Saturday
Apr072012
I'm Speaking My Truth and Spreading the Word, Because It Does Get Better
Saturday, April 7, 2012
I hesitated to publish this, because there may be family members reading this weblog now who are not aware of my sexual and gender identity. When I read it out loud to the Palinode, though, I broke down in tears when I got to the part about feeling so proud of these kids speaking their truth at Brigham Young University, and my pride for them coupled with Didactic Pirate's coming out story earlier this last week won't let me keep this to myself. No one should have to hide.
Thanks, Heather, for making me aware of the video at the end of this entry.
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I grew up a very lonely child, because I grew up instinctively knowing I was different and that that difference was not necessarily welcomed by those around me.
I fell in love with girls. I crushed on boys. I felt I was born into the wrong body, but I didn't necessarily want a boy's body. I was a combination of things I had never heard of before. Kids at recess made jokes by giving creepy, overly intimate handshakes and then saying "Lez be friends", because apparently lesbianism was hilarious, but nobody shook my hand like that and said "Lez be friends but also look at boys and maybe dress up like we're intersexed with a male-leaning gender experience."
That last one might not have caught on because kids in grade five in 1982 lacked the vocabulary. Also, it was a little long to be catchy. I'm pretty sure that was it.
So, I kept quiet about it. Secretly, I wrote coming out letters to my parents and rehearsed magnificent speeches under my blankets at night about who I was and why I should still be loved. In my fantasies, I was the Martin Luther King of my kind, leading my protest of one, but I never let my truth be said out loud. I didn't know how to start without a vocabulary that could convince them. If I had no words for what I was, I certainly had none that would help them to understand what I was.
I grew up in a world artificially devoid of anything that deviated from heterosexuality. Throughout elementary school, when people did mention homosexuality, it was done with a sneer at the sexual acts engaged in by faceless men. They were Other. We didn't know them. There was no mention of love. The concept of being gay was reduced to its pornography. It was disgusting, it was animal, it was a degradation of humanity's higher nature.
I eventually came to believe this about my own desires, about who I was becoming as human being, only I was certain that it was much, much worse in my case, because I wasn't just gay. I was GAY. My desire for girls was gay because I had the body of a girl, and my desire for boys was gay, because I was in the wrong kind of body. I concluded that the mere existence of my desire as it stemmed from my experience was an abomination. By the time I was fifteen, I was terrified that I was some kind of sexual monster whose sure end was in pedophilia and beastiality, because isn't this what my kind of spiritual debasement led to?
I tried, as they say, to pray the gay away. I thought surely that a loving God would remove this horrible affliction from my heart. I was a Mennonite kid, but I slunk around the parking lots and grounds of Catholic churches, attempting to screw up the courage to enter a confession box. I had sins I could speak to no one, and I felt bereft of God's presence. I needed an intermediary. I wanted redemption. I needed to know that I was not condemned.
When my deviance didn't disappear, I weighed the possibility of suicide, sure that it was the only option for someone so soul-deep sick. I felt as though God had denied me as his child, and I wrote the note that would explain my death as a kind of gift to those whom I was sure my deviance was hurting.
People knew that I was sad then, but no one knew the depth of it or why it was there, because I had no voice to share with them who I was. When I look back on that time now, I feel so very lucky that I stuck it out and that I can be here living this beautiful life I get to have on the other side of that silence.
I didn't really start talking about the real truth of who I am until I was in my thirties, and, even now, I don't mention it very often. Coming out, though, writing it down and being open about my identity and experiences, has been nothing short of liberating. I have shifted from someone who felt unworthy and invisible to someone who feels and is worthy and seen.
I am beautiful, and I am loved, and I am here fully in this life in a way that I only dreamed of when I hid what I once thought of as my great sickness but I now know is the gorgeous fact of my personhood and humanity.
When I watch younger people in their teens and twenties speak out about their identities as queer and transgendered people, especially out of an environment that can make them feel less than loved like the students at Brigham Young University have in the video below, I feel so much pride in them, and I am nothing short of down-deep-in-my-soul grateful that we have come to a place in our culture where we now have the vocabulary and the means to speak out, share our stories, and find our tribes.
If you are gay or trans or some other variant of the vast spectrum that makes up humanity who has felt silenced, I want you to watch the following video and know that you are, really and truly, by thousands if not millions of people, believed and honoured and loved.
Speak your truth and spread the word, because it does get better.
Thanks, Heather, for making me aware of the video at the end of this entry.
----------------------------
I grew up a very lonely child, because I grew up instinctively knowing I was different and that that difference was not necessarily welcomed by those around me.
I fell in love with girls. I crushed on boys. I felt I was born into the wrong body, but I didn't necessarily want a boy's body. I was a combination of things I had never heard of before. Kids at recess made jokes by giving creepy, overly intimate handshakes and then saying "Lez be friends", because apparently lesbianism was hilarious, but nobody shook my hand like that and said "Lez be friends but also look at boys and maybe dress up like we're intersexed with a male-leaning gender experience."
That last one might not have caught on because kids in grade five in 1982 lacked the vocabulary. Also, it was a little long to be catchy. I'm pretty sure that was it.
So, I kept quiet about it. Secretly, I wrote coming out letters to my parents and rehearsed magnificent speeches under my blankets at night about who I was and why I should still be loved. In my fantasies, I was the Martin Luther King of my kind, leading my protest of one, but I never let my truth be said out loud. I didn't know how to start without a vocabulary that could convince them. If I had no words for what I was, I certainly had none that would help them to understand what I was.
I grew up in a world artificially devoid of anything that deviated from heterosexuality. Throughout elementary school, when people did mention homosexuality, it was done with a sneer at the sexual acts engaged in by faceless men. They were Other. We didn't know them. There was no mention of love. The concept of being gay was reduced to its pornography. It was disgusting, it was animal, it was a degradation of humanity's higher nature.
I eventually came to believe this about my own desires, about who I was becoming as human being, only I was certain that it was much, much worse in my case, because I wasn't just gay. I was GAY. My desire for girls was gay because I had the body of a girl, and my desire for boys was gay, because I was in the wrong kind of body. I concluded that the mere existence of my desire as it stemmed from my experience was an abomination. By the time I was fifteen, I was terrified that I was some kind of sexual monster whose sure end was in pedophilia and beastiality, because isn't this what my kind of spiritual debasement led to?
I tried, as they say, to pray the gay away. I thought surely that a loving God would remove this horrible affliction from my heart. I was a Mennonite kid, but I slunk around the parking lots and grounds of Catholic churches, attempting to screw up the courage to enter a confession box. I had sins I could speak to no one, and I felt bereft of God's presence. I needed an intermediary. I wanted redemption. I needed to know that I was not condemned.
When my deviance didn't disappear, I weighed the possibility of suicide, sure that it was the only option for someone so soul-deep sick. I felt as though God had denied me as his child, and I wrote the note that would explain my death as a kind of gift to those whom I was sure my deviance was hurting.
People knew that I was sad then, but no one knew the depth of it or why it was there, because I had no voice to share with them who I was. When I look back on that time now, I feel so very lucky that I stuck it out and that I can be here living this beautiful life I get to have on the other side of that silence.
I didn't really start talking about the real truth of who I am until I was in my thirties, and, even now, I don't mention it very often. Coming out, though, writing it down and being open about my identity and experiences, has been nothing short of liberating. I have shifted from someone who felt unworthy and invisible to someone who feels and is worthy and seen.
I am beautiful, and I am loved, and I am here fully in this life in a way that I only dreamed of when I hid what I once thought of as my great sickness but I now know is the gorgeous fact of my personhood and humanity.
When I watch younger people in their teens and twenties speak out about their identities as queer and transgendered people, especially out of an environment that can make them feel less than loved like the students at Brigham Young University have in the video below, I feel so much pride in them, and I am nothing short of down-deep-in-my-soul grateful that we have come to a place in our culture where we now have the vocabulary and the means to speak out, share our stories, and find our tribes.
If you are gay or trans or some other variant of the vast spectrum that makes up humanity who has felt silenced, I want you to watch the following video and know that you are, really and truly, by thousands if not millions of people, believed and honoured and loved.
Speak your truth and spread the word, because it does get better.
categorized in personal history, politics & religion and tagged in BYU, Brigham Young University, LGBT, gay, homosexuality, it gets better, lesbian, transgender, video, videos
personal history, politics & religion and tagged in BYU, Brigham Young University, LGBT, gay, homosexuality, it gets better, lesbian, transgender, video, videos 
Reader Comments (67)
Lovely and brave. So glad you shared this. I imagine many young people who are where you were in '82 will be glad you shared it too.
To me, you ARE Schmutzie - plain, simple, fancy and complex. And that's pretty awesome, all around. K
Just adding mine to the list of voices saying how great this post is. Simply fantastic.
This is so great. We're evolutionarily programmed to put everything in little boxes, and yet none of us fit in any of those little boxes. Love that you have the courage not only to share your truth, but to encourage others to share theirs.
You are perfect and wonderful just as you are and always have been. My only wish is that every person on earth would know this from the very beginning and never have to suffer a single moment of their lives. This will help. Big hugs and thanks to you for sharing your truth XO
The word deviance--simply different than the "norm" but fraught with such negative connotations--raised my hackles and hurt me. My inner-mom (the woman who mothers not only my children but all children) wants to go back and hold you and tell you you weren't different or deviant or anything but perfect. But that wouldn't have erased society. It wouldn't have erased the reactions of others I couldn't protect you from. And these feelings propel me further toward ensuring that I raise three boys who understand they are loved for who they are and will respect that right of others.
You inspire me E. You really do.
This is what courage looks and feels like. Thanks for making all of us a little braver. XO
I'm not a religious person or a christian person or whatever, but from my limited understanding, I think the whole message of christianity is "love the neighbor as thyself." The BYU video--this post--do exactly that: they love themselves and extend that love out into the world. Thank you for the power of your words and the compassion of your message--compassion is in pretty short supply these days, so we need your voice.
So brave, so beautiful. I'm new to your work but I recognise Love when I see it.
One for the ages.
This post & video at the end made me cry. I am not LGBT, but had several friends confide in me when I was in HS about their sexual orientation. I have many LGBT friends and I love them for exactly who they are. It makes my heart ache for those who feel alone and rejected just for being LGBT. I am glad to see the BYU is changing. Let's hope the rest of the world follows~sooner, rather than later.
I think your words and your post were beautiful and powerful and I thank you for sharing. I also think this video is amazing and it truly touched my heart. Thank you for sharing that, as well.
Thank you.
Thank you so much for your post. I think that thanks to people like you who speak up and show that they're not afraid of who they are, our world is a much better place.
Rock on!
Beautiful beautiful beautiful. I am a Mormon gay rights advocate and it thrills me to no end to not only watch what is happening in my community, but see it ripple outward to you. And of course, what is happening in my community is because of ripples started by others. It is a beautiful thing and I am consistently awed at the miracle of people letting go of shame and claiming who they are. You are loved and seen.
Beautiful. Beautiful. Thanks for sharing your truth.
Beautiful post. I think the most wonderful thing that I've ever learned as a Christian is to know that God didn't make everyone the same. God is tolerant and forgiving and ever-loving, He is not the judgmental monster that religion would have us believe. The main tenant is to love our neighbor as ourselves, and so many religions fail to drive that point home. Acceptance is love, and love is what being a Christian is supposed to be about.