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October 5th, 2023

How Many More Dear God…How Many More…

Gay teen, terrified of his emerging sexuality, falls into a hyper conservative Christianity with the usual outcome. Thankfully he drew back from ex-gay therapy figuring (correctly) that it would likely push him over the edge.

I have seen firsthand what this does to people. I wish there was some way to get it more forcefully across, but all there is are testimonies like this one, and a slim hope that someday it’ll finally sink in…

Is My Family Better Off With A Gay Dad Or A Dead Dad?

In order to distract myself from my internal core issues, I spent the next 17 years pouring myself into my marriage, work, and leadership roles within my Churches of Christ congregation. While I prayed daily that God would take away my feelings, the internal conflict persisted, leading to an increased level of self-hatred. I would sometimes go to large Pentecostal church rallies seeking healing, but never divulged my struggle, knowing I would be ‘marked’ and disowned by my community.

Eventually, all this took its toll and brought my life to a crisis around the age of 40. While recovering from major depression, I was under the care of a clinical psychologist. Once again, because of fear, I didn’t divulge my same-sex attraction in these sessions, but I did become aware of the interplay of internalised stress on my wellbeing.

During this time, my anxiety over my homosexuality became unbearable, and I contacted a gay conversion organisation seeking change & healing. I was also dealing with increasing levels of suicidal thoughts. This terrified me. I reached out to a well-known conversion “therapy” organisation, Exodus. After several email interactions, I knew that if I followed through, it would drive me faster down the path to suicide, so I ceased communications.

The years of self-hate had led me to the darkest point of my life…

Read the entire thing Here.


One Response to “How Many More Dear God…How Many More…”

  1. Steve Boese Says:

    Yeah, for me, born on the cusp of 1960, growing up in small towns of Minnesota, my step-dad (community college instructor) asked Mom about whether her 13-y/o might be gay. She wasn’t judgmental in her response, just uninformed, with “No, Steve isn’t that way.”

    Twenty years later, coming out to her as gay in the midst of a sinking marriage with 3 young kids, one of her comedic responses was, “But, you were my NORMAL one!” (Yeah, eldest of 5, married at 25, making strides in the corporate career, determined to be a rich presence in my kids’ lives from the start.)

    I didn’t buy into the toxic lies that my ex-spouse wanted me to adopt to become a certifiable ex-gay.

    In the process, though, my now 30+ y/o kids have barely been in touch with their Granny B and made sure I knew I was unwelcome at graduations and weddings.

    I fought for some semblance of a relationship with my distant dysfunctional dad. I knew all along he was troubled and damaged. I just never imagined that my commitment to being a better dad would be met with such resistance because I turned out to be gay.

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