Living in the Shadows

I grew up in Utah in a strong LDS culture and family, and the idea that I was a lesbian never occurred to me as a kid, even in high school years. When I fell in love with my first girlfriend at 18, I sincerely believed that I just happened to fall in love with that particular woman, and that it didn't really mean I was gay. It wasn't until much later when I felt attraction toward another woman that it hit me like a ton of bricks that I was actually gay. Once I allowed myself to look back at my life it was easy to identify various crushes I’d had on girls, but I just hadn’t allowed myself to consider it.

Because I was a devout member of my faith, I sincerely believed that being gay was wrong and that I was most certainly going to hell. In my fear, I told my parents about it (ok, I confessed to my Mormon bishop - who happened to be my dad - that I had kissed a girl), and they said that they would always love me and were fully supportive of helping me to overcome my "same-sex attraction,” more stealthily referred to as “SSA.”

The Illusion of the "Fix"

So I dutifully participated in conversion therapy (individual therapy, meds, conferences, reading ex-gay literature and books) for nearly a decade. Luckily, I didn't experience the horrors of electric shock therapy like so many have, but there were countless conversations about how I had rejected my femininity and that my issues with my mom—or wait, maybe it was issues with my dad, or maybe it was from my trauma history - all caused my SSA. I worked diligently on all of those so-called “causes” of my queerness, but despite all of my hard work and progress, I kept having feelings for women.

I moved all over the country to run away from those feelings, leaving a self-righteous trail of broken relationships, betrayal, and hurt that I now deeply regret. I even went on an LDS mission and was sent home—not because I had broken any rules while there, but because they found out I was gay and it hadn't been approved for me to be there as someone with SSA. I was devastated that nothing I tried was working and I lived in a continual state of inner turmoil, anguish, despair, and suicidality.

Giving Up the Fight

Despite having dropped out of college several times, I eventually managed to graduate and I was ready to go off to grad school. I had applied to a number of Marriage and Family Therapy programs in the country, but my top choice was to go to Colorado State University in Fort Collins. While it was my first choice, I was terrified to attend their program because when I interviewed there, I saw LGBTQ safe space stickers on all the professors' doors (to all of you old timers, the upside-down pink triangles!). I was afraid going there would tempt me to give up my fight to be a straight and faithful LDS woman.

But I went anyway. And it turned out I was right!

It was the first time in my life that I'd ever interacted with people who were not LDS and with people who were supportive of the LGBTQ+ community. And after a semester of keeping myself nestled deep in the closet, I disclosed to my best friend - a devout Christian - that I was struggling with having to choose between my spirituality and my sexuality. She looked at me and said, “Why can’t you have both?” That simple question broke my worldview wide open.

Stepping Into a New Shadow

So I started my new life of self-acceptance in Colorado. It took me several years to work through the residual guilt and shame of being gay and leaving my religion, but I ended up dating and marrying one of my former girlfriends, we adopted our two kids, and I finally laid to rest my struggle. I was able to embrace that I could be a spiritual person AND a gay person, and that I could be happy with both.

I'll never forget my first Pride. It was the first time we ever held hands in public and it was simultaneously terrifying and titillating! Plus we saw so many people who were just like us! At the parade when the PFLAG parents walked by with signs saying "I'm proud of my gay son" or "I love my lesbian daughter," my soon-to-be wife and I broke down into tears. The concept of a family supporting their gay children was so foreign to us that we were stunned and profoundly touched. But Pride was a bubble of bliss in a tumultuous world.

As legally recognized domestic partnerships and gay marriage were becoming more accepted and even legalized in various states, there was a lot of backlash happening in the political arena and all around the country. A lot of money was being raised to support pro-marriage laws that were exclusionary of gay people, and most queer folx experienced or lived in fear of getting disowned by their families, fired, kicked out of their housing, assaulted, raped, or even killed. Matthew Shepard’s death sent a shockwave and warning throughout the LGBTQ+ community. While many of us felt safe in our private social circles, we all shared experiences of discrimination, micro-aggressions, and flat-out bigotry.

Protecting Our Family in the Shadows

By the time we were ready to get married, gay marriage was not legally acknowledged anywhere, but it was popular for queer couples to have "commitment ceremonies" to declare their devotion to each other. So we planned ours and started researching how to protect ourselves and our assets legally. We knew that if one of us got sick or died, we would not be allowed in the hospital, to make medical decisions, and would have no legal say about how our partner’s belongings or assets were to be distributed. We put both of our names on the titles of our cars to be insured, but we knew that we were each on our own for health insurance as spousal or partner benefits were a rarity, even in a liberal state like Colorado.

When it came to deciding how to start a family, we decided not to carry a biological child as we feared our families would not recognize the non-biological parent were the so-called “real mom” to die. Once we adopted our son, we had to hire an attorney and find a legal loophole to have both of us legally recognized as parents. Shout out to the court clerk in Boulder, Colorado that would allow two moms or two dads to be listed on birth and adoption certificates! Much to our relief, by the time we adopted our daughter, the governor of Colorado had secretly pushed through a gay adoption bill that allowed us both to be on her birth certificate.

Many states passed laws allowing and protecting gay marriage and adoption, but some of those laws were later repealed. Eventually, however, the Supreme Court federally legalized gay marriage in 2015. I remember that day clearly. I was home with the kids, my wife was at work, and the community had been anxiously awaiting the ruling. Once I heard the news, I was feeling quite emotional. I told my kids (ages 10 and 7 by then), "Guess what? The Supreme Court just decided that Mom and I can legally get married now!" My daughter looked up at me with fear in her eyes and said, "You and Mom were illegal?" She had always lived in the innocence of believing that our marriage was treated just like everyone else’s, and learning that it hadn’t been protected incited a fear in her that she could get taken away from us. And the truth was, we were every bit as afraid as she was.

Watching History Repeat Itself

After the Supreme Court Ruling the controversy over gay rights settled down. While there was still some opposition to gay rights, the bulk of the country supported them. The LGBTQ community felt much safer and the dangers of being out and proud subsided overall. Of course, there is still some danger in certain areas today, but in general, it’s considered ok - and even kinda cool - to be gay, lesbian, or bi.

Over the last decade, however, I’ve been watching the same process happen to the trans community: the hate and the pushback on trans legal protections is very similar to what happened with gay rights. I've watched many of my trans and gender expansive friends and clients come out of the closet with pride and joy, but then have had to step back in fear of a very real threat. Their rights, protections, and insurance coverage were expanding, but once Trump was elected, that all changed to be worse than before any progress was made. People are afraid to have their medical records reflect their gender identity, to openly post on social media, or even to go to Pride. Many have lost their gender affirming care and coverage and many have moved out of the country to protect themselves. We have watched the violence, discrimination, and blatant transphobia rise up again in a backlash to the hard-won progress of the rights of gender non-coforming people.

Hope from the Shadows

This is a dark time for queer people, especially our trans community. But I am often reminded about how dark it felt for gay and lesbian people when we had no hope and feared retribution. And I remember that the LGBTQ community is not alone in this process. If you look at any civil rights movement - for women, people of color, religious minorities, those with disabilities - they all have experienced progress and then backlash, but eventually positive change sticks. I believe that the backlash ends up highlighting how horrible the violence, discrimination, and blatant mistreatment of minority groups truly is. And that's when people finally say, "Hey, that's enough. These people are humans too, and all humans deserve to be treated equally and with dignity."

Obviously, civil rights movements are still necessary because there are still serious ongoing issues with all of the -isms and phobias. We will always be navigating the immense growing pains of human evolution. Despite that, my belief - my unwavering hope - is that we are in the darkest hour before the dawn.

The pendulum may swing violently, but progress marches on!

The Dark Before the Dawn: A Reflection on Pride, Backlash, and the Growing Pains of Hope