Inaugural Post!

How many blogs are currently in existence? Do we really need another person who thinks that the world wants to read what he has to say?

I don't know, but I decided this morning that, since so much has been going on in my life, both internally and externally, I have my own story to tell and should probably be telling it.

So why should you be reading my blog? (These are not in any order of importance.)
1) I am Mormon.
2) I am gay.
3) I teach high school English.
4) I can be pretty amusing at times.
5) I love to cook and bake.
6) I play the piano.
7) I sing in a community choir.
8) I have a sick obsession with bath and body products.
9) I adore outdoor activities (i.e. camping, hiking, running, etc).
10) I sleep with seven pillows.




I want to open my blog with my thoughts and reflections about shame. I know, it's heavy stuff. But my recent overcoming of a lifetime of shame is part of what prompted me to start this blog, so I think it is an apt topic to begin with.

I discovered at a young age that I could be praised (mostly by my mother) for my artistic pursuits, and so I drew and sewed and cooked and played the piano with abandon. I knew, on some level, that as long as I was being praised, maybe people wouldn't hate me as much when they eventually, inevitably, found out who and what I really was. In short, I did whatever I could to get praise and validation from wherever and whomever I could: At school, I was the class clown. I was in the advanced reading group. At home, I was praised by my parents and aunts and uncles for my talents in music and art and dance. (I started taking ballet lessons at age nine.) I started the process of effectively stuffing the shame of who I really was deep, deep down inside myself.

As I grew older, these behaviors became a way of life. But they felt like a shirt that you have to borrow from a friend when you spend the night because you forgot a clean one: it fits just fine, but you know the whole time you're wearing it that it doesn't really belong to you. Never mind that I had never really given any thought at all to what I would do if I didn't have to worry about how I was going to be validated for it. Never mind that the validation I was receiving was never quite enough because I knew, on some level, that it was inauthentic. In junior high, I began to fall into myself somewhat. I had no real friends at school. I tried to wear the "right" clothes, to say the right things, but to no avail. I was, as the kids say, a total loser.

One night, probably in ninth grade, I lay in the dark, tears streaming from my eyes, and held my arms up to the ceiling, my fingers stretched as far as they would go. I begged God to take me away. I begged Him to let me come back to Him. I pleaded over and over and over, "Please let me not wake up tomorrow. Please let me not wake up tomorrow. Please take me away tonight..."

But I woke up. I always did.

Shame, this horrible, insidious, toxic thing, has power unlike any other thing I can think of. The shame of being gay worked its dirty fingers into every facet of my life. It changed the way I walked. It changed the way I talked. It shaped my social interactions. It made me terrified to be around people I didn't know (e.g. people whom I didn't know how to manipulate into validating me). It changed my interests. It ruined relationship after relationship once I got old enough to have a real relationship. In short, it consumed the past 25+ years of my life. Consumed.

My shame made me look in the mirror and see nothing but ugliness. My shame made me run away from people who liked me too much, believing that I was not worthy of love, and telling myself that something was very wrong with anyone who said he loved me. Like every good Mormon, I've kept a journal most of my life. What a sad thing to read so many entries in which I berated myself for every mistake, internalized every perceived slight against me, told myself over and over how stupid, ugly, selfish, rotten, and completely worthless I was.

I never knew what it was to love myself. But that was only in private.

In public, it was a different story altogether. I had to appear confident. I had to keep being funny. I had to speak out against all those whom I felt slighted me, whether it was my mom, my religion, strangers, or peers. Anyone who dared attempt to expose any of the cracks in my armor had to be verbally slashed to pieces. I came out of the closet when I was 18. I was stoic. I fought my mother for years about the legitimacy of my sexual orientation. But, ironically, on the inside I hated myself for being gay.

I told people that I didn't go to gay bars because "I just don't identify with most gay people." I didn't have many gay friends because "Their lifestyles are just too different from mine." Someone I danced with when I was in a professional ballet company once accused me of harboring "internalized homophobia." Although I fought that tooth and nail (oh man, I was seething inside!!), I realized about two months ago that he was absolutely 100% correct.

I wanted nothing less than to be associated with people who would expose me for what I really was. I accused gay people of being promiscuous and flighty, all the while dating numerous men and breaking up with them left and right. I made fun of "flamers" and "queens" for being effeminate when I knew very well that I wasn't exactly the most masculine thing on the planet. Anything to pull any and all negative attention away from myself.

This story could go on and on, into much more minute detail. But I am going to wrap this up. It took my older brother passing away early this summer to put me on my present path of self-discovery and enlightenment that led me one night in bed to whisper something to myself that I had never, ever, in all my life said to myself: "I love you."

Three weeks ago, for the first time in 18 years, I put my Sunday clothes on and attended sacrament meeting. I'm not sure where this journey will lead me, but I'm excited about the prospects. I know I'm still at the beginning of it, so I welcome you to join me as I learn and discover more about who I am, where I've come from, and who I am meant to be.