Four Years Out: My Bachelor's Degree in Being Gay

I can't believe it has been four years since I came out to myself. Four years of learning who I am again. Four years of wonderful new experiences. Four years of education about what that means for the rest of my life. Today, I receive my bachelor's degree in being gay.

Like any other four-year degree, I've had my ups and downs. I've had some of the best teachers--my family and friends--who have taught me about love and who helped support me through it all. I've also had the hard professor of life teach me about bigotry, hate and misunderstanding. More than anything though, I've learned how to experience joy--my own and that of others--and live authentically, striving to be my best self everyday.

I like the person I've become, and I'm proud of my heritage. I'm proud to be a gay Mormon. I'm proud of the way my family has grown to accept me. I'm proud that I have been able to give back to the community in my own way, from deeply personal relationships to helping out a number of gay/Mormon organizations.

I certainly haven't learned everything yet--there is so much more to come. So I've decided to carry on and pursue an advanced degree in being gay. I just hope it doesn't take four more years to graduate with honors by finding a husband!

Coming Out, Part 5

I'd finally done it. After all of the anxiety, self-loathing, guilt, fear, trepidation and uncertainty, I told my parents I was gay.

And I was still ok.

I hadn't been kicked out. I wasn't rejected. I wasn't cast out of the family.

I was loved. I was accepted. I was still me.

I cannot accurately describe the feelings I experienced in that moment. After a lifetime in the desert, it was a cool drink of water. After years of carrying burdens almost incapable of bearing, it was a suddenly lightened load. It was a shout of joy, a needed relief, a celebration of life, a moment of zen, and a manifestation of love and acceptance.

The feeling was akin to the divine love I felt in the temple when I asked God if He accepted me as His gay son. My earthly parents had accepted me too.

Dropping to my knees in my room, I offered a prayer of gratitude. I always prepare for the the worst and hope for the best, and the near best had happened. That prayer was said through tears of joy.

I was giddy. I was thrilled. I was enthralled. I was humbled. I was happy.

I messaged my friends who had offered their best sentiments before, wanting to share the amazing news with them. There is no way I could have gotten through without their constant support. I smiled as their responses of joy came back. They had all been waiting in eager anticipation. I was glad I was heading to Salt Lake the next day to meet some of them for the first time.

Glancing at my packed suitcase, I laughed softly at myself. I had been so worried to the point of being sick, and now it all seemed so silly. Of course my parents accepted me. I was their son! Why hadn't I told them years ago!?!

I headed back downstairs to be with my family, finally feeling normal for the first time that entire reunion. I was smiling again, I was myself again.

Thinking to myself, I knew the path ahead would not always be easy. Hard decisions await me in my future along with heartbreak and grief as well as joy and happiness. But I was at peace knowing I had a foundation of godly and familial love as I took another step forward in my journey across the moving horizon.

Coming Out, Part 4

What happened next is what I had always secretly hoped for. We talked.

It felt like such a relief after years of forced silence on my part. I did not say everything, but I wanted to establish a foundation of understanding for the future. I opened up like never before.

We discussed my experiences growing up, what my reality was like, the church, single and prominent members (Sheri Dew, I am looking at you), priesthood leadership, if and when I should tell other family members as well as many other things.

One of the most significant things happened when my mom apologized for pressuring me to date, to marry and to give her grandchildren. She said she was just trying to be a good mom and the things she said were not meant to be malicious in any way. I replied that I knew they weren't malicious and that my coming out to them was not motivated by anger or intended to be malicious either.

I said I was done hiding and that if the occasion presented itself to use their best judgement to decide to tell anyone else. I asked that I be able to tell my sisters but aside from that, I trusted them.

Both of my parents expressed their sorrow for what I had been going through and how hard life had been living with the secret alone. They both were sad for the difficult path that lay before me, but were encouraged that I was finding more happiness.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and we were suddenly thrown back into the timeline rather than suspended in conversation as the door swung open. My older sister came in to grab something out of the room, not even noticing what had just taken place and left door open as she exited, only a slightly curious look on her face.

With that, the conversation was over. We could feel it. Not a tear had been shed. I gave them both a great big hug for being the amazing parents they are. In that moment, a hug was exactly what I needed. Accepting love from my parents, freely given.

I went back to the old decorative church pew I had been sitting on, aware of the ironic connection between me baring my soul and the origin of that seat. I retrieved the copy of "No More Goodbyes" I had intended to give them, but I took it with me as I exited the room. They didn't need it yet. I'll save it for a day when things become a bit more difficult in their eyes (like a relationship).

I bounded out of the room, with newfound happiness, energy and freedom I had not experienced ever before. I felt light as a feather, the burden shared. The knots and butterflies in my stomach were gone.

My older sister saw me leave the room with the book in my hand and asked what it was. Smiling to myself as I headed up the stairs to my room to process, I replied without looking back, "Just something I am reading."

Coming Out, Part 3

My mom finished reading the letter first. She is the speed reader in the family and tears through volumes of books every year. She had a look on her face that I could not quite read - one of wanting to express motherly love and sorrow at the same time, all while controlling her emotions to remain objective. She wanted to talk right then, but I insisted that my dad be able to finish reading the letter before we talked.

To make chit chat for a bit, my mom then casually asked who my fifth grade teacher was because I had mentioned in my letter I had consciously known I was gay since the that grade. I was again thrown off by a question from my mom. At first I thought she was trying to place blame on why I was gay and it had something to do with my poor fifth grade teacher (I knew I was gay well before that, I just didn't know the word associated with it), but I realized quickly that she just wanted to have some context of the stage in my life when it all began. I casually replied to her query right as my dad finished reading the letter.

Seeing him lift his head I was all of a sudden acutely conscious of how much I needed their acceptance. I needed them to acknowledge what I had been through and who I really was. My parents are my best friends. I do not know what I would do without them. I had waited so long to come out because I didn't want to disappoint them or cause them any strife or harm.

At that moment I was the most vulnerable I have ever been in my life. The risk was taken, my deepest secret exposed. I had opened up the tender inside of my soul taking what seemed like the greatest leap of faith over the widest chasm of doubt of my existence, and I would either fly or fall. I recalled all of the stories I had heard of friends coming out to their parents, the rejection, the heartbreak, the closemindedness, and said one last silent prayer before the trajectory of my own story was determined.

My dad, with his metered voice said, "I have considered before now and made the decision long ago that my children will always be welcome in our home no matter what. Horizon, you will always be welcome no matter what. You are family."

I was flying. My heart lept for joy. I would not be kicked out. I would not have to run into the night with tears in my eyes. It wasn't a tacit endorsement of what my life might become, but it was a positive beginning point.

My mom conveyed similar wonderful support quoting my letter that I was, in fact, the same son she knew that morning and that nothing would change that. She told me that her fear was that I would want to abandon the family because of being gay. I exclaimed that my biggest fear was being cast out of the family for being gay! (It just goes to show how important family is to us, that both of our greatest fears was losing it.)

In that instant, the burden I had carried my whole life. the weight that pulled me down, was shared and instantly became lighter. The knots inside my stomach loosened and I found myself breathing again as if I hadn't taken a breath since I entered the room. It was so wonderful to be exposed to the light and finally be my true self without the fears that had so traumatized my whole existence.

We talked some more, but for the first time in the longest time, I was happy.

Coming Out, Part 2

The mood was instantly serious and the room went deathly quiet as I handed two thick white envelopes to each of my parents. Watching them remove and unfold the stapled papers and start reading was perhaps even more difficult than giving them the letter in the first place. This was it. They were about to know everything about me.

The rustling of the papers as they read was torturous noise as I sat in the silent room and watched. I analyzed their faces as they read. Having worked so hard composing that letter, I knew the three magic words "I am gay" were about halfway down the first page. I expected some reaction, an exclamation or outbust of tears when they read those words. But each of them read through turning the page without reaction, just the same look of stoic concern on their faces.

I was taken a bit off guard at this. I had expected some reaction, not simply no reaction. Though I had asked them to read the letter all the way through before commenting, I didn't actually expect that to happen! In my life, I prepare for the worst and hope for the best. I had faith in my parents' reactions, but I was ready to make a quick getaway if I needed to. The waiting for a reaction was gnawing at my insides.

Then my mom did something I had not prepared for at all: she giggled.

Hearing that sound completely threw me off. How was I supposed to react to that? Did she really just make that sound? I hadn't even considered that reaction beforehand as a possibility so I didn't prepare for it. I was befuddled.

What did she find humorous in this serious matter? Was she laughing because she didn't know how to react? Was it a nervous laugh? Didn't she realize how serious this moment was?

I broke the silence and somewhat accusingly asked, "What?" being unable to calm my mind.

"Oh, I just read where you wrote that living in New York didn't make you gay. I know that. I just thought it was a little funny," she replied.

I smiled out of exasperation as the tension lifted. I didn't respond. I couldn't respond. The silence continued and she kept on reading.

In that instant, in comparison to the angst and torture I had put myself through the whole week of the family reunion and my whole life before that, I experienced the first inking of a feeling I had not expected but yearned for so deeply: hope.

That was the first sentence my mom ever said about me being gay, and she said it with a smile.

Coming Out, Part 1

The following post continues my coming out story immediately after the events described here.


When I entered my parents room, I sat down on an old decorative church pew from an ancestor’s pioneer home, my dad sitting in an armchair to my left, my mom laying on the bed to my right. Sitting on the hard wood, l bowed my head an looked at the floor, contemplating the momentary semblance of piety. I almost felt like I was in a confession about to share my true soul for the first time. I couldn’t quite force myself to look up.

The air was filled with a nervous tension based on the awkward conversations I had with my parents earlier asking them if I could talk to them. I was sure they could hear the beating of my pounding heart reverberating throughout the room. My chest felt as if it might explode from the intense pressure.

Putting the book “No More Goodbyes” and the copies of the coming out letters I had printed on the floor next to me, I raised my head and timidly looked up at my parents. I couldn't quite read their faces. A combination of concern mixed with a decent attempt to look unconcerned was evident in their faces. I felt similarly conflicted. I was going to tell them I was gay, and there was no going back.

This was the moment I had geared up for but still I felt woefully unprepared. Everything was about to change. I took a deep breath trying to calm the tempest within me and then began to speak.

I tried to open with some sort of lighthearted remark to let some of the pressure out of the room but failed spectacularly. I managed to get a smile from my mom which calmed my nerves slightly. Seeing my parents smile had always made me feel comfortable, and it was the brief glimpse of normalcy I needed to continue.

Glancing back and forth from my mom to my dad, I thanked them for what wonderful parents they were and for their never ending love and support. I knew that once I started speaking, things would get easier, so I forged ahead though I felt like I was recklessly running toward a drop off of unfathomable depth.

I told them that I had been through a lot of self-reflection recently as evidenced by my visible stress, breaking out, not being able to concentrate and really not being myself the past several days. It was then that I said I was about to tell them why.

I paused as my voice broke, but I could not stop or my voice would fail me. I tried to sound confident and not have my voice waver or falter any more. I told them that my significant weight loss also factored into what I was going to share with them and that it was one of the many positive things resulting from what I was going through.

Realizing that my eyes had drifted again to the floor where my letters were, I paused and looked up again wondering what was going through their minds. We had never really talked this frankly before. I didn't know what to expect from them. Could they guess what was coming? Did they already suspect? I could tell that they were trying so hard to be open and keep a smile on their faces.

I said I had written a letter explaining everything that I would like them to read. My mom perked up a bit at this because she loves receiving and reading notes and letters from her children. I was a little wary of how her emotions would change and wondered how this letter would rank among the ones she holds onto for keepsakes. I picked up the envelopes off the carpet, the paper vibrating in my shaking hands.

Asking them to read through the whole letter before asking any questions, I said the last thing they would ever hear from their only son before they knew. Almost tearing up, I said, "I love you. Giving you this letter is the hardest thing I have done in my life."

Family Reunion

I have a few posts I still need to write that come chronologically before the three in this series including an amazing first date, the genesis of the MoHo Map, coming out to my best friend, attending NYC Pride and meeting several other MoHo bloggers. But because of the significance of the events that have happened recently, I have decided to abandon the timeline for a bit to share my coming out story.

- - -

The days leading up to my trip home for the family reunion were tortuous. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I was so busy, yet at the same time I couldn’t accomplish anything. My mind was awash with playing out the scenario in my head when I would come out to my parents. Some people have asked why I have been so intent on telling them, and I think that it is because I do consider family to be one of the biggest joys in my life. I knew that letting them into my life would be difficult, but at the same time a relief. I had never really been open with them before in terms of emotions and feelings, so I didn’t know what to expect.

I don’t get involved in anything until I have researched it out and have some knowledge of what is to come. So either to my benefit or detriment, I had researched many people’s coming out experiences and then prepared for each and every situation I could think of just in case. I told myself that I would prepare for the worst and hope for the best, though I genuinely expected the worst. I tried to incorporate many of these issues into my coming out letter, that way I could establish a firm foundation of expectations with my parents.

I had previously ordered “No More Goodbyes” and “In Quiet Desperation” in preparation as well. I had read through NMG very quickly, my heart both aching and celebrating with each story. I am a very empathetic person. I tend to genuinely feel the emotions of my friends and close acquaintances and sincerely wish and hope the best for each of them. The stories in NMG were so simple yet so profound that I told myself that when I came out to my parents I would give them a copy of the book. (I even wrote the author, Carol Lynn Pearson, thanking her for the tool I thought would soften the blow for them.)


For all intents and purposes, I let time get away from me and I wasn’t able to finish my letter to the degree of liking I preferred. I knew I was working on a document that would define my existence and act as a launching pad for the future. Yes, I would be there in person to answer questions, but this letter would be left behind, something that could be added to family history. I like writing. I wanted to get it right. But it was all over the place. I couldn’t tie it all together. I was also surprised at how difficult it was to write because it encompassed a topic of such a personal nature. I could only work on it a little at a time, though the pressure was growing the days before the flight. I didn’t finish it in time.

The night before the trip, I packed my suitcase and only got about three hours of sleep. Then before I knew it I was off to work on the subway with my things. I don’t even remember what I did that day. I probably was working to get things in order so they wouldn’t fall through the cracks while I was gone. Never before had I taken off more than two days of work in a row, so I was looking forward to the break, but I was just watching the clock waiting for the shuttle that would take me to the airport. The time came, I bid my coworkers farewell and, with a deep breath, took off on what seemed like the greatest adventure of my life.

- - -

The airport was chaotic, the flight overbooked. The airline offered two hundred dollars to reschedule, but I told myself they would have to add another zero on the end for me to even begin to consider rescheduling. I don’t think I could endure the waiting anymore than I absolutely had to. Once aboard the delayed flight, I tried to relax and read the rest of IQD. I bought the book to read ahead of my mom because I knew once I came out to her, she would head to Deseret Book. Knowing this would be what she would find, I wanted to read it preemptively.

I had read and loved the beginning part about Stuart Matis. But the second part I found difficult to read. I don’t know if it was the attitude of the arguments or my unease and lack of sleep, but I found the writing to be labored and excessive, almost to the point of bemoaning same gender attraction with sackcloth and ashes. Needless to say, I didn’t get through the end. I think I dosed off for a few minutes, but I was still stressed and just wanted the flight to end.

Four hours later after landing, I ran to baggage claim and waited for my suitcase to turn the corner of the carousel when a particularly attractive guy chose to stand right in front of me. I am hesitant to say this, but looking at him and feeling at least the superficial attraction that eye-candy garners, I still felt a bit guilty and ashamed of that reaction. I brushed it off like I always did, and when my bag appeared, I grabbed it and headed for the parking lot without looking back.


My dad had come to pick me up and was there waiting. I loaded my things into the backseat and then hopped into the front, sharing a smile and a quick hug before we headed off. My dad is one of the most loving, gentle and caring souls I know, and it was refreshing to see him again. The conversation beyond initial pleasantries mostly focused on my physical appearance.

I hadn’t seen him in six months, and in that time I had come out to myself and subsequently lost 45 pounds. I am actually still losing the weight. I realize that I had used weight as a protection mechanism against me accepting who I was. I reasoned that if I hated myself, so would everyone else. I had also wanted to punish my body for feeling the way it did. (Luckily, I am no longer in that tragic state of mind and am on my way to feeling and looking great!)

On the way home we did have an interesting exchange. Between my mom and dad, I had supposed that my dad would be more agreeable to accepting my coming out news initially. I had actually been dropping subtle hints in the weeks leading up to the family reunion to prepare him. As he was driving, I mentioned in passing how great it was to be home. He replied that I would always be welcome at home. Seeing this as a perfect opportunity to prepare him further, I lightly replied, “I’ll hold you to that.” He gave me an awkward glance and a smile and the conversation moved on until we reached the house.

I was mauled by my mom and my older sister the moment I stepped out of the car. (I had avoided mentioning the weight loss to anyone in the family and hadn’t posted any recent pictures of myself just so I could enjoy this moment.) They both were amazed with how I looked and wanted to know my secret and what diet I was on. I wasn’t about to tell them that the secret was coming out to myself and accepting who I was, but I managed to put together some answer about not being on a diet but simply being aware of what I ate, controlling portion sizes and recognizing when I was full. They were incredulous when I told them I had not exercised one bit to achieve the weight loss. My mom, always the one to be happy with children making healthy changes, was beside herself, though was a bit sad because she had gotten a shirt two sizes too big for me for the family photo. I told her not to worry about it and that we would make it work.

We talked for a bit, enjoying the family being together again. I relish our family conversations. I never laugh so hard as when I do when I am with my family. The conversations are intellectual, joyful and exciting. Only getting together once or twice a year, we also have a lot to talk about. I was trying to enjoy it, thinking it may be one of the last normal conversations I’d have with them. I was determined to enjoy the next four days before I came out, appreciating every moment because I was convinced everything would change once I did. I went to bed that night both smiling over being with my close ones again and frowning at the sadness and conflict my news might mean to that familial unit.

- - -

The next morning we drove two hours to my uncle’s house. My uncle travels with his family during the summer and leaves behind a beautiful home complete with saltwater pool and slide, spa, basketball court, fire pits, barbeque, massive flat panel television and surround sound, pool table, foosball, air hockey and more. I was appreciative of everything to distract me from my own thoughts of dread. (I also secretly believe that my mom used the pool as an excuse to get us away from the city where we grew up just so we wouldn’t be tempted to meet up with any friends and thus steal time away from the reunion. She is an empty nester and wants to make the most of her family time, bless her heart.)

The days were full of family activities like swimming, cooking, eating out, a water balloon fight, picnicking, going to a movie, celebrating a birthday, fireworks, playing card and board games, crafts and many more fun-filled excursions. My mom had created a whole schedule listing activities by the hour just to make sure we maximized the time we had together. Some of the non-traditional activities included a thirty-course blind palette taste test, a patriotic flag ceremony and devotional, a Deseret Industries thrift store scavenger hunt and a family fireside on patriarchal blessings. (Yeah, we are weird but in a good way, and we have a ton of fun!)

I am glad we had so much scheduled fun because waiting until the last day to come out would have been unbearable had I not had planned activities to get me there. My family could tell something was up anyway. I was breaking out, something I do more when I am stressed. And this time it was bad. I wasn’t sleeping at all. I tried, but I was worrying so much and trying to work on my letter. I was texting more than usual (mostly to you fellow bloggers) to the point where my family thought I had a secret girlfriend (how wrong they were). I know I had wanted to enjoy the last few days of normalcy with my family, but I was beginning to think I should have just done it at first because I was slowly tearing myself apart, to the verge of breaking down.


On one of our excursions, we headed to an old pioneer valley for church and a picnic lunch. There is antique chapel and a congregation that still meets there so we went for Sacrament Meeting. It was the Fourth of July and the day before I was planning on coming out. The service was very pleasant and quaint. After the sacrament had been distributed, the member of the bishopric who was conducting got up to start the testimony portion of the meeting. As is custom, he started with his own testimony which included some patriotic themes to honor the holiday. It was all perfectly fine until I heard the phrase, “and I know that the country is currently run by people influenced by the devil...” It just went downhill from there.

The one thing I had going for me about coming out to my parents is that they are both members of the Democratic Party. Being a bit more open-minded than the usual conservative, cookie-cutter Mormon, I had hoped that this open-mindedness would extend to their only son. After a lovely picnic I was in the car with my mom on the way home. I brought up the interesting testimony which led to a fantastic political discussion including a conversation about the prejudices felt by Mormons who are Democrats living in conservative areas. I took the opportunity to ask my Mom there was anything on the Democratic platform that she did not agree with. Without skipping a beat, she responded “Gay marriage.”

She qualified her comments by saying that she thought that they had the right to be together and that there were many loving partnerships with good people, but that the Plan of Salvation was about the family unit being sealed in the temple, which a gay couple simply could not do. I was a little dismayed but I understood where she was coming from. Family to her is everything, and a celestial family bound for the eternities has always been her unabashed goal. The conversation moved on to other topics, but my mind remained on what she had said. I wondered if her views would change at all learning about me, or if she would always be saddened for the family she expected but might not attain. I wondered if she would ever be able to support me getting married to another man.

That night was the worst. I was worried and nauseous. I was up until 5 AM finishing my letter, thinking, praying, worrying, fidgeting and pacing. I was having second thoughts. Why was I doing this? Did I want to change everything? Were my feelings all that important in the eternal scheme of things? Was my happiness worth the sadness of my family? After a few calls to some friends (where I went into the garage to make sure I wasn’t heard at all), I calmed down and regained a level head, but I was still worried and exhausted. I was wrestling with myself, wrestling with the exact wording of the letter and wrestling with the decision to come out that I had thought I already made. Finishing the letter, I read it over once quickly to proofread it, posted it online and then collapsed onto the bed. In the chaos of my mind, sleep came slowly.

- - -

My sister knocked on my door early at 6 AM, asking if I were going on the sunrise hike. I grumbled that I wouldn’t be. I was, however, meeting an old friend for an early breakfast because that was the only time we could coordinate our schedules to do so. I roused myself, took a quick shower and headed out to an IHOP that was close by. I took my letter on a flash drive so I could print it somewhere in town because the house had no printer I could use. After a lovely breakfast, I drove around the city endlessly to find some store that was open.

Because of the federal holiday, all of the FedEx, Kinkos and OfficeMax stores were closed as were the libraries and every other place I thought might have a printer for customer use. I started to think I would go crazy, having invested so much into writing this letter that I could not print! I finally found a Staples where the only employee there graciously printed out three copies of the letter for me. (I am pretty sure he got a good look at what it contained, but at this point I was just happy to have a physical copy I could give to my parents.)

I got home and stashed the letters in my luggage along with NMG. I then proceeded to pack my things, just in case I needed to make a quick exit that evening. I didn’t think I would have another chance later in the day. Hearing the tales of the gorgeous sunrise hike coming from down the hallway, I joined my family as they returned and tried to act as if everything was normal for the rest of the morning.

At some point, I made it my goal to tell my dad I needed to talk to him and Mom alone later that day. It was an awkward conversation because I had never really asked for anything like it before. He agreed, of course, and I proceeded to tell him that Mom might not enjoy the conversation too much and that I needed his help to perhaps step in and maintain the peace. This statement alone probably caused him to worry even more by the look on his face. I told him not to worry and that it was only a precaution. I don’t think that worked. He looked worried the rest of the day.

Later in the afternoon, I was helping my mom with the laundry and I mentioned to her that I would like to speak to her and Dad privately sometime. She immediately responded quite emphatically, “I hope it isn’t bad. I can’t handle anything bad right now.” I wept on the inside. I took a beat and forced a smile. I don’t know where I got the strength from, but I replied that it was something good and left to go be alone to recompose myself.

I don’t remember much about that afternoon. I was in a daze. I might have gone swimming or played some games. I don’t know. I was doing a lot of thinking and worrying. I had already told my parents I wanted to talk, so there was really no going back at this point. I was lost in a stupor of thought while sitting in the living room when all of a sudden my pensive musings were broken by my mom addressing me, asking, “How about now?”

I snapped out of my daze to the realization I was alone with my parents in the living room. Everyone else had, amazingly enough, gone outside to play in the pool. I had supposed the conversation would happen later that night, not at that moment. It was so early still! My heart started beating out of control. I had to catch my breath. Thoughts raced through my mind. Was I ready for this? Can I blow off the whole thing? Where can I run and hide? Could I survive this? How would things change? Would my parents still love me? I was about to find out, right then.

Accepting that this is what fate had in store for me, I responded affirmatively and said I would meet them in their room shortly after getting something from mine. Once in my room, I quickly sent out a mass text for support. I checked the many encouraging and loving comments on my letter I posted online and then fell to my knees and offered a quick prayer. I retrieved the letters and the book when my phone started to fill with additional thoughts of love and strength from many of you. I was invigorated and made the determination to go through with it and actually come out.

Leaving my phone behind so I wouldn’t be distracted, I headed to my parent’s room. My hands shaking and clinging to the letter for dear life, I tried to take a few deep breaths to calm the butterflies in my stomach and to get my heart the oxygen it needed because it was pounding so quickly. Everything was about to change. For better or for worse, my and my parent’s realities would never be the same once I told them I was gay. I was seconds away from having the most important conversation of my life.

Should I Tell My Bishop?

I need some advice.

Mentally, I am gearing up to tell my parents about my "struggle with same sex attraction." I phrase it that way because I believe that it would be the only way they could handle the news.

I'm heading home in the summer for a few days, and I feel a growing responsibility to share with them what my life has been like. (I'll write more about that and my family later, I promise.)

In preparation for their questions, many of which I do not have answers for, I am sure they will ask if I have ever talked to my bishop about it.

I never have. Should I?

I have not mentioned it up until now because I don't want the change in attitude I am sure would accompany such news. I am a solid member, trustworthy and responsible. The bishop is a good friend of mine and, I am inclined to believe, liberally minded.

But I am the same person I have always been, and I don't want the way people treat me to change.

One of my hesitations is that I don't want a negative mark on my church record. I don't want to open a pathway to disfellowship, even if it is just because of the way I feel. Right now I am not sure of what course I should take because I don't want to screw up my eternal salvation.

I have never consciously done anything "wrong." I am not a bad person. I have never talked to a bishop about anything personal besides temple recommend questions, and even then, most of those are yes and no questions.

I must admit that I am a very independent person. I have isolated myself and my emotions in an attempt to ignore the gnawing ache of my attraction. I hardly ever ask for help, so when I do, I have a genuine need.

What might a bishop counsel me to do, besides the obvious: pray, read the scriptures, etc.? I have already happened upon a church pamphlet on homosexuality that really didn't help.

I am also wary of organized support groups because of my aforementioned pride and independence. From the left (Affirmation) to the right (Evergreen), I don't want to be brainwashed. Plus, I don't think right now I could even show my face at a meeting.

So I need your guidance and knowledge based from experience. Should I tell my bishop?