Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia: Religion & Sexuality

Today is the International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia, and I’m honored to participate in the HAHAT blog hop created by some amazing folks in the LGBTQ writing community (find out more at the official Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia site). Almost 180 writers, reviewers, and bloggers are participating, and today’s posts have been a diverse and fascinating read—these contributions by Katey Hawthorne, Sam Schooler, and Brandon Shire are my favorites so far. Stop by the HAHAT blog—they have links to every post. (Make sure you have a couple free hours, ‘cause once you start, you won’t want to stop.)

People who’ve read How to Repair a Mechanical Heart will be totally unsurprised at the topic I chose for my blog post. Sometimes people ask me what religious angst is doing in an M/M comedy/romance about fandom. And I get that, but given who I am, I couldn’t bring myself to not include it.

I don’t post about serious stuff too often, but here goes. *Deep breath,* and I hope this isn’t tl;dr.

To the Boy or Girl Sitting Around Angsting over Religion and/or Sexuality

Hey. I think maybe I know you.

You’re the girl in the stiff plaid uniform skirt you’re planning on burning the second you graduate. You’re the boy in the navy schoolboy tie that always feels tight enough to strangle you. Right now you’re sitting on a hard pew in a sea of other kids dressed just like you, and the Man of Authority you’re supposed to be listening to is telling you things you’re finding mightily hard to swallow, and that scares the piss out of you because you already suspect you’re a freak. And every time you doubt what everyone else seems to believe so easily, that only confirms it.

Let’s talk about sex for a second. You find out about it in the worst possible ways: from a snide precocious friend on the playground who delights in your horror; from lurid book passages you sneak in secret corners of the library and then feel weird and guilty and gross; from movies and TV shows you haven’t been equipped to understand; from sex-ed experiences that aren’t about sex or ed in any meaningful way. Everyone around you seems uncomfortable with sexuality. If your parents talk to you about it at all, they stick to basic science mixed with “God made man and woman” rhetoric, and their eyes don’t meet yours. When your priest or pastor teaches you the Ten Commandments, he makes you follow “Thou shalt not commit adultery” with “. . .whatever that is.” Later, when you’re in high school, you sit in sexuality classes with graphic abortion posters on the walls, and your major takeaways are: 1. sex is the abominable conduit of eight million disgusting venereal diseases that will leave your genitals in a permanent state of disrepair; 2. except if you’re married, and then it’s beautiful; and 3. if you think you might be gay, just. . .don’t. Okay?

If your school is old-school, you could spend the rest of your life trying to undo the damage from 1., 2., and 3. I’m still working on a few of them myself, and I’m embarrassingly old. My hope, my (secular) prayer today, is that it doesn’t take as long for you as it did for me.

I know it won’t be easy. Maybe you’re an only child, and you’re so entangled with your parents that you’re never quite sure where their beliefs end and yours begin. Maybe you’re one of six kids, and when the family bows heads for grace at dinner, you sneak a look around the table and notice yours are the only eyes that are open. It’s really, really hard to be the only one in your family who believes something different. TV and movies simplify that sometimes, making a family cartoonishly intolerant, clear obstacles to knock down on your path to self-acceptance.

But the truth is usually much more complicated.

These people love you. They taught you to read, made your Halloween costumes, came to your school plays, held you and rocked you when you were hurt. The thought of hurting them in return can immobilize you, make you insist over and over again—to them and to yourself—that you’re exactly the son or daughter they expected you to be.

Don’t do that.

You get one shot on earth, one stretch of time to be YOU—a person who’s never existed before and will never exist again. Don’t waste time in costumes and disguises, telling lies to yourself and the people you love. Get out of town, go to college, meet as many different people as you can. If you can’t leave town, get your hands on good books and read, read, read. Find an online support group, talk to friendly folks on Twitter, write your story again and again or turn it into art. As long as you have a brain, a library, and an Internet connection, you are never stuck, and you’re never alone.

To make this more personal, let me tell you where I’m coming from. I’m agnostic, liberal, pro-choice, and pro-equality; my sexuality has been super-complicated and multifaceted since I was a kid (which used to make me confused and ashamed but now totally delights me). I’m also the only child of two devout Catholics, I received my entire education from Catholic schools, and until my late 20s, I was still trying to convince myself there was a place in the church for me despite the fact that I didn’t believe in the doctrines and dogmas and only believed in God on the third Tuesday of every other month. I spent decades struggling with OCD behaviors and paranoia rooted in religion; I felt confused, angry, guilty, secretly out of step with the family that loved me so much.

When I made the decision to leave the church after my daughter was born, I had a series of REALLY honest conversations with my folks about who I really am and what I believe. I’m lucky enough to have awesome parents who love me unconditionally (and support marriage equality, hooray!). But these were not easy conversations, and the story doesn’t end with a group hug and a blanket “we approve of all your decisions; go forth and be happy!” As late as this weekend, I had a tense coffee-shop conversation with my mother, who still passionately believes I would be a happier person if I could just “have faith,” and she still worries daily about my “relationship with God.” I feel we aren’t as close as we were, and it makes me so sad. Sometimes I think, should I have waited? Should I have kept quiet about all of this until after my parents were gone?

This is the hardest part. When you live an honest life where your outside matches your inside, you might hurt some people you don’t want to hurt. I can’t tell you for sure if that’s worth it to you. It was the right choice for me. And it gets a little easier every day.

If you’re reading and identifying with this—whether you’re struggling with religion or sexuality or both—I hope you know that there are people out there who’ll listen to you and help you. And no matter where you are or how long it takes, I hope you find your way to peace, acceptance, and a partner who’ll never make you wear a disguise.

Unless, of course, you’re into that. 🙂

******

Aaaaaand here’s my contribution to the HAHAT giveaway: a free Kindle or Nook copy of How to Repair a Mechanical Heart. To enter, tweet me (@jclillis) or leave a comment below. Winner will be announced on May 27. And don’t forget to stop by the Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia site for links to all the HAHAT posts from 170+ awesome writers!