Self Acceptance - My Thirty Year Journey
Foreword
As you read this article, it's worth noting that I began writing this article on the 12th of July 2021. It has taken me until today to work up the courage to publish this because in this article I share some very personal details about my life. Moreover, I am acutely aware that those who read this may oppose me with some very strong views. But what i have to say is important.
I always thought of myself as being reasonably strong up to the point where covid 19 changed the world as we know it. More than that, it changed me. When I say I thought of myself as strong. I don't mean physically strong, but mentally strong. You know, possessing the kind of mental fortitude that people claim to have, the kind of "give yourself a shake and get on with it", or, "pull yourself together" attitude that older generations seemed to have by the bucket load. I always thought I was quite able to do that. To quote a famous phrase, "Keep calm and carry on", was my motto. So I didn't really give much thought to my mental health. Little did I know what was in store for me over the course of the next few years.
But the reality is that my mental health struggles started a long time before that. I had simply been too scared to face them. So let's begin.
Part 1: Examining the Scars
In 2020, the sudden impact of mounting anxiety relating to coronavirus, work pressures, caring responsibilities, bereavement, loneliness, all coupled with internal struggles of identity (both personal and professional), they all certainly contributed to my first identifiable experience of panic/anxiety attacks and depression. I realise now that the condition of my mental health was, and always had been, a direct reflection of my ability to control my life, my environment and my surroundings. Ironically, looking back now I can see how little control I had over these things. Everything was balanced so precariously.
Historically, my life at work was largely proactive. I took pride in my work and in my efforts to be the best teacher I could. But that came at the expense of a very reactive home life from which work was my escape. And when all of that was threatened, no attacked is a better word, it didn't take much for me to crumble. That's how it felt at the time, like I was being attacked, and the very fabric of my being was crumbling or being picked apart piece by piece. What hurt most was that the attack (aside from the invisible virus that biologically attacked us all) came from people that I didn’t expect, people I trusted. In short, and without sharing the gory details, my life felt like it was falling apart around me, slowly, surely, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I didn't have the power to do anything to stop it.
I look back now and reflect on that experience with some degree of anger and resentment. Yes, eventually, after recognising the trauma I had been through, I got to a place of acceptance, accepting what had happened, realising that the pain and hurt I experienced will never go away but accepting that it's OK to acknowledge it and move on. I will always carry those battle scars with me, but I see now that these scars are part of me and not something to be ashamed of. Indeed they remind me of the people and events that caused those scars and they remind me never to treat other people that way.
But all that aside, I wanted to write this blog with a very specific purpose in mind because one of those scars runs much deeper than any of the others because it relates to an aspect of acceptance, specifically self acceptance. In previous blogs I've written about issues of life, work and education through the pandemic so I have no intention of reiterating any of that here. This blog is different because its about an aspect of my life that I haven't written about before and it's way more personal. It deals with quite another issue that impacted my life and mental health for decades. I want to write about my experience as a man of faith growing up as a Christian and growing up the whole time feeling like I had to hide part of myself.
You see I want to discuss the issue of sexuality. You may have gathered by this stage, I'm gay. Wow - just writing that down is a big deal for me! Knowing that one day people might read this scares me. However, while I know this is a topic that some people have strong opinions on, if you really don't want to read any further, then please stop here. I have no intention of shying away from this issue. Indeed, for my own peace of mind this is an issue that I must confront because it has affected me so much and so deeply over the years that I want to share some of my experience for the purposes of raising awareness and to try and prevent others from going through experiences like this. But knowing how difficult this might be for some people to hear, I will try to portray the issue as sensitively as I can.
The only way I know to do that is by sharing my own personal perspective and life experiences. I'm not an expert in psychology or trauma related grief. But while this might not make for a comfortable read, please be assured, each of these experiences were real. They happened to me.
So I ask anyone who reads this to remember that what I'm about to present is my personal experience and that's not up for debate. Dewey says that experience is something we do and/or something we undergo. Please think about that as you read on. Think about the things I did and the consequences I had to undergo. All any of us can do is to interpret the world and life events through our own eyes, make the best decisions we can. We and act on our personal interpretation of the world and undergo the consequences of those actions (or the actions of others) with all the joy and sorrow it contains. I have no problem if there are people out there who's views differ from my own. I know this is an issue that many people will argue about and I'm well aware that there are many perspectives on sexuality out there. So out of respect for other people's views and opinions I have no intention of trying to debate any of them. But in the spirit of reciprocity I simply ask for that same courtesy in return. I ask my readers to read without judgement and hear my story. Can you do that? While I relay my experiences in this blog can you simply read and accept, in a non-judgemental way, what I'm about to tell you?
You see growing up as a gay man, I've heard many describe it as a lifestyle choice. No-one with even half a brain would choose this life, no one would choose to go through the pressure of facing other school children every day knowing you're different but not knowing why, shying away from sports and shower rooms, being called a snob because I didn't enjoy the "rough and tumble" that boys stereo-typically took part in. Some branded me a snob, a weirdo and eventually a "poof". You see even at primary school I knew I was different and so did the other kids. I was the strange but clever kid that didn't fit into any peer group. I didn’t know why I didn't fit in and that was scary. Being frightened, I would hide in the classroom doing art projects or science homework rather than join the other kids in the playground.
And the problem of fitting in didn't go away.
As a kid growing up in a Christian family you're taught to abhor violence in all its forms, turn the other cheek and all that. But as a boy, growing up, you're expected to get into the odd scrape have a black eye or a cut lip. Not me. Bullies would say stuff and do horrible things I would just let them, choosing instead to walk away, "be the bigger man". For the record that didn't work. It just gave the weaker bullies further down the chain of command someone less important than them that they in turn could pick on. So as a child and even to this day I avoid confrontation. Moreover the emotional turmoil at home didn't help.
But the bullying continues into my adult life. Just this weekend Ive been laughed at, called ugly, fat, made to feel small. And that was in a gay club during pride month. Still I just walked away and cried feeling like i don't fit in anywhere. You'd be surprised as to the lengths I'll go to just to avoid confrontation.
Growing up, my home life was full of arguments you see, shouting and emotional turmoil between two parents that were madly in love but at the same time not good for each other. When I came home from school I was met with so many mixed messages it was confusing and frightening for a kid. On one hand being taught to abhor violence and abusive behaviour while on the other hand watching my parents argue, throw things, insult each other and tell me just to hit back at the bullies who picked on me, don't be like Dad the drug addict but instead be like mum the perpetually angry christian. I had no role models to help me co-regulate my emotions. As an adult and professional educator, looking back now I can understand what was going on, but it haunts me none-the-less. No, it doesn't just haunt me like a ghost that pops up every Halloween. Its part of me. I am a walking definition of insecure social attachment and all the knowledge in the world doesn't make that any easier to handle.
Most importantly, can you see how none of these experiences were lifestyle choices?
Over time, and as my confidence grew into my teenage life I learned to stand my ground and defend myself more, or at least thats what I told my parents. The truth is I still hate confrontation. Does that make me weak? Soft? Less of a man? A "poof"? If other kids picked on me I would rather let them do that than confront them or fight back. Honestly I was frightened by all the fighting i had seen at home and what I had seen taught me how fighting back makes it all worse. I didn't want school to be like that too.
Sociologically, some might say I was "othered". Psychologically some might argue that I experienced an abnormal psychosexual development. You see, as an adult I've studied the science and I've studied the bible and I understand the teachings of both. And while I might agree or disagree with the teachings of people who give their interpretation of their texts (whatever form that might take) from either perspective, try telling that to a 10 year old boy. Yes that's how young I was when I realised I was different.
High school didn't get any better because by that time I knew what the word "gay" meant. Imagine lying to your family when they try to set you up on dates with girls. My friends didn't set me up on any dates because, put simply, I didn't have any friends by that stage. I was bullied all through school and learned quickly that the simplest way to avoid that kind of pain was to avoid people. A solitary life was simply easier. Hmmm... Reading this back to myself it reminds me a little of Wednesday Adams. Don't get me wrong, I was a smart kid and got good grades and the others knew I was smart. But all through high school, college and university I would sit inside my house with my nose in a book largely because it gave me a sense of safety. There is safety in seclusion. Sad thing is that, now having studied the statistics, I know that solitude and lack of socialisation increases your risk of mortality. Let that sink in for a moment. People who are bullied would rather put their own mortality at risk rather than face the possibility of further mistreatment at the hands of others.
Being an intelligent kid brought its own problems though. Imagine growing up reading in the Bible, and believing, that God sees you as an abomination. Below is a brief definition:
Yes, by some standards I am something to be regarded with disgust or hatred. An interesting question is who is doing the regarding? Is it God? Is it other people? Is it me? Perhaps all three. Some make the distinction that it's not what I am that's disgusting, it's what I do that's disgusting (refering to the plumbing issues of gay sex). But, what's ironic is that, by the time I was a teenager, I hadn't "done" anything. Even in my adult life I push people away and i miss some of the friends I lost as a consequence of the choices I made. One very special person I miss deeply. But this is a consequence of my own actions.
But, my point is that the same teenager who understood what an abomination was, was also smart enough to realise that he was, from a societal perspective, a crime against nature, societal norms, ... whatever. Think about that for a moment. Regardless of what your friends or family think, knowing that your God regards you with disgust or hatred. Then knowing that your Christian brothers and sisters (including your parents) believe it too and, worse still, believing that about yourself. I began down a road of self loathing very early in life. The thought that the same God that I love with all my heart sees me as an abomination... Wow that hurt!
So when I was a teenager around the age of 18 I found myself looking at (and seriously considering) gay conversion therapy. Just so we're clear, this was an 18 year old boy seriously considering the benefits of subjecting himself to a practice that is now known to include anything from talking and prayer therapy to food deprivation, exorcism, physical violence and corrective rape. Now, I thank God for keeping me from going down that road. But, what's perhaps more worrying is the fact that I opted out of that experience not because I believed it was wrong, but because it meant I would have to admit to my parents that I was gay and I needed help with my mental health.
Instead I prayed to God to take away these unnatural desires and to keep love away from me. If I was such an offence to God then I would rather live a lonely life than one that offended him so badly. I had no idea what I was wishing on myself because, of all the prayers I made, this is the one God answered.
I was 41 years old before I told anyone about my sexuality and at that point I looked back on my life and realised that I've been treading a fine line, the line between being honest with myself and being honest with other people.
I remember a girl in high school who obviously liked me and for a brief time I thought I liked her too. I tried to convince myself that I was straight, that what I was going through wasn't real and all the while I was using this girl to build a picture of myself as the straight, white, christian man that everyone expected me to be. But I knew if I kept going down that road I could hurt myself and this other beautiful person who was lovely and kind and deserved more than I could offer her. Certainly she deserved more than the lie of omission I was presenting. This much I do know - love is not built on lies. What I was doing was unfair and unkind. So I broke away from her very quickly and abruptly. I never told her why. That in itself was unkind too and it's one of my life's deepest regrets. Yet it's a cycle i can't break. I keep hurting people and in turn I hurt myself.
Over the years that came, throughout my twenties and thirties I went through cycles, fighting the tension between the life I was living, the life others expected me to live and the life I wanted but couldn't have. One or two girls got caught up in that process. I remember them all and I'm truly sorry for any pain I might have caused.
The truth is, my life was like living in a pressure cooker and the lid was locked on tight by my parents and my faith. That's the power of societal expectation.
Part 2: Practical Magic
By the age of 20 I was messed up. To give you some idea of how my mind was working, around the time of my 21st birthday, I was in church and the wife of one of the church elders was giving a talk to the young people about finding a partner, love, sex and what it all meant in the context of a loving christian relationship. And it made so much sense. But my response was twisted.
What this woman said was that we should pray to God to bring someone into our lives who had the qualities we wanted in a life partner. That was such a thought provoking moment for me because it was the first time I had to really think about what I wanted, no, what I needed from God and from a life partner. So I considered very carefully and I asked for a partner who had three qualities: (1) I wanted a partner who shared my interest in music and art (music, culture and art are passions of mine) (2) I wanted a partner who could make me laugh and, most important of all, (3) I wanted a partner who shared my faith. All of those things seem straight forward right? Nothing weird about any of that? Here's the catch - the reason I prayed for those things was twofold. Yes, one reason was because these qualities represented what I wanted in a partner, but the other reason was because I knew it was such an unlikely a combination of qualities that I probably wouldn't ever meet someone like that. Yes, finding a straight woman who met all of these criteria wasn't difficult. But finding a man, a gay christian man... No, it would never happen. I had concocted a recipe for an impossible person. It was a exactly like that moment in the movie Practical Magic where the little girl cast a spell for an impossible love so that she never had to experience heartbreak.
All my life I've been constructing a shield that guaranteed my own loneliness and seclusion. All this because I didn't want to offend God. You see a lot of people don't realise how much my faith means to me. As if the very fact of being gay precludes belief in God. I always knew that if I did meet someone special that I would have told my parents immediately. To do anything else would been utterly unfair on a partner. But my relationship with God is paramount. I would never compromise that.
What ensued after college and university was two decades of death, illness, stress, depression and grief all the while burying myself deeper in my work to escape the unhappiness in my personal life.
My dad passed away from cancer when I was 24, and all the major male role models I had in my life were gone by the age of 27. I found myself surrounded by assertive and dominant women. Some might argue that this affected my sexuality, a product of deviant socialisation surrounded by dominant women. I know that research conducted by gay conversion therapists suggested that in a family which has an emotionally distant father and overbearing mother then there exists a 50% chance that their offspring will be homosexual. Ironic that this statistic describes my family to a tee. My dad was emotionally distant. Drug addiction does that to a person. As for overbearing, yes mum could be very overbearing. Sometimes I wonder if that was the reason my dad turned to drugs. But the more he turned to drugs, the more overbearing she became. Ultimately perhaps it is no coincidence that I am one of two brothers, me gay and my brother straight as a die.
But I remember thinking all the while throughout those years about the prayer I made as a teenager. The loneliness I had wished on myself was never so poignant. Be careful what you pray for!
Looking back now I suppose none of that matters because I have lived my life before God. I have tried to bring all of my struggles and all of my mistakes before him. Consequently I realise now I have chosen a single life and I am likely to remain single until I die. I resent that fact. I would have liked to have got married, had children, built a family. I almost proposed to someone once... dwelling on regrets is pointless. These are things I can do little to change at this point in my life. God's plan for my life seems clear.
On the subject of plans, my "practikal magic" inspired recipe for seclusion backfired.
Just briefly, beford I finish, I want to return to the prayer I made in my 20s, my recipe for an impossible person. Remember I prayed for someone who shared my faith, shared my passion for art and music and made me laugh...
After 22 years of waiting, it turned out that the Mr. Impossible I prayed for all those years ago is very real. I'd known him for some time and just before the pandemic of 2020 we became good friends. I realised, that after all these years God had finally answered my prayers and simultaneously taught me not to put limits on what he can do. I was overjoyed and scared at the same time. In time I came to love this man with all my heart.
In watching my friendship with Mr. Impossible grow, mum's notice these things and my mum was no exception. And despite her religious views, just before she died I was getting dressed to go out to dinner when mum said: "[Mr Impossible] could do a lot worse than you." I was shocked, scared and overjoyed at the same time. That one moment of connection meant the world to me because it gave me the courage to be authentic and honest with people for the first time in my life. She died less than six weeks later.
But during that "coming out" period, I had realised my feelings for Mr. Impossible and I was scared. So I confided in a few close friends and family for advice. Some said that we were mismatched and just be quiet about it. Others said it was just a crush because Mr. Impossible represented everything I wanted to be like I was some kind of egocentric gold-digging narcissist. Others said to tell him because the alternative was to spend the rest of your life not knowing.
But after decades of waiting, loneliness, prayer, and then finally working up the courage to tell Mr. Impossible how I felt, you can imagine my devastation when he told me that he didn't feel the same. I cried for days. You see, back then when I offered up my prayers to God I forgot one key ingredient. Love.
Part 3: Caring for Others
As I approached my late thirties both my mother and the woman I regarded as my grandmother both became ill. So on top of everything I had going on in my head I also had to accept the burden of caring for both of them. That's an awful word, burden. Neither of them ever felt like a burden to me. It's just what you do. When family needs you, you step up to the plate. But it was a heavy load to carry.
I'm assured by people I've spoke to that it's not unusual to experience a sense of relief when a person you've spent 10 years caring for passes away. I loved my "grandmother" very much. And the guilt that came with that same sense of relief was crippling. But the period that followed was important. It was like the weight being lifted ever so slightly from my shoulders allowing me to take the first few steps of my journey back to wellness until the same experience was even more keenly felt when my mother passed away only 18 months later in September of 2020. There was the grief, the relief, the guilt... but this time it was all accompanied by the fact that the lid of the pressure cooker had nothing holding it in place any longer. My parents were both gone and the lid of the pressure cooker burst off allowing thirty years of emotional turmoil to just bubble over. I was a mess and if it hadn't been for two very special people in my life holding me together and holding me up I genuinely don't know what would have happened.
Part 4: Technology, faith, sexuality and intimacy
Technology is a great thing because it gave me access to a great deal of resources where I could learn more. You see I've read books about sexuality and being a same-sex attracted man in a christian community. A strange turn of phrase isn't it, "same sex attracted". But it's another good way of lessening the impact of the words homosexual or gay. In my experience that would be quite a scandal for a church to acknowledge that they have a homosexual man in their congregation. Sad but true.
But technology also has its down sides where you can access all kinds of apps and content. Since I had no-one to guide me throught this, I had to learn from experience and not all of it was good.
Back in the 90s technology was so limited that all you could access was porn. As a teenager, I won't say I didn't look. I did. But what I wanted was some idea of what sex with another man was like. I was scared to try it and porn gave me unhealthy expectations. To be honest I think most teenagers turn to porn for that reason especially when you're the weird guy that no-one wants to be around never mind have sex with.
But technology also provided access to apps where you could chat with other gay men online. This was different because for the first time I could speak/chat with other people like me directly. Most just wanted sex with me because I was young and I was the latest virgin on the forum. But I saw right through them. I was a clever kid. But there were other men who helped me a lot with advice on sexual health, warning signs, issues of consent etc.
Stereotypically, public bathrooms were a problem with lurkers hanging around in all of them, holes cut through cubicle walls, notes being passed under cubicles. I have to admit, I did give in to temptation a few times. I regret that. But I've prayed, I've read my bible, Ive asked for forgiveness and I've been more critical of myself than anyone else could ever be. So I invite neither critique nor judgement.
Strangely however, on the few occasions when I gathered the courage to talk to other gay men online, I was confronted by more lurkers, straight people masquerading as gay on various forums who had the front to ask me about what I refer to as the "hygeine and plumbing issues" of homosexual intercourse between two men, crude and degrading questions designed to draw my attention to the "indignity" of assuming the "female role". Would anyone ask such a question of a straight man? Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe sharing the gory details for straight men enhances their sense of masculine identity.
There are those who suggest that if we place too much weight on our own experience then it colours how we interpret the bible. Personally I find that stance ironic when christian faith (at least in my view) is based on the human ability to experience the workings of a living God in your everyday life. It's tantamount to saying that life experience is valid, except when it's not, or when it undermines biblical teaching. A flawed premise if ever I heard one for the two seem intimately and continuously entangled in my view.
I've also been taught that a "high view" of the bible is to accept it unquestioningly word for word, Yet, my experience has also taught me that when one fails to question the bible, one chooses to forego learning and deny one's self the opportunity for spiritual growth, the very form of growth our God wants for us. I could cite numerous examples to that effect. For things started to change when I began to ask that perpetually uncomfortable question, "why?"
I demanded answers. Proper answers, not circular arguments of scripture grounded in scripture. Not cop out answers like "because God loves us and wants to protect us" which amount to little more than "I don't know but the bible says it so I believe it, that settles it." I got proper answers grounded in historical, scientific and social context which finally made sense, made the bible more real and relevant to society and to me than I ever realised could be possible, and most importantly allowed me to find a sense of peace and achieve an understanding of scripture that fits with what I perceive as a loving God.
Again, I've heard the argument that what I perceive as a loving God is to define God in terms that suit me. Can I be clear, this is not about my fear of being judged by God. It never was. It was about the inconsistency. I did not choose to be gay, nor did I choose to be the abomination that is described in the bible. Did my parents make me gay? Did God make me this way? Through no choice of my own and by default I end up in a position where I am loathed by God. How is that in any way fitting with the loving, just and righteous God portrayed in the bible?
You see, that is the ultimate contradiction that every gay man experiences. People are taught that God loves us. But if you're gay, not so much.
I've decided not to share further details about my faith because I don't want to influence anyone else's journey. I simply wish to point out that, as a friend of mine once said, "Entering the doors of a church doesn't mean you have to leave your brain in the cloakroom." It's OK to ask questions. Indeed, it's essential because without questions we cannot learn and grow. By asking questions I found peace. I simply hope that by documenting and sharing my journey of self acceptance that it might help someone else with their journey.
Part 5: A Short lived happiness
To be clear, I lived 41 years before I could be intimate with anyone. But my happiness was short lived.
After I got over the lesson of Mr. Impossible, I met another man. We met in one of those online chat forums, we met face to face and I was immediately captivated by his radiant smile. We had drinks, didn't have sex, I walked him home and drove away hoping he would contact me again. To my delight he did!
We went for walks, talked for hours, he told me about his family, I spoke about mine... we fantasised about going on holidays together... I was so happy! But then he told me about his elderly mum who was visiting for a few weeks. I was OK with that at first. Until I found out it was a lie. He didn't want to tell me the truth incase it scared me off. He was caring for his mum for a much longer period of time. I felt suffocated and hurt. I understood the lie but immediately I felt a wedge between us. I understood the need to step up to the plate and support his mum. I had done the very same thing myself. But the lie hurt.
Given his increasing time pressures, we had to fight to find time and space to be alone together. We lived 48km apart which didn't help. And on the one night we had where we could be intimate, I fell ill. I was terrified as I started coughing that I had caught covid and I had to think about the risk I posed to this elderly lady that I had never met. The anxiety of "bedroom performance" coupled with the cough. Everything was ruined and my new found happiness was falling apart on me.
Old habits die hard. Through tears, I broke it off the next day via text message. My actions were cruel. I didn't even have the courage to tell him the truth. He got the "its not you, its me talk" (which wasnt totally untrue). And suddenly he was gone. I wept and wept...
Oddly though God gave me another chance and brought him back into my life two years later.
Rightly, he explained how I had broke his heart, made him feel cheap and used. I took all the blame. But we kept talking...
It was hard for me to watch him texting other men. But the trust was gone and i knew I would have to work ard to rebuild that. He told me his mum was coming to stay for the summer. I wouldnt be able to see him for three months. It felt like a test. But I went with it. He told me he was going to London to visit his family at christmas. I said ok as little by little I felt like I was dying inside. Then one day he offered to cook for me.
It was small... but my heart lept with joy at that one small gesture. But 3 days before the meal, my brother, my only remaining family relative, was diagnosed with cancer. I was distraught. I didn't know what to do. My brother had his wife to talk to and I didn't want to get in the way. I just needed someone. What was worse was I didn't know if I could get to the dinner I was so looking forward to. I didn't know what the future held. So I asked this man if i could come to see him. And the answer was no but he was happy to support me in the times ahead.
All of this happened in november and I was so angry I lashed out. It wasn't the continued offer of support. It was the sheer lack of time he took to say no. Angrily I said said I would see him in the new year. We never got that far. I stopped texting waiting on some query to see how i was. He did the same. Eventually I blocked him. After an angry exchange of words just before Christmas, we stopped speaking completely and the engagement ring I bought, dreams of proposing on a beach in Madeira, it all went straight to the pawn shop. In a later equally angry exchange of words, he made it clear there had been nothing romantic between us second time around. It was all in my head, a fantasy of my own making. The happiness I thought I had found wasn't real. It never had been.
Sadly, I still love that man. But we've caused each other so much pain. Please God, no more.
I've come to accept now that, unless God brings someone into my life who has any romantic attachment for me, perhaps I never will experience what it means to be truly happy. But my journey is not finished.
I find it hard to be positive about the future. After all this I'm more guarded and solitary than I've ever been. Anyone who has the strength to break through the walls I've built around me ... well ... they will need to be very special indeed. I suppose I've reverted to type as I've signed up for my EdD Degree starting in October 2022. Back to burying my nose in a book just like mum always said. But the reality is that I continue in my faith without any sense of direction or purpose now. To say I feel more than a little lost would be an understatement. I can only pray to be found because I'm so deep in this maze I can't find my way out.
I so want to be happy again. But until then I still have safety in my solitude.
Conclusion
To those who have read this far, whatever your thoughts on sexuality and faith, thank you for reading to this point and accepting my experience without judgement. You did do that, right?
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