Reflections on Being Gay
PRIDE has come to a close and I’ve been reflecting on my experience as a gay man. The last few years, I have celebrated PRIDE by watching the movie PRIDE. It is a favorite movie of mine (of any kind)—and I feel the loss of being apart from the community during that time. And after watching the movie, I have been itching to journal around what was and what could have been.
When I was young, I wasn’t out and I will always carry a grief that I disconnected myself from who I am, and that I was separated from a community of other gay men. The separation was so complete that it will never go away. Coming to terms with that has been a long, difficult process, and in truth, I will never be wholly okay with it. Drop me in a crowd of gay men, and I will disappear in plain sight. Unfortunately, I never developed the social skills to exist in those spaces. Perhaps deep down I have anger—of that, I am unclear. There is grief and some acceptance at what is.
Ironically, part of my struggle and separation was due to my early puberty—I was 8 or I might have just turned 9 (this had its own set of challenges as my parents had recently divorced and there was no guidance other than my mother handing me a book on puberty). By the time I was 9 or 10, I knew I was gay. I knew I was attracted to other boys, and I knew it wasn’t safe for anyone to know. Because I had PTSD, I had a highly developed radar for danger, for threat—my nervous system was ALWAYS on alert. My mind was trapped in a fight-or-flight pattern. I was in a constant state of FEAR. My mother was convinced I was doing drugs as a teenager because my eyes were usually dilated (which also meant that the way I experienced the world visually was also different). All of this meant that I had a preexisting skillset that I deployed to avoid being detected. I would at times mess up. Perhaps I stood the wrong way. Or my gaze would linger too long on another boy. Or I would speak the wrong way. Or my energy would give off the wrong signals.
All of this meant that I started to work on avoiding detection at a very early age. And I got very good at it.
I made mistakes. Lots of them. As I got older, and I wasn’t dating or in to girls, suspicions increased. I could sometimes feel the judgments of others that I was gay so I had to double-down to make sure I did nothing that provided confirmation. Most people were ok with it as long as there was plausible deniability (a sort of don’t ask, don’t tell). A huge chunk of my existence became devoted to this deflection of my gayness, and it became a part of me that ran on autopilot.
I also got a wildcard thrown into the mix that added to my confusion. I was molested when I was 9 at a summer camp by 2 men. I was the only boy in puberty which was obvious when we took a group shower. I think that’s why I was targeted. The two men were pretty brazen—they came to my bunk and they used their bodies to envelop me. That more than anything created the fear. Other boys were all around me. They moved their hands under the covers. I didn’t have language for what they were doing. I didn’t understand why my penis was hard. The sensations felt good, which was confusing because I was also in a lot of fear. They told me no one would believe me if I told on them, and I believed them because that’s really how life was. The first time I spoke about it was 4 decades later. At some point, I got language around what had been done. And with that came an awful realization—gay men were predators, and since I was gay, I must be a predator. It was simple, faulty reasoning, and I was a child growing up on my own.
The molestation made the condemnations I got in church around being gay sound truthful. I became afraid of myself—afraid that I was a predator—which was against my moral code—but I equated being gay with being a predator—so I had failed myself and there was nothing I could do to change it.
From that standpoint, I will go to the mat against anyone who claims being gay is a choice. Because I desperately wanted to be otherwise. I love who I am now. But as a child, it was dangerous. I was too young to understand the feelings. And in my church, being gay was considered the worst of sins—the word itself was taboo.
For me, because being gay (or lesbian) isn’t a choice, isn’t about “identifying” in a particular way, and is driven by biology, I don’t resonate with the queer spaces filled with straight people who like to throw out labels around who they think they are. Gays and non-gay queers exist in different galaxies, and sure, it’s great to visit each other just like it’s ok to mingle in straight spaces. It’s not about hating or even rejection, and I feel that the same-sex attraction crowd should and deserve their own spaces and events.
I spent a lifetime hiding my gay energy. It’s there. But it has to be coaxed into the open. I learned the language of gay suppression at a very young age. And my gay energy will not feel called to come out in play in non-gay queer spaces—my gay energy needs friendly gay energy to become more visible—that’s part of the wounding that I grew up with and carry to this day. It is what it is.
I will always wonder what kind of gay man I might have been. I’m not interested in blaming straight people. Some of the most amazing humans I’ve met are straight. And I totally love them. Some of my burden would have been lifted if I had some guidance and if I had not been forced into dealing with it as a little boy. Also, being a victim creates a hole in the soul that will never be filled.
With all of that, with whatever hidden anger I may have, and the grief that bubbles, I’m sending out a wave of love to all of my gay brothers. Wherever you are. Love and be loved.
Breath to Fire
