” Hmmm. “Yes,” I hesitantly replied. “Do you think you could play for priesthood sometime?” Hmmm. “Um, sure,” I responded, my brain trying to figure out just how he had discovered that I played the piano. I strongly suspected my roommate and began imagining the various ways in which he could die. 

When I confronted him the next morning, however, he said that he had not told him. That could only mean one thing: my new bishop had talked to my former bishop in my family's ward. This plus the fact that my records had not yet arrived made me somewhat apprehensive as our appointment approached. Would he outrightly ask me if I am gay? Would he ask questions about “morality”? My roommate assured me that he would not. Nevertheless, I rehearsed certain responses to hypothetical questions with a couple of other friends. I was somewhat apprehensive, but only because I didn’t know what this new bishop new and where I stood.

The Bishop arrived at the appointed hour, and I motioned for him to sit down in our living room. He was dressed casually; no suit and tie. That was a good sign, I thought. I felt good. I was prepared. 

“So,” he said, after sitting down. “Tell me about yourself.” The opening thrust. No way. I wasn’t about to respond to such an open-ended question. 

“Well,” I responded, parrying, “it sounds like you’ve talked to my former bishop, so you probably already know a lot about me.”

And so it went for the next hour. He would ask a probing question, and I would parry. In the process, we talked about a lot of things: his profession (he had been a practicing attorney, as was I), how I felt about the Church, where my testimony is at, whether I would play piano for priesthood opening exercises (reluctant agreement, when I’m there), whether by chance I also played the organ, etc., etc.  But … I sensed that he knew I am gay and was waiting for an opportunity to engage me on this issue.

Finally, he decided to make a decisive move. “Your former bishop has suspicions about your sexual orientation,” he announced. 

At this point, I knew I couldn’t parry anymore without getting into a ridiculous situation, so I did the next best thing: I proceeded to take control of the story. I gave him the 10-minute overview of my life: that I had known since I was 12 that I am attracted to men; that I had repressed this attraction all through my teen years and early adulthood; that I had joined the LDS Church believing that it would provide a “cure”; that I had married, trusting in the Church’s teachings that marriage would “cure” me; etc., etc.

So, my roommate was mistaken about whether the bishop would ask directly whether I am gay, and he was also mistaken about the second question he said the bishop wouldn’t ask me. He asked the same questions he had asked of my roommate last fall: what are my intentions; do I intend to “act” upon my attractions; etc. More gamesmanship. 

In these discussions, the bishop used the term “SGA” (same-gender attraction, the Church’s current term of choice for being gay) several times. Each time he said it, it was like fingernails on a chalkboard. I finally got to the point that, if he had used it one more time, I would have informed him in no uncertain terms that I find that term insulting. I didn’t want to have to do that, however, because I really felt that this guy was trying to reach out and that he had a comparatively open mind. He also seemed to care.

We talked about other things, such as the change the Church had made the previous fall to prevent fathers who weren't "temple worthy" from participating in Melchizedek priesthood ordinances involving their own children. He argued that this move did not represent a negative change but a positive one. I begged to differ. He said he would look into it.

Then came the first of two questions that blew me away.

"So, what can we do to get you back to the temple?" I was flabbergasted. He had obviously not been listening or was making what I'm sure he considered a bold move to "soften my heart" by reaching past everything we had just talked about. It struck me as a spiritually arrogant - though well-meaning, of course - move in that he thought he could connect with what he assumed were the remnants of my testimony. He was wrong.

"I have no interest in 'going back to the temple'," I replied. I think this shocked him. Here was someone (me) who had been extensively involved in genealogical and temple work - having submitted over 10,000 names to the temple over the past 28 years - who was simply walking away.

The second question, however, was even more shocking that the first. “I’m just curious,” he said tentatively, “did you, in your young married years, ever pray that these feelings of attraction to men would go away?” 

I was dumbfounded. First of all, I found it difficult to believe that a bishop who seemed to be pretty hip with respect to gay, er SGA, issues would ask such a question. Secondly, I couldn’t tell whether he was asking because he wondered whether I had tried to “pray the gay away” or because he was gathering information for his own benefit, to confirm a belief that he had already formed that “praying the gay away” doesn’t work. 

What kept me from blowing up was his obvious sincerity. But I couldn’t help throwing my head back and saying, “Oh, God!” It was an involuntary reaction. “That is universal among young gay Mormon men!” I exclaimed. “Everyone prays, and fasts and prays, and then prays some more! But I don’t know of a single instance where that particular prayer has been answered.” 

“I do know, however,” I continued, “of instances where gay men have finally realized that they were perhaps asking the wrong question; and when they instead asked God if it is ok that they’re gay, they’ve receive a witness that He’s fine with it.” I think this was a bit more answer than the bishop was looking for, however (just as was the opinion I expressed that the policies and doctrines of the Church dealing with homosexuality will continue to change, especially after certain members of the Twelve have passed to their reward).

By the time he left (after asking me one more time whether I’d be willing to play the piano for priesthood - never mind everything I'd just said), the bishop had been there for two hours. I was exhausted. But at least I now knew where I stood, I was out to him, and I had successfully severed my connection to my former ward, which had a liberating effect on me. I was ready to move forward, whatever that will ultimately mean.

Postscript: As it happened, I never attended that ward again. Four months later, I resigned my membership in the LDS Church. I had no quarrel with the man who came to see me that June night. He was a good man.

* This is a slightly edited version of a post that was originally published in June 2011 on my Invictus Pilgrim blog.

Rev. Jimmy Creech: A Prophetic Voice Affirming Gays and Lesbians

Jimmy Creech at the Regulator Bookstore in Durham, NC. (Photo by Natalia Weedy)

This post was originally published on my Invictus Pilgrim blog in June 2001. As I mentioned in my last post on this blog, I met Jimmy Creech in April 2011 while visiting my sister in Durham, North Carolina.

In May 1984, a closeted gay man in a small town in southeastern North Carolina went to see the pastor of his United Methodist congregation. The man – “Adam” – was upset and announced that he was leaving the church. When the pastor asked why, Adam replied that he could no longer be part of a church “that thinks that I’m some kind of pervert.”

In the exchange that followed, the pastor – Rev. Jimmy Creech – learned that Adam was gay and that he was upset at the new policy, just adopted by the United Methodist Church, which prohibited the ordination and appointment of “self-avowed practicing homosexuals.” “I don’t want to be ordained,” Adam said. “But I don’t want to be told I can’t be because I’m gay. I’m just as moral as anybody, just as good a Christian.”

Before that meeting, Rev. Creech had not known any “self-avowed practicing homosexuals.” After that meeting, he would never be the same.  Creech later wrote:

“That morning, Adam revealed to me a hidden world of oppression in which people who are gay, lesbian, transgender, or bisexual suffer an insidious violence disguised as Christian morality that attacks their very beings, their very souls. It’s a reality created and sustained by the claim that gay people are sick, sinful and criminal, a claim that is declared to be God’s truth in pulpits, courtrooms, workplaces and schoolrooms …The cruelest aspect of this hidden world is that gay people internalize these demeaning proclamations and hate themselves for simply being who they are. It’s a world they cannot escape and have little defense against, except to hide their sexuality and pretend to be someone they are not, or to end their lives.”

Jimmy Creech cared enough about Adam that he decided he couldn’t simply sit back and do nothing. He challenged his own conventional education, religious upbringing and beliefs and began an intensive study of what the Bible did and did not have to say about homosexuality and researched the latest scientific findings concerning homosexuality. 

As a result of his Biblical studies and other research, Rev. Creech came to the conclusion that it was unjust and immoral for the church to maintain anti-LGBT policies and positions.  In the years that followed, he became an outspoken advocate of gay and lesbian rights within his own United Methodist denomination as well as the Christian community generally. 

Rev. Creech’s official ministry as an ordained Methodist minister came to an abrupt end in 1999 when he was “defrocked” in the second of two trials conducted by the Methodist Church in the late 1990’s. He was put on trial the first time for conducting a covenant ceremony between two lesbians at the church in Omaha, Nebraska where he was then pastor, and his second trial resulted from him participating in a similar service involving a gay couple in North Carolina. 

After he was expelled from the ministry, Creech joined the board of Soulforce – an organization that resists religious and political oppression of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) people through dialogue and creative forms of nonviolent direct action – where he served as Chairman for five years. Creech remains active in several organizations that campaign for LGBTQ equality and has recently published an account of his life and ministry, Adam's Gift which opens with that meeting in 1984 and culminates in his second trial and its immediate aftermath.

Up until a few weeks ago, I had never heard of Jimmy Creech. I was traveling in the East and read an article about him in a local paper and was intrigued. The next morning, I visited a local bookshop and saw a flyer indicating that he would be doing a reading and book-signing of Adam’s Gift the following evening. I purchased a copy of his book and began reading, looking forward to meeting him the next day.

Speaking as someone who has not only lived in the closet his entire life (until a few months ago) but has also lived the relatively insular life of an active devout Mormon, I was frankly “blown away” as I read Creech’s book, starting with the account of his investigation of the Biblical passages that are usually used to bash gays and of what modern science is contributing to a better understanding of homosexuality.

“It is not behavior that determines and defines a person’s sexual orientation. Rather, sexual orientation is an essential aspect of personality that predisposes a person to be sexually attracted to one-or both, in the case of bisexuals – of the two genders, whether or not the person is sexually active … Orientation does not begin and end with sex acts. It is a constant and vital part of who a person is, encompassing erotic attraction, affection, and bonding, as well as genital activity.”

Wow!  To see that in print, written by a ordained minister in a mainline Protestant faith, was indescribably affirming to me after living in a faith/church for most of my adult life that has denied that “sexual orientation” even exists! I felt like I had just gulped in fresh, clean air after having been locked up in an airless crate.

Creech then goes on to describe how, once his intellectual and theological barriers to an acceptance of homosexuality had fallen, he then had to face and overcome another barrier:

“… the emotional resistance of my culturally conditioned assumptions about healthy sexuality, assumptions shaped more by fear and misinformation than by knowledge and understanding. Deep within my psyche, fighting against my new knowledge, as an irrational revulsion to the idea of men having sex with men …  It would take much more time and work before this barrier would fall, too. That would happen because of the humanity, dignity and integrity of people like Adam whom I would get to know. Books changed my mind.  These people changed my heart.”

Jimmy Creech at a Soulforce event in Lynchburg, Virginia in 1999. (Photo from Soulforce Archives)

The people who helped change Jimmy’s heart were initially located in Raleigh, North Carolina. A few years after his meeting with Adam, he became pastor of a large Methodist church in Raleigh. Here, he put his newly acquired knowledge into action.  He marched in his first gay pride parade. He helped found the Raleigh Religious Network for Gay and Lesbian Equality. He met and ministered to men dying of AIDS. He worked to make his own congregation more accepting and welcoming to members of the LGBTQ community, but was ultimately dismissed from his position as pastor. He then worked with the North Carolina Council of Churches for several years, focusing on LGBTQ issues, before being asked to become pastor of the large First United Methodist Church in Omaha, Nebraska.

The bulk of Rev. Creech’s book deals with the time he spent in Omaha, including the events that led to his two trials, the trials themselves, and the immediate aftermath of his ejection from the ministry. This account was interesting in its own right, but what I found compelling and incredibly enlightening and empowering were his statements concerning the morality of “heterosexism” – a term used to describe “a system of attitudes, bias, and discrimination in favor of opposite-sex sexuality and relationships.” These statements included the following, which formed part of his response in connection with his first trial:

“It is my belief that the position taken by The United Methodist Church regarding same-gender unions, as well as that regarding ‘the practice’ of homosexuality, is wrong, unjust, discriminatory and inconsistent with the spirit of Christ and our Wesleyan and Methodist traditions … 

“Sexual orientation is not a moral issue; it is morally neutral. Sexual ethics are simple:  sexual relationships should be mutual, non-exploitative, nurturing and loving. What is immoral are unequal, exploitative, abusive and unloving sexual acts toward another person. This is true regardless of the orientation of the persons involved. I believe that sexual activity which is considered moral when practiced by two people of different genders, is no less moral when practiced by two people of the same gender … 

“I believe that the sin of heterosexism is no less a sin that that of racism. While some of the dynamics may be different, they are fundamentally identical in nature as an expression of a dominant culture over another. 

“Just as it was the church in the South that perpetuated racism so that slavery and white supremacy could have legitimacy, the Christian church has been responsible, more than any other institution, for perpetuating the sin of heterosexism as a form of control over what is feared within all of us: the mystery of human sexuality and intimacy (sexual or non-sexual) with persons of the same gender.”

Wow! 

Jimmy Creech during the Millenium March in Washington in 2000. (Photo by Chuck Phelen)

We who are part or have come out of the Mormon tradition think of the term “prophet” in a unique way:  we automatically think of the president of the LDS Church, and we usually associate the term “prophetic voice” with a “voice of warning”, i.e., a statement that typically warns of undesirable results if the Lord’s commandments are not honored and obeyed. 

In the traditional Christian church, however, there is a different connotation associated with the term “prophetic ministry.” As one definition has stated it, “Prophetic ministry involves incorporating God’s reign of compassion, justice, generosity, and joy into personal values and actions, institutional structures, and governmental policies. It includes leading congregations to be alternative communities that look and act like God’s reconciled and redeemed community where “the orphans, widows, and strangers” are welcomed at God’s table of peace and abundance.”

Or as has been expressed by Creech’s own United Methodist Church:

“The Church, throughout history, has maintained that faithful ministry must be prophetic. The church must not be afraid to boldly speak its ‘convictions … to the church and the world’ ... Active participation in social ministry and advocacy for social justice are deeply rooted in the history of the United Methodist Church … Methodism's founder John Wesley preached boldly in the public square against slavery, beverage alcohol, war, and economic injustice … In the 19th century faithful Methodist women and men followed Wesley's lead in opposing slavery, and in organizing the temperance movement … In the 1950s and 60s, faithful Methodists demonstrated and worked tirelessly for civil rights for all Americans in a time of widespread segregation and blatant racial injustice.

“History has proven that many positions taken by the church through the years, though often controversial in their day, have been proven with time to be both right and just. As the Body of Christ we are called to be bold witnesses, not just to one another, but to the world; to proclaim the good news of God's grace and call, not just in the church but also in the public square; to witness to society not only when it does right but also when it does wrong. This is our prophetic call.” 

It is in this tradition that Jimmy Creech has raised a prophetic voice, calling for equal treatment of ALL of God’s children, boldly denouncing, even at the cost of his calling as congregational pastor, injustice and immorality. It is a voice that brings hope and light to dark places, a voice of love, affirmation and compassion to those who often face misunderstanding, rejection and hate. It is a voice, I would suggest, that reflects the true love of God and a voice from which gay and lesbian Mormons could profit and learn.

Creech concludes Adam’s Gift with a truly prophetic statement that calls each one of us to assist in its fulfillment:

“Gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people will be successful in attaining full civil and human rights and social acceptance because of those among them who believe in their inherent dignity and integrity and have the courage to let the world know who they really are … It’s a gift that all lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people have to give.  And by giving it, they change the world for good.”

I submit that the voice that Jimmy Creech raises is one that needs to be heard by us who are gay or lesbian and who come out of the Mormon tradition. It is a voice of affirmation and acceptance: one that we are not accustomed to hearing. The perspectives that he shares are ones we need to contemplate; they are ones to which we are not normally exposed. The love that he preaches and the equality that he demands are our birthright; we need to claim them. In so doing, we can change ourselves, our church and our world for the better.

As I mentioned in my last post, Jimmy Creech graciously accepted an invitation to speak at the first Circling the Wagons Conference. Additional information about his visit, as well as links to two of his addresses at this conference, can be found here.

LGBT Mormons: Different Dreams

Photo by Rachel Broom

This post was originally published on my Invictus Pilgrim blog (now closed) in August 2011.

I love the movie Gettysburg. I vividly recall the first time I saw it 17 years ago. There are many poignant moments in the movie, so many sermons on character, life, heroism, tragedy, idealism, defeat, victory.

Lately, I found my thoughts turning to a scene in the film involving Colonel Fremantle, an officer in the British army who was detailed to General Longstreet’s command as an observer. It was not an extraordinary scene, compared with others in the film. It was, rather, a vignette that made a simple yet profound commentary on what differentiated the southern states from those in the north.

In the vignette, Colonel Fremantle observes to General Longstreet that both sides spring from a common mother, that they are all, really, just transplanted Englishmen. “Same God,” muses Fremantle, “same language, same culture and history, same songs, stories, legends, myths … but different dreams … different dreams.”  Here’s the scene:

My thoughts recently turned toward Colonel Fremantle's comments as I contemplated the plight of LGBT Mormons. We are/were raised with the dream of growing up, going on missions, then coming home and finding an eternal companion, with whom we can then start and raise our own family. We are taught that this is the ideal, that this is what our Heavenly Father approves of and desires us to have.

The importance of the dream is emphasized in every General Conference and is the subtext of countless sacrament meeting talks, Sunday School lessons, seminary classes and firesides. Young Women are raised to prepare themselves to fulfill their part in the dream; young men as well.

For LGBT Mormons, however, this dream often turns into a nightmare as we are haunted by our inability – to one degree or another – to fulfill it. We have been taught that beside this dream, there is no other. The dichotomies that fill the Mormon worldview reach their apex in this central dream, this central myth.  Unless we subscribe to and fulfill this dream, we have not, according to what we are taught, fulfilled the measure of our creation and are, in effect, sub-human.

What has come forcefully to me, however, is that we have different dreams. We - all of us Mormons - share, to paraphrase Fremantle, the same language, the same culture and history, the same songs, stories, legends and myths. Yet, we who are LGBT have different dreams.

It is high time that we affirmed those dreams, that we let ourselves embrace them and live them with the same degree of purpose as our heterosexual brethren and sisters, and thereby fulfill the measure of our creation. And in so doing, we do not need to cede or abandon to those who espouse the “one, true dream,” our shared Mormon culture, history, songs, stories, legends and myths. We can hold on to these, keeping what we want, letting go of what we don’t, while we pursue our own dreams.

On Abuse and the Magical Power of Redemption

Sometimes deep insights come in the most peculiar places.* The other day, I was sitting in a hot tub at a friend’s house, and we were talking about our childhoods. The topic eventually got around to abuse I had suffered as a child and to how various Mormon doctrines of redemption had, over the years, affected how I had “processed” not only the abuse I myself experienced, but also the history of abuse in my family. 

As I was describing these doctrines to my non-Mormon friend, I experienced one of those moments in which I suddenly perceived, with stunning clarity, how doctrines in which I had passionately believed for almost 30 years were not only not true, but were mind-enslaving, soul destroying cancers that had eaten away at my sense of self for most of my life.

Such, alas, is the power of magic, the force of myth, carefully constructed. It dispenses the elixir of sanity, bewitches the believer, holds out the promise of transformation and proffers hope ~ but, alas, all is vaporous.  

Background

As I have written about from time to time on my blog, I experienced physical and emotional abuse when I was a child.Without going into details, suffice it to say that my mother – who was twice hospitalized in psychiatric wards, who suffered from depression and debilitating migraines and who was addicted throughout the first 10-12 years of my life to both prescription diet pills (speed) and sleeping pills (barbiturates) – could be a short-tempered woman who was physically powerful and prone to violence.

The only picture I have of my father, my mother and me

My father, for his part, was largely absent during those years. It’s not as though I grew up on the “wrong side of the tracks,” however. We were, by outward appearances, a respectable, middle-class religious (Catholic) family. But appearances were deceiving. My father was absent because his sales job often required him to be out of town and because he was a workaholic; and though he knew about some of the abuse, and probably suspected more, he was happy, I think, to just try to ignore it. He had his own issues with my mother, and I think he willfully shut his eyes to much of what was going on at home. He may have even been afraid of her.

As I got older, I tried to forget most of what had happened in my childhood. What I didn’t manage to forget, I simply took in stride. To me, it was my “normal.” To the extent I held things against my mother, I justified her behavior in my own mind due to the fact that she had herself been abused as a child: her father was very abusive, as was his father before him. 

Nell

I well remember my grandmother, Nell, talking about my grandfather. She divorced him in the depths of the Depression and was turned away by her own mother as a result. Through sheer grit, she managed to make it through the Dirty Thirty’s with my mother and one of her brothers in tow, her older brothers being farmed out to other relatives. Grandma described to me how my grandfather had, among other things, pistol-whipped her, threatened her with a gun (until the neighbor lady came over, took the gun and threw it down the outdoor toilet), and otherwise abused her. 

Nell also described how mean her former father-in-law had been. “Herman,” she once told me, “was mean,” – her high-pitched nasal voice accentuating the word “mean” as she stared off into the distance, holding a lit Lucky Strike cigarette in her hand – “then,” turning back to look at me and pointing her hand toward me, cigarette dangling, “he turned nice … Then, he died.” Grandma flicked her cigarette into the ashtray as if to emphasize the finality of death, then turned away again, looking once more down the tunnel into the past.

Grandma

Interestingly, late in his life, my maternal grandfather added another bit of knowledge and understanding of the curse of his family. I hadn't even met him until I was 16 or 17, and that was only because I made the effort to drive across southern Illinois to meet him. My mother had had nothing to do with him for who knows how long. I went to visit him after I had joined the church (he died shortly thereafter) and interviewed him. When the subject came around to his father, he laughed and made a comment about how mean he was to him as a youngster. Another piece of the puzzle.

My grandfather (with pipe) sitting with some of fellow railroad workers

I frankly never thought much about the abuse I had experienced as a boy (and the effect it had had upon me) until I joined the Mormon Church. It was then, upon being confronted with a deeply shameful past and family legacy in the face of what appeared to me to be picture-perfect Mormon families, that I first felt the need and sought ways to whitewash or otherwise excuse my mother’s actions (and my father’s inaction) towards me when I was a boy, as well as my family’s shameful history of abuse.

I think I also believed for a time (again, as a way to cover the shame that I felt when I joined the Church) that my mother’s abuse – along with my father’s emotional abandonment - was why I had “turned out” gay. I think I wanted – at least for a time - to believe this. It was perhaps convenient for me to be able to blame her in this way for a “condition” that I didn’t want.

The Magic of "Redemption"

When I joined the LDS Church, I saw in its doctrines and practices a means of (among other things) redeeming myself from my own homosexuality as well as the deeply shameful family legacy of abuse.

First of all, there were the temple ordinances I could perform for my deceased ancestors. I strongly believed the LDS doctrine that I could be a “Savior on Mount Zion” (see Obadiah 1:21) for my abusive forebears and be a means of redemption to them. Furthermore, as Joseph Smith taught, I could in so doing receive blessings myself (D&C 128:18).

This work helped me to feel special – that I was preordained to do this work, that out of all the many members of my extended family spanning generations and numbering into the thousands, I alone had been chosen because of pre-mortal valor to do this work.

It was heady stuff. But it was other-focused. And it wasn’t healthy. Many times over the years as I engaged in genealogical research and temple work, I would hear a nagging voice in the back of my mind saying, “You’re just doing this out of a vain attempt to create a sense of family that you never had as a child. You’re trying to make yourself, and believe yourself to be special, because you were never treated as special when you were a child.”

Whenever I would hear that voice, I would tell myself it was the voice of Satan, trying to deter me from doing my foreordained work. Under no circumstances could I allow myself to believe that voice, because the emotional and psychological costs of doing so were too great. I could not allow myself to feel I wasn’t special. I could not allow myself to examine my motives. I had to keep the focus off myself. I had to perpetuate the myth.

As important as this myth was to me, however, an even more important myth (which also arose out of LDS concepts of redemption) focused on other existential issues relating to abuse. Shortly after I was married, I read the following quote in the Ensign (LDS Church magazine) by LDS psychologist Carlfred Broderick:

“[M]y experience in various church callings and in my profession as a family therapist has convinced me that God actively intervenes in some destructive lineages, assigning a valiant spirit to break the chain of destructiveness in such families. Although these children may suffer innocently as victims of violence, neglect, and exploitation, through the grace of God some find the strength to “metabolize” the poison within themselves, refusing to pass it on to future generations. Before them were generations of destructive pain; after them the line flows clear and pure. Their children and children’s children will call them blessed” [Ensign, August 1986].

The concepts expressed in this quote were new to me and extremely powerful. Suddenly, I had an answer to one of the most fundamental existential questions that had plagued me since childhood – Why was I abused? Why did I have such a shameful family history of abuse? Here was the answer – again magical, powerful, mythical, intoxicating: I had volunteered for this assignment – to single-handedly take upon myself the sins of my fathers and mothers, to metabolize all the accumulated hurt, pain, anguish and shame that generations of abuse had created and to prevent it from being passed on to another generation. This both explained my past and charted my future. It was my responsibility to end the legacy of abuse.

I believed – passionately – in this myth for most of my adult life.  But, the other day in my friend’s hot tub, I unexpectedly gained such profound insights into the fallacious and evil nature of this myth that I literally felt like I had received a blow to the chest, opening a well of emotion and understanding (not unlike my reaction to President Packer’s October 2010 Conference address).

Awakening

What were these insights?

First, I realized that I had allowed myself to believe that I was responsible for atoning for other people’s sins. The fallaciousness of this belief is crystal clear to me now: even in LDS doctrine, there is only one person who is capable of redeeming others from their sins – and he was able to do so because he is a God and led a sinless life himself. He had no “baggage”: He was not abused as a child and did not carry within him the legacy of a history of abuse. I, on the other hand, was and am a mere mortal, a frightened boy who was himself abused and mistreated. How could I possibly expect myself, or allow others to expect me, to atone for the sins of my abusive forebears? The concept is not only grossly unfair and doctrinally unsound, it is evil.

Second, I had allowed myself to take on the responsibility of “metabolizing” all the hurt, pain, anguish, grief, etc., of previous generations. And what qualified me to be able to shoulder this immense burden? Absolutely nothing – except the myth that I had been assigned this task by God in the pre-existence because of my valor, righteousness, strength and general all-around “special-ness.”  But what loving Father would lay such a task upon a son whom He knew would emerge from childhood permanently crippled by the very thing he was supposed to “metabolize”? Again, the concept is not only grossly unfair and doctrinally unsound, it is evil.

Third, I allowed myself to take on the role of redeemer, or “metabolizer,” to focus on the needs of others while ignoring the legacy of abuse within myself. In this mythical tragedy, I was no more than a tool, a facilitator. My true sense of self was sacrificed to the mythical persona of redeemer, of “special one,” of “metabolizer.” I would lay myself upon the altar of redemption for the sake of those who had come before me and those who would follow, trusting that someday, somehow, some way, somewhere over the rainbow, I myself would be healed and made whole.

Meanwhile, by taking on these roles, I only exposed myself more. When I failed at metabolization, which I inevitably would, I sank into despair and vowed to try harder, only to sink further and make myself a convenient target for others.

These magical doctrines of redemption, these myths of “specialness,” cost me dearly. I now see this.  The belief that one is “special” and can play God places an unhealthy and wholly unrealistic burden upon the self to perform magical, god-like, super-human tasks. It reduces the self to a tool, a means of facilitation. Rather than recognizing the hurt, the shame, and the brokenness (created by abuse) in all its humanity and seeking to honestly and lovingly heal it, these doctrines and beliefs instead impose new, additional layers of guilt, shame and self-hatred. They are debilitating, they are destructive and they are wrong. 

* This post was originally published as three separate posts on my Invictus Pilgrim blog (now closed) in November 2011.

Person vs. Product; Ritual vs. Relationship

He was so cute. I was pulling out of my parking spot at the grocery store the other day, and I saw a young father carrying his little boy toward their car.*

“Bye,” I heard in a young clear voice. I turned and saw the little boy waving at me, smiling from ear to ear. “Bye,” he exuberantly called. “Bye!” I smiled and waved back. So cute. My own children have done the same thing – waved at total strangers, pure joy on their face, not realizing that their parents would never dream of doing such a thing.

As I turned and saw the man and his son in my rear view mirror, other thoughts came unbidden into my mind. I thought about this beautiful little boy and the hopes and aspirations of his father for him and I wondered – what if this little boy turns out to be gay? How would his father feel about that?  Would the beautiful exuberance I had just witnessed be someday crushed? Would this boy be rejected by his parents?

These thoughts quickly brought others to mind. Assuming this young father to be LDS, I wondered how this little boy would be raised. I wondered if the boy would be raised to go to Primary, to learn the words to “I Hope They Call Me On a Mission,” and “Army of Helaman”; to be a Cub Scout; to be a worthy deacon; to aspire to someday serve a mission; to be taught to believe that being a faithful Church member who “keeps the commandments” and “follows the prophet” represents the summum bonum of life, i.e., the highest good, the singular and most ultimate end which human beings ought to pursue.

I thought how this boy’s parents might sincerely believe that their job in life is to mold and shape this boy, to groom and prepare him for his mission in life, to – as it were – produce a young man who would fulfill all of their dreams as faithful parents in Zion. I wondered if they might teach him – as I once did with my own children – to pray that Heavenly Father would bless him with an opportunity to serve a mission, to get married in the temple to a noble and true companion and to then raise up his own children in light and truth.

My thoughts then came back to my original question: What if this boy is gay? For that matter, what if he’s not? How would this boy’s imagined life be different if, rather than looking at him as a “product” to be “produced,” he was looked upon by his parents as a unique person who had been brought into their lives to be loved and nurtured? To be discovered rather than molded? Whose individuality, mind, heart and spirit would be allowed to blossom and grow? Who would be valued as a person, rather than a product? Who would be loved for who he is, rather than for what he is?

The summum bonum of a Mormon (or any other) parent: Is it to love unconditionally – as God does – or to teach a child from an early age that acceptance and love is conditional upon obedience and conformity? To put it another way, is it to view their child as a person, or as a product?

On a related point, I also pondered, as I had on many occasions, the rituals in the Mormon Church that purport to "seal" children to their parents. As I contemplated resigning my membership in the LDS Church in August 2011, I wondered what effect my resignation would have on these ordinances. I also felt the bonds of the faith I had always had in the temple, and I felt anxious about "breaking" those bonds.

But then, almost immediately, I realized that I was still giving credence to a belief system in which I had lost faith. How deep the roots had sunk in a system that had taught me that my relationships with my children were dependent on rituals, rather than on strong, true and authentic emotions and experiences!

I pondered how I had bought into this system, which encouraged me to subject my relationship with my children to its demands, that taught me to constantly judge my children and myself, that “ritualized” my relationships with them.

How different things would be, I mused, if my had religion emphasized that what “sealed” me to my children were not rituals in a building, but rather feelings of love and acceptance, of validation and caring, of tenderness and devotion.

I did resign my membership in November 2011. From that point, and ever since, I have vowed to seek to love my children all the more purely, without regard to the goals of any organization, not as means to an eternal end, but for the glorious persons whom they are and for the sheer humanity of doing so.  

* This post is based on two posts that were originally published on my Invictus Pilgrim blog (now closed) in August 2011.

Mixed-Orientation Marriages: Dave's Responses

This is the concluding post in a series that began with this one. These posts, which include material originally published on my Invictus Pilgrim blog three years ago, have told the story of "Dave" - an active gay Mormon man in a mixed-orientation marriage. Today's post sets out Dave's responses to the comments left by others on the original post.

****************

I read the first comment early this morning before leaving for work, and while I am trying to remain open to all options, my reaction wasn't good … Perhaps my comments in the blog were unclear - I've tried this route, to "accept God into his life and tries hard enough, his homosexual attractions will diminish" for more than 10 years, without success. The result? Despair, self-hatred, hopelessness, anger, guilt...you know the cycle.

To be honest, I'm not sure where I fall on the Kinsey scale, but MohoHawaii is likely correct. Without coming to terms with whether I'm ready to slap a rainbow flag on my car or claim bi-sexuality, I have come out to several good friends by telling them about my years of silence and pain, and by describing the beginning of this journey. The reactions have all been supportive, but certainly differ depending on whether they're Mormon or not. I have felt some peace since my secret is no longer my own.

I've also sought out a second therapist that is Mormon, but who is on the same page with me as far as the likelihood one can change one's sexuality. And I'm working toward re-engaging my wife in this discussion. MohoHawaii is correct here as well: I need to know if she is ok living an emotionally vacant marriage. And while she may say that she is at the outset, that could well change as I work through this over the next several years.

When we discussed this several years ago, she was loving and supportive, but then I was still describing my feelings as same gender attraction. Which is very different from saying, I love you, but I can't love you in all the ways you deserve, and probably never will. Oh, and I'm gay, not simply "suffering from SGA [same-gender attraction]” …

Trev - you noted that I don't sound happy now. And as I replied earlier, I'm not. But there are many factors involved. Prior to reaching the tipping point, my unhappiness was caused by my anger at God for not taking away this SGA, for not changing me, and at myself due to my inability to live a good enough life to make this go away and for never coming to terms with my sexuality or acknowledging my true nature before burdening my wife and children with this dilemma. Now, I reject these ideas and accept that my sexuality will not change, but the guilt related to what I've done to my wife remains. And my angst now is related to the uncertainties that lie ahead. It's extremely difficult to give up on the future I always thought I would have.

Don - your words are appreciated, "You are of no use to those around you if you are suffocating. There's lots of air available, all you have to do is breathe." I agree. Until I am open with my wife about everything that is happening, determining whether I can be authentic with my family and also be happy is an unknown. For now, I'm trying take this one step at a time while I figure out what my true nature is and whether this acknowledgment changes the feelings I have for my wife. 

Joe Conflict - I've read your blog from beginning to end and it was a great help. I agree with your advice to Trev. Before giving a MOM a try, I would suggest that Trev be true to his nature and explore a same orientation marriage/relationship. Maybe that's easy for me to say, but I believe my choices would have been very different if I was trying to figure out my sexuality in today's environment.

Beck - I've also read your blog from beginning to end. And I appreciate your comments, including "It takes a lot of work, and some serious sacrifice on both parts, but it is possible. Communication is the key." Time will tell if communication helps in my case. Honest is certainly a necessary element to moving forward. My own self-deception has played an important role in the emotional roller coaster I've been on. And dishonesty is a skill I've mastered by living this lie for so long.

Trey - generally I relate to your martyr comment. Being in the marriage, but not being present, is no longer working. My advice to others is to meet this head-on by first exploring "the depths" as Invictus advised me, and then figure out which direction to take. Living in denial and in hiding hasn't solved anything for me.

Alex - you have captured the essence of my situation - "You feel at peace for the first time with yourself because you can accept something that you’ve been trying to change and fight for years. But it scares you because you don’t know what that means for your future, for your marriage." 

And until I reached this point, I didn't understand the dimension of emotional love that is missing. As you point out, it's not confined by the generic "same gender attraction" term, it is my sexual identity, which is part of me, it's who I am. 

At the same time, accepting my true identity makes me want to live in harmony with my identity, right NOW. But as you noted, everyone must find the path that is correct for them. And I won't know what that means for some time - I want to remain married, but my/our goals may change as we work through this. 

It's difficult to consider living differently than I envisioned. And just to beat Dan's analogy to death, "There's lots of air available, all you have to do is breathe" -- after holding my breath and hiding for many years, breathing doesn't come naturally or quickly. So, here's to learning to breathe …

Geckoman and Mister Curie - thanks for adding your experience. This weekend has been rough, but I'm more hopeful than I've been in a long time. On Sunday, the sacrament speakers both discussed the importance of following the guidance of the prophets/apostles, with the promise of being protected from harm. I couldn't hold back the tears as I thought, "that hasn't been my experience." On the way home from church I lost it, and I finally told my wife that I've been depressed for months, as well as the things I've discussed here. We've been talking since yesterday. A song by NewRepublic entitled, Giving my Secrets Away, captures how I feel. Carrying this secret has made this much more painful and lonely. But I feel more hopeful as I face this head on, instead of hiding.

Thanks for weighing in on this post. In the last couple months, I starting telling my wife about everything I've been feeling as well as my therapy sessions. We have both attended a couple sessions together and we're talking about all the questions I've avoided for many years. We're working through everything and although I still feel like I'm on a roller coaster ride of emotion, I believe I'm headed in the right direction. In fact, through this work, the source of the emptiness and loneliness I described in this post is now clear to me. Because it abated for a time and then returned during a discussion that brought back the sadness I've felt in the past when I think about what my choices have done to my wife. And as we continue to talk, things continue to get better. Our emotional connection is now better than it's ever been. And I don't want to throw away all the good things in my life because of this one aspect that I find difficult.

Thanks for the positive feedback.

- Dave

Mixed-Orientation Marriages: Responses to Dave - Part 2

This post is a continuation of comments that were posted regarding this post.

Ben 

Word of caution: I am writing my response in a fairly straightforward way (not that kind of straight). Truly my comments are meant to add to the thought process and not add to any of the stress or pain. I do come from a loving and caring place with these words. 

MoHoHawaii has relayed many of my feelings. I have to reiterate the view of the other side that has been presented. Think of what this does to the hetero partner in a MoM. Is it fair to them? Do you hope or feel that it is acceptable for your children to grow up and find a partner that "struggles" and can't be as loving and intimate as someone who is attracted to them? Would any of us dream of seeing our children "endure" in a MoM? Even if your children find a partner of the opposite sex, does your marriage and lack of intimacy provide an adequate example of what a loving heterosexual marriage looks like? The fact is that many of our children look to our relationships as example of what theirs should be. Are you in a place that you feel your example is a good one? Just as you deserve to find a man that you can feel emotionally and physically intimate with wholly, so does your wife.

I do have one particular concern in Dave's letter that has gnawed at me more and more lately: happiness and coming out because of the belief that we can finally find a man to share our lives with.

I don't mean to sound cynical and I come at this from a place of hope and love. I know I was there at one time and I know it is common desire, but coming out is not about finding a man to share your life with. (I'm speaking more generally to the audience, not pointing you out specifically Dave). Coming out is about being honest to yourself and others. It is about authenticity and allowing yourself to be fully human, fully who you are.

There are many that find true, intimate, spiritual, emotional love with a man after coming out. That is icing on the cake. The cake is still delicious without the icing though.

I am not trying to dash anyone’s hope for a Prince Charming. I'm very much a hopeless romantic and really hope "someday my prince will come" [and he since has]. However, when he does show up, I need to be his prince as well. I need to be stable and secure with myself. I recently broke up from a nearly year-long relationship with a man (my first). It didn't bring me the happiness I had hoped for. In fact, I found myself replaying many of the mistakes of my marriage. Old habits that haven’t died off yet; one of which was that of the emotional martyr: giving up myself to provide happiness to their wishes. Today, I am happily single and my coming out is about me. It may sound selfish, but you need to be in order to be in a place that you are a "prince" to someone else. You must love yourself before you can love anyone else. I do believe that to be true. 

Ultimately I would love to find my prince one day. I hope we all find our princes. In reality that doesn't always happen. Also in reality though, many find the freedom in being true to oneself to be sufficient to justify their coming out. Many find the security of being authentic to be sufficient to find true happiness. 

Don’t come out because you feel another human being can bring fulfillment to your life. It can add to your happiness, but cannot create it. You, as well as many, many others have already tried that through MOM. We expected that this person we married would make things “all better.” The reality is that only we can make ourselves “all better.”

Dave, as well as to all, best wishes on your journey. Thank you for your honesty and willingness to share your path with us. Here’s to happiness!

Alex

Dave, I can totally relate to what you’re going through. You feel at peace for the first time with yourself because you can accept something that you’ve been trying to change and fight for years. But it scares you because you don’t know what that means for your future, for your marriage. 

Like you, I spent some time with Evergreen. I went to the conferences, read their books, went through the manual, all the time believing that if I just prayed long enough, worked through enough, I could “diminish” my feelings of same sex attraction. 

I don’t have a condition called “Same sex attraction.” I’m gay. I’m homosexually oriented. And what that means is not just that I have a sexual attraction that I have to keep in check, but that I want to be emotionally and physically intimate with a man. If you know what orientation is, you realize you want fulfillment.

I’ve been married three years. Not as long as you, I don’t have kids. So I can’t tell you what to do. But I don’t feel emotionally fulfilled from intimacy. I thought for a long time it could be for some other reason. But the simplest explanation is it’s because I’m gay. I was too afraid to face up to that. I told my wife in December that I was gay and I didn’t think that was going to change. I told her I was afraid to go to counseling because of what they would tell me.

I got over that and I went. They didn’t force me to do anything, but I found that as I honestly and openly talked about it for the first time (that had never happened with the LDS therapists I met with when I was first understanding my sexuality) I discovered a lot of things. They didn’t tell me that I should get divorced. They didn’t tell me I should go “live a gay lifestyle.” But they did help me discover that as I accepted myself and stopped hating myself, I’d be happier.

So what does that mean for my future (And yours)? I don’t know exactly. But I think you can relate.

It’s been a hard process talking to my wife. Having to go back and tell her that I don't fill emotionally fulfilled by sexual intimacy with her. Having to explain that the attraction I feel for her isn’t the same as the attraction I feel for men. It hurts me and her. But do you think your wife doesn’t know, that she can’t tell? She may or may not be aware, but when you emotionally withdraw during sex, your wife knows, at least on some level. And she asks herself if she’s doing something wrong. And she asks herself if she just isn’t pretty enough. And a lot of things.

As I opened up to her, she opened up to me. I’ve been withdrawn from my marriage. I haven’t put myself into the relationship like she has. I realize what I’ve put her through. My wife has been suffering from this. Telling her didn’t necessarily make it worse. It just helped me open my eyes to the reality of my situation. I thought that could change. But I really feel that with the lack of emotional intimacy that should come with physical intimacy, that it’s probably not going to change. And why should she or I accept anything less than a true marriage?

We’re getting divorced. We just made the decision this week. I’m glad it was our decision, and not just mine. But honestly, my wife and I do love each other. It’s just for me more of a friendship love than a romantic love. I get along so well with my wife. We’re great roommates. It scares me to lose that. But I have to let her move on. And I need the freedom to be myself. Neither of us should settle for less than what could be. 

I could write you a novel. But my best advice is that you are too afraid of where your journey might lead you to explore your options (in thought experiments at least, I’m not saying to go cheat on your wife) then you won’t ever get to where you want to be. All of our circumstances are different. If you are going to make it work with your wife, then you are going to have to face this together. It may be that with kids, you choose to stay together longer. I could stay married to my wife. But neither of us could have the happiness that we deserve in this relationship. 

You’re going to have to make the choice. I don’t think you are ready yet. But keeping asking questions. Keep praying, and God will guide you. I think that Ben gave you (and me indirectly) some really good advice. If you do find a relationship with a man, don’t expect that alone to make you happy. I don’t think I can find happiness just in being in a relationship with a man. It doesn’t work like that. I think that someday, yes, that will bring me happiness. But I have to come out for me. I have to be together before I can give myself to another person.

I’m not getting divorced so I can go be with a man. I’m getting divorced because I realize that we can’t make our marriage work. Living together as roommates, best friends, sure. But marriage? No way.

GeckoMan

I'm perhaps one of the more happy survivors of mixed orientation marriage in the Mohosphere. Recently I celebrated with my wife our 33rd anniversary. We have three lovely daughters who are now mostly grown up and out of the house. There have been many past years where I would/could not have used the term 'celebrate.' I'm one of those guys who has 'stuck with it' and hopes to continue in happiness, acknowledging that with MoMs, as with many aspects of life, "it is by grace we are saved, after all we can do."

It seems like there are few of us mostly happily married Mohos out there, if you look at the blogs. But I suspect a majority of gay guys in this church are not blogging or talking about their experience in Priesthood meeting. I think most of 30+ year old active/attending gay LDS men in the church are not single, but are 'struggling' with their MoMs, trying to evolve to a place of happiness and fulfillment within their families. Certainly much of the same could be said for straight marriages as well.

My MoM journey has changed me in critical ways--my faith no longer accepts everything the church says as Gospel. My personal evolution brings me to greater empathy and activism for gay people, even as I realize that I have a marriage of substance and worth. I haven't 'chosen' to be gay, rather, I've 'chosen' a heterosexual relationship that I have invested my life in, that I now choose to continue. My wife has grown up with me, is open-minded on gay issues, loving and supportive of my differences, and is willing to go with me so long as I am faithful to her. That's a negotiated bargain I'm happy with.

So what could I possibly tell you that hasn't already been said? There are many wonderful comments here--I especially agree with MohoHawaii that honestly coming out to yourself and spouse is the vital starting place. Also that you have to give yourself permission to end the marriage as a possible option. Not until I did that could I let go of the feelings I harbored of resentment or being stuck in unhappiness. 

Also realize that this isn't just about you and your feelings--perhaps your wife has more of a say in continuing your marriage than you really do. Deciding together what you can live with AND what you can live without, will help you both to determine your commitment to each other. In many ways, kindness and respect are what we really need, along with honesty. If you can both honor and do that, then perhaps there's a chance that passion and devotion will persevere.

Finally, there is a spiritual aspect to all relationships, especially those founded in sacred covenants. I lost that spiritual base for a while, thinking that it had died along with my passion for her. That spiritual death was partly due to the shame and guilt I felt about my natural attractions. I sucked in all the crap-mingled-with-scripture that LDS homophobic culture has created, and ultimately believed I was unworthy of any cure. It's hard to feel the Spirit when you believe God's acceptance and support is conditioned upon 'obedience' to a list of church rules. 

I decided to be obedient to the Savior's priorities, which I found in the scriptures. In doing this I came to realize the great and complete love that Father and Christ indeed have for me. I let go of my self-hate and self-pity, and then rejoiced in the truth of their unconditional love for me. I know that love is real. Let it fill your life, influencing how you treat others, especially your wife. (Whether or not you choose to stay together.) 

Steve

I just saw a link to this post in another's blog. Hence the incredibly late response time. I'm Bravone or Steve & my blog is luckynowandthen.blogspot.com. Like Beck and GeckoMan, my wife and I are in the category of a happy, although not perfect, enduring MOM. We will celebrate our 26th anniversary in a few weeks. For most of our marriage, I held everything inside, not even admitting to myself the huge role being gay plays in my life. Living in denial and despair lead to many unhealthy and unhappy decisions in my life. I eventually lost all belief in God and violated my marital covenants. 

To make a long story short, when I lay as a broken man, all my secrets fully exposed to the Light, healing began. The road home has been rough at times, mainly with issues of faith. However, it has also been a deeply sacred experience for me, and only strengthened my relationship with my wife. 

I have written extensively about my thoughts and experiences, so won't belabor the point here. I do agree with many of the comments given relating to the importance of self-care, transparency with spouse, acceptance of self, joint journey with spouse, etc. 

My journey of striving to live authentically as a gay Mormon married man has softened my heart, humbled me, increased my awareness of others, and made me much less judgmental of others.

We are all different in so many ways that I can't pretend that my path will necessary work for others, but I do want to go on record saying that mixed orientation marriages cannot only survive, but can also thrive. I have asked myself the questions you now ask, and, at the end of the day, have decided that my maximum happiness comes through my marriage, faith, and family.