I went to a Christian high school based in the Calvary Chapel movement. In some ways, being a leader in that evangelical environment for four years was more formative for me than my decades in the Church of Christ. I remember, during confession time with just the teen girls and our teachers, one of my friends confessed to being worried she was attracted to girls. My thought was, huh, I had no idea and I cannot relate to that in any way.
I’d always dated boys. Technically, that’s still true. And in some ways, now that I am more awakened to the fullness of my sexuality, I feel a sense of imposter syndrome because I didn’t spend years of my life closeted in shame and self-hatred like almost all of my peers who were raised like me were.
I remember reading Justin Lee’s incredible book, Torn, sometime in my 20s. I remember thinking he was a sincere Christian teen like I had been. I felt so sad for him and the pain he felt when he realized he was gay. I felt like I’d gotten off easy being naturally straight. Whew.
I’ve been queer-affirming for years. I remember being bewildered when one of my friends in college was described as a “wolf in sheep’s clothing” when he signed up to do a mission trip and then was exposed as gay.
When my ex husband was suicidal and I had a newborn and a child starting kindergarten, I started dreaming of women stripping. My therapist at the time was clearly freaked out by this. Maybe she thought it was a trauma response? I landed on the thought at the time that I didn’t want to watch the stripper as much as that I wanted to be the stripper. I wanted to be so embodied in my sexuality that I could demonstrate it publicly without shame. (Never mind the ethical complexity with sex work, but go with me). The worst thing I could be as a young person was sexual. People would be at risk of eternal damnation if my desire was demonstrated in any way. And even if it wasn’t demonstrated. If my body elicited a sexual response from someone I didn’t even want to attract, that was also still my fault. Then I became a leader of other people’s children. I chose to carry that message forward because I had internalized it. I have regrets.
I also wanted to watch the stripper, but I didn’t know that at the time. I find my subconscious is pretty good at keeping truths from me I’m not ready to hold. I’m grateful. And I want to keep becoming someone who can hold the full truth of who I am.
10 years ago, I stumbled into my current church home. A dear friend, who has the same background as me, had been inviting me for a year. This community has been such a place to facilitate my growth in many ways. I’ve worked on my church trauma. I’ve worked on my communication skills and codependency. I’ve become a better leader. They supported my projects throughout seminary. They prayed for me as I went through my chaplain training. They’ve nourished my children since they were very young. They held me through my entire ordination process and hosted that very special day. Above all of that, my church is a very queer space. Finding this church cemented for me that I would never participate in church community that did not fully support and empower queer people of faith.
Last year, when I started working in hospice, I remember having a fleeting thought, I don’t want to die without exploring my sexuality. I know I will regret it if I don’t. I wasn’t ready at that time to act on that thought, but it was there. I had three years of celibacy between my divorce and now. That time was sacred grieving. I needed to integrate all those years. I needed to take responsibility for my part, my patterns, and re-wire my brain and my body. I was completely closed for business.
The way I see it, my personal trajectory has been systematically dismantling the boxes I was placed in by society, my family, trauma, and the church over and over again. It was conservative Christianity. It was Republicanism. It was internalized and systemic white supremacy. It was cishet marriage (who knew it was objectively bad for women?!?!). It was internalized misogyny. It was romantic attachment as the ultimate form of love.
It was my own state of disembodiment, over-functioning, and codependency. And now, it’s compulsory heterosexuality.
I have walked out of boxes that became too small and have found myself in wide open fields (or slightly larger boxes that were still disorienting) over and over again.
There was a petty part of me that didn’t want to speak of this publicly because it could read as the reason I left my marriage. And it is not, at all. To be honest, I didn’t want him to get off that easy. I’m sure it looks bad to admit this, but there it is. Divorce brings out some of the most base human instincts and behaviors. I’ll just say this, on the long list of reasons our relationship ran its course, my queerness didn’t even make the final page.
So many other reasons why I thought I wouldn’t speak of this publicly.
When are we going to get to the point where coming out simply is moot? I’m ready for that stage of human progress.
It’s kind of no one’s business?
I don’t want to deal with the biblical literalists coming for me.
Why does anyone care about the sexual life of a single 43-year old?
But the number one reason I hesitated and eventually the biggest reason I decided to say something is because being queer is BEAUTIFUL. I was at dinner with a dear friend the other night and we talked about the preciousness of being a beginner. Would that we all put ourselves in the position of being a beginner throughout our lives. I am a baby little queer. It’s awkward. It’s like a second puberty. It’s sweet and sweaty and nervous. It’s so precious, y’all.
Being part of the community, exposing my inexperience, choosing people who are kind and open, listening to my body - it has been an incredible joy. Glorious in every possible way.
No one told me about the magic.
I’m learning the culture. I’m a student of queerness.
One of the internal, deep pains I’ve carried throughout my life is a fear of my own power. I was taught that my desire to lead was harmful. That my desire, which I couldn’t find or feel, but just the possibility of sensuality, could lead people to hell. That the way to follow God was to be small and quiet.
Y’all, I’m none of those things. I have such main character energy (which sounds hilariously “pick me” but so be it).
One of the most surprising elements of me exploring my sexuality these past few months has been that I was right. Deep down somewhere, I knew I was powerful. And if I am powerful, that is a bad and dangerous thing. It’s that second part that was wrong, not the first. The responses people have had to me have been strong. I think I was taught this was a problem because women being empowered sexually and just in general, threatens to topple everything. No wonder I was taught to be small.
I am becoming a student of my power.
I’m learning every day.
Someone who became very dear to me in this process was hesitant about me at first because I’m a Christian. They were like, I don’t get how you can be queer and Christian. Christians hate us. (Y’all please don’t throw Scripture at me. I’ve read it. Find some queer theology). All I can say is, every time I’ve learned myself, been a student of how to care for myself and love myself deeply, I have sensed that this process has been an act of worship. Pursuing God through dismantling all the other boxes before is exactly the same as leaving this box too. We’ve been taught that sexuality is like a bigger, more important box. It just isn’t. We try to contain what we do not trust. And I am learning to trust myself and to follow God towards the fullness of who I am. My sexuality is a gift given to me by God. Not exploring it is like leaving it unwrapped. The more I explore the fullness of myself and my power, the more I can thank God for the beauty of me and others. It’s part of my spiritual practice to experience pleasure.
If it helps, I often look at choices based on harm. Harm reduction is a great lens through which to evaluate all of our choices. There is no harm being caused by me having consensual sex with other adults regardless of their gender identity. It is harmful to buy clothes made in sweat shops or cheering on ICE grabbing naked children out of their beds in the middle of the night in front of their parents. To deny that what has been happening in Gaza the past two years is anything but genocide is harmful. Those things are objectively, deeply harmful. Experiencing pleasure and connection with clear communication and safety precautions simply isn’t. It’s not just “not harmful.” It’s wonderful.