Theo Swinford
I never really understood the desire that I felt I was supposed to have to grow up and marry a man one day. I remember thinking at 6 or 7 years old that I would have to pick the least annoying boy and just put up with it. When I was around 8 or 9, I looked at a girl, and, for the first time, I felt this longing in my gut. It was nothing like I had ever felt before, but I didn't start to understand what those feelings meant until I was 13-years-old. That was when I first imagined kissing a girl. I didn't tell anyone, but it was like this secret light that I kept inside me. I was afraid that if I told anyone that light might go out.
For a long time, I didn't even know that LGBTQ+ people existed. Because of that, my feelings felt bizarre and terrifying. I didn't have language for it. I didn't understand that the way that I felt about girls was the way that some other people felt about boys, so it didn't even occur to me that it was analogous. I just thought there was something wrong with me. When I eventually found the language to describe my experiences, I was equally joyful and afraid. I was too ashamed to be fully honest, because I thought that no one could ever love me if I was queer. Those feelings multiplied when I started questioning my gender. I tried many times to change myself, to get rid of lesbian and queer and non-binary parts of me, sometimes alone and sometimes with the help of a therapist or priest who claimed they could change me. Those efforts left me traumatized and depressed. I had to crawl out of this dark hole of self-hatred where I felt that my life was not worth living if I couldn't be heterosexual and cisgender.
Throughout the many dark times, I still had these occasional moments of sunshine. I would remember that joy that I first felt at coming out to myself or I would feel, without understanding why, that God was smiling down on me, rejoicing in my queerness with me. At first, those feelings frightened me a little, because I knew it wasn't what I was supposed to be feeling. Eventually, though, I gave in and let myself feel loved. I slowly explored this new territory of loving my queerness and loving God, instead of thinking that I had to choose.
For a long time, I had been afraid of listening to other queer people because I had been taught to see it all as temptation. Slowly, though, that fear dissipated with time. I began seeing a trans therapist. I explored books by Fr. James Allison, I attended an Evolving Faith Conference, and I met fellow queer Catholics through Vine & Fig. I also benefitted from Queer Theology, Austen Hartke, Glennon Doyle, and Paula Stone Williams. Even certain TV shows or documentaries like Pose and Disclosure and artists like Ben Platt and Semler have been instrumental in healing my wounded perception of both me and my fellow LGBTQ+ folx.
I wouldn't say that I've reached a destination; I'm still very much mid-journey. It's a journey that has taken me places I never could have imagined! Sometimes it's a lonely journey, but when I think about how far I've come, I have faith that God can do all things. I never thought I would feel as at peace with myself as I do now. I never thought I would heal from those suicidal thoughts, but I have. I still struggle with my faith and figuring out how to engage with religion when religion has hurt me so deeply, but I also feel so much freer now. Like Paula Stone Williams says, "The call to authenticity is sacred and holy and for the greater good."