“I was Mormon. I am gay.”

Gordon, 40s

We were in his father’s tool shed, in the back yard. The door was closed. I was probably 6. He was 9 or 10. We’d been doing this for a while—a few months, maybe almost a year.

My mom came in, and then his mom, and I remember a lot of commotion and shouting as they jumped on us and pulled us apart. My mom rushed me back home and she told my dad. I don’t know how he took it, but I was never allowed to go back and my friendship ended. I had no idea that what I was doing—and whom I was doing it with—was a problem. It wasn’t until I witnessed my mother’s reaction, and then it was impressed upon me by my religion—the Mormon faith—that this was a sin, an abomination, that I realized I had done something bad and that I should be ashamed of myself.

I was so traumatized by what happened that I didn’t do anything again until I was about 11 or 12. This time, it was with another childhood friend and it brought my sexuality back to the forefront. At age fourteen, I lost my virginity; I was in a steady sexual relationship with him for two years, and all of these experiences, all together, were positive reinforcements that I was, in fact, gay. But counteracting this period of self-exploration was also a tremendous amount of guilt, shame, and remorse. I was often in tears because I couldn’t understand my feelings and to a certain extent, because homosexuality was shunned in the Church and in our community, I felt like I was the only one experiencing them. I was too petrified to talk to anyone else.

In my experience, the Mormon Church has a really effective way of reinforcing their core beliefs. Starting at age twelve, I had to sit in front of a Church authority figure we called “the Bishop” and he would ask me a list of questions. I remember he asked me if I had impure thoughts and if I masturbated. And I had to tell him the things I’d done and the things I’d thought and I remember being so worried that he’d tell my parents or other members of the Church, and so I learned to lie to his face.

At age 19, I went on a two-year Church mission. I was in constant fear of acting out my feelings and the consequences that would follow, so I stayed completely celibate. I had thought that because I was “good,” that I would be “normal” when I got back. In an attempt to cure myself—I had read online that there were people who could do this—I contacted a therapist. Thankfully, she basically said—“Look, this is who you are. There’s nothing wrong with you. You need to start learning to accept yourself.”

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