This Is My Story, This Is My Song.

Some time ago, I slowly began letting people in.

Some time ago, I began with people most close to me.

It wasn’t until 12 months ago, I found push-back. And once it began, the ball went rolling.

Here’s a small snippet of  what happened behind the scenes:

I cried. I cried, a lot. A. Lot. And cried even more. There were times I ruminated whether or not I could be both Christian and queer. There were times I thought I had to choose between one or the other. There are times I tried to imagine myself with only one label. What would my life be like if I followed the “gay agenda”? What would it look like if I could choose not to be queer? What would I do? Which friends would I lose if I did? And on top of the ones I already have? What friends did I feel safe enough to invite into my life? What friends did I hide from? Where did I feel safe? What did I call home?

I mourned. I mourned over the losses of the people in my life that decided that I would not be able to walk with them anymore. I mourned over the friends that didn't want to know the full extent of how I was doing. I mourned the friendships I treasured. I mourned the relationships that had previously brought so much light and love into my life now to be tainted with disdain.

I very much so questioned. I questioned the validity of the relationships I held in high regard. I wondered if I would be treated the same if I would have told them sooner. I wondered if they would have invested so much in me. I wondered if these relationships were true to begin with. I questioned my sanity wondering if others spent so much time questioning their own livelihood. I questioned Christianity as a religion if it were to close its doors on me. I questioned my God because of my existence and asked him to take my life away.

I avoided. I avoided people. I avoided eye contact. I avoided pissing people off. I avoided making people uncomfortable. I avoided talking about myself. I didn’t.

I feared. I feared, a lot. I feared saying the “wrong” thing would drive people away. I feared certain people would not accept me so I did not engage in conversation. I feared discrimination. I feared being misjudged and mistreated. I feared new friendships would crumble the moment I talked about my identity. I feared being labelled and misunderstood. I feared being seen as not enough Christian and too queer. I feared being outed, again, and again, without my permission.

I didn't sleep. I stayed up with thoughts racing, question asking, and streaming tears down my face. I went on late night drives. I went on walks alone at night. I thought about texting or calling others but didn’t.


These nights I spent alone.

Well, almost.

These were the days and nights I was the most honest I have ever been.

With God, I stopped filtering myself. I didn’t have to perform anymore.

And, I didn’t have the strength to be my prideful self.

This is my story. This is my experience.

To some, this may sound foreign. To others, slightly familiar.

I share this in hopes of creating paths for empathy.

To be heard. To encourage others to share.

And to be a little bit more understood than yesterday.

This is my song.

Thanks for being here.

More to come in present and future tense.

(Extra points for naming that hymn)