I became aware of my identity when I was 10 years old. I have the fitness magazines at the local grocery store to thank for that. Early in my life, I believed a couple things about LGBTQ+ Christians:

• They were so rare that they didn't deserve THAT much attention

• They were mentally ill or recovering from broken relationships

• They weren't in relationship with God

• They were choosing a "lifestyle" over what was truly important in life 

Because I was a part of Exodus International for five years, I bought into the beliefs that if I prayed hard enough, built enough positive male relationships, and repaired the relationship with my Dad that I wouldn't have these feelings anymore. Not only were those "IF's" inadequate measures of success, but they had relatively little to do with my sexuality. I believe that God, being love, created all my intricacies in love. Meaning my sexuality is not just about who I'm attracted to; it's a framework through which I fight for the underdog and continuously re-evaluate how my actions, consciously and subconsciously, affect others.

In terms of the clobber passages, both my envelopment in and distancing from the Evangelical church has taught me truly what the Bible is. It's a library of letters written from and to contexts that are entirely foreign to the modern reader. The idea that ANY of the biblical writers could've been addressing the contemporary examples of same-sex unions and gender fluidity is so impossible that the Church's obsession with opposing these topics serves to undermine the Church as we know it today.

Meeting other LGBTQ+ Christians (who immediately smelled more like Jesus to me than most people I had met in Bible college), working for a Christian org, and going to church were instrumental in my journey towards affirmation. Their existence and truth gave me the confidence and affirmation I needed. In terms of my last thread with Exodus, it was the behaviour of my conversion therapist (ironically). But it was also Lisa Ling's Our America documentary series, which made the evidence against Exodus so overwhelming. I also felt like anyone who wanted to tote the idea that my sexuality was reversible was going to struggle arguing with me, considering my existence had proved the opposite.

I don't think we're ever meant to fully RECOVER from something like conversion therapy. It's traumatizing, particularly because it can destroy relationships and also teaches us to undermine ourselves and our feelings. As much as I'm more confident in myself and my capacity to make decisions, I do believe that the parts of me which continue to remain morphed because of my time with conversion therapy are so for a reason. They give me empathy, a reminder of how far I've come, and a sort of "gay commissioning."

I attended Trinity Western University during one of it's most tumultuous times and started One TWU with some of my friends, an LGBTQ+ organization. It was discouraging to see LGBTQ+ rights pitted against religious freedom, but I think that served as a wake-up call for many that we can't go on treating people like this. Seeing people come forward with courage and to tell their stories truthfully has been one of the most healing experiences in my life.

My life now is full, but also in anticipation of the good, the bad, and the ugly to come next. I guess I'm just less afraid of it now.