Gaining Perspective - Pt. 3

Part 3 of the 'A Mile In My Shoes' Blog Series
(Go to part 1)

In the final part of this journey, I invite you to step into the shoes of a parent

One who loves deeply, yet struggles to fully understand the silent pain their child might be enduring. It’s a story of missed opportunities, but also of hope and redemption as we strive to create a safe space for our children.

Nearly a decade after our son came out to us, I sat in a counselor’s office with him one day, and he looked at me and said, “You told me that being gay was a sin, and that sin is an abomination, so I believed I was an abomination. What do you think that was like for me as a teenager, mom…thinking my parents think I’m an abomination?”

Resolved to absolve myself from responsibility, I was quick to dismiss him. “But, I never thought that about you. I never told you that you were an abomina…”

Before I could utter another word, our counselor, Lisa, stopped me in my tracks, and peeled back a layer. “Kim, I want you to go back and answer that. What do I think that was actually like for Conner to think and experience that? Can you empathize with that from his teenage perspective?”

I contemplated silently for more than a painful minute. Although we never told Conner he was an abomination, it’s what he heard, processed, and believed. It was his reality, and I had to begin there.

Slouching further into the sofa and staring at the floor through tears that blurrily magnified the carpet’s pattern, all I could do was let them roll down my face in silence.

My silence was deafening, to me at least. I sat, contemplating James 1:19, “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.”

‘Don’t say the wrong thing. Feel his pain. Don’t excuse your actions. Don’t minimize his experience. Slow down. Just take it all in.’ My mind raced and stood completely paralyzed all at the same time. I felt like I was in a time warp.

I raised my eyes to his. With deepest sincerity, I muttered, “That had to be terrible. And I am so, so sorry.” I felt a sliver of the shame he had carried for years. I couldn’t even begin to process the turmoil he must have felt while he tried to cope with all the thoughts that plagued his mind. To truly capture his feelings was impossible; after all, I have never walked even one mile in his shoes over that kind of debilitating fear of rejection.

With grace, Conner covered my hand with his, then squeezed. “It’s okay, mumma.” He calls me mumma when he knows I’m sad. “We’re here now, and I’m working through my hurts and trauma.”
Trauma. Ouch. I guess I need to understand so much more.

I can honestly say that because I loved my son so deeply, I thought the love of a mother could eclipse any pain her child carried. I had never thought—like actually contemplated—what that must have been like to walk a mile in Conner’s shoes, having so many questions, and sensing no outlet for answers. I would never have used the word trauma. But he did.

It’s real.

He explained. Once upon a Sunday, Conner was hugging a friend at church who’d come home from overseas to surprise his mom at church on Mother’s Day. Conner spotted him and ran. His buddy, about a foot taller and much burlier than Conner, picked Conner up, and wrapped him up in a bear hug, shaking his whole body to and fro like a ragdoll.

“Hey man, I missed you!”

Suddenly, a random woman flew across the hub, separating Conner and his friend. Pushing her arms between them, breaking their embrace, and reinforcing her posture between them, she declared,
“In the beginning, God didn’t make Adam and Steve. Don’t ever let me see you do that again.”

Vaingloriously walking away with clutched arms, she returned to her husband’s side, who congratulated her on upholding Truth to two disgusting teenagers. Conner hadn’t even come out yet, and his friend is not gay…all on Mother’s Day, no less.

Other hurts he unveiled: A chastisement from a leader for being obnoxious. His hello dismissed, as a staff leader looked him in the eyes and did an about-face to walk in the other direction. A “God hates homosexuals” comment spoken in a meeting. A slap clear across the face by a student at youth group. A mom who told him he was a prodigal, and then called me to tell me all the things I was doing wrong with my son. A woman at church who called him a loser to his face.

This happened at church…where God’s people are supposed to reflect Christ.

As he painted a picture, I contemplated his loneliness, his fear, the rejection, the shame, the abandonment by the ones who should have loved him most. The fact that he had two physical encounters. Ugh.

I took him there and exposed him to the very place I thought he could be safe.

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” John 13:34

Conner was definitely not feeling the love….not any of it.

The thought that he thought God didn’t love him anymore, or that he’d been banned from the security of heaven one day. The fact that he’d suffered hurtful comments by some insensitive people…at church. It was all so much for my brain to attempt to flash through all the grave moments that Conner experienced right under our noses without our knowing. I began to feel overwhelmed for him and sorry that we failed to offer him safety within his own family and the church we called home for his whole life.

As I attempted to process Conner’s question, (I thank God for counselors who know how to slow a conversation down) it wasn’t lost on me that I was experiencing one moment in time. His world felt tumultuous for years. It’s preposterous to think I can even access all his feelings over all those years as a teen.

I’m still chewing on Lisa’s words and have many regrets about what we did and didn’t do that made Conner feel like we didn’t create a safe space for our son to be honest with us. I have many wonders about what a decade of his life would have looked like if we had only been better equipped to navigate complex topics with security and sensitivity.

I’m still learning about the messages we intentionally and unintentionally sent our son. I thought he knew John 3:16, stating that God loves the world and sent Jesus for all, which included Conner (and that Adam and Steve lady, too). I thought he knew that we are all sinners because the Bible says “All have sinned, and fallen short of the glory of God” in Romans 3:23, which means every last one of us.

Somehow, our messages got crossed and Conner processed that he was too far outside the scope of God’s and his parents’ love or acceptance.

I don’t have all the answers, but what I have learned is that my perspective is only one. There was and is a very real human being on the other side of the story. There was a lonely and confused teenager, who simply desired to have someone—anyone—empathize with him. For far too long, I missed him. I saw him, but I overlooked everything he was feeling and experiencing, unaware that we were adding to his turmoil, seemingly offering zero space to take his questions. He thought his questions would cost him his family…and in that fear, it nearly cost him his life.

“And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.” Hebrews 10:24

Oh Lord, help me to help him. And how do I help others see this too?

Perhaps our story will change the trajectory of other families. If we had only seen the real pain he held for so long; if we had only walked a mile in his shoes, we would have had more empathy and understanding for what he was going through.

Our perception of how we were parenting, and his reality were worlds apart. Had we only known, we could have nurtured an environment for dialogue that created security around Conner, so that we could walk and learn together. We thought we had. Somehow, misperceptions were flying in both directions, and paralyzing fear dictated the deafening silence between us.

Coming out to Christian parents is a deeply personal journey, and will probably always have an element of difficulty for both parents and children. It requires courage, safety, empathy, and patience from every person involved. It necessitates choosing to see one another, resisting unhelpful judgment or presumption, and seeking a deeper understanding of our relationships and our belief systems.

Choosing to be a listener can ultimately strengthen relationships and foster a deeper level of compassion and understanding. It can alleviate fears, for everyone. By empathizing with our child, we facilitate a necessary understanding of their perspective, and offer them the freedom to be honest about all their questions, doubts, and fears. Knowing they feel seen, understood, and accepted opens a whole new world of life-preserving compassion our kids desperately need. Isn’t that what we all ultimately desire? If I want to be heard and understood, I must also be willing to listen. By engaging in open dialogue, and creating a safe space for hard questions, both parents and children can navigate this journey, finding benevolence, respect, and hope for a future where love transcends differences and misconceptions.

Our kids need to know, and hear from us as parents, “I’ve got you.”

No child should conclude that suicide is a better option. Ever. We have to let them know they are safe in our hands, regardless of what is on their hearts. Even if their story is difficult to hear, our children need a safe outlet to share, erasing the fear of condemnation or abandonment.

We are still learning where this journey is taking us, but Conner knows that he is deeply loved and treasured. Through lessons hard-learned, we’ve created room for mutual respect, compassionate dialogue, and yes, more therapy. I consider it a privilege that our son invites us to appreciate the world through his lenses, and I am supremely grateful for his grace. (He still admits that his head is mad at us, but his heart isn’t. If my heart is digesting that, imagine the work he’s putting in to maintain peaceful, loving congruence with us.)

While we contemplate what it’s like to walk a mile in our children’s shoes, it’s important to remember, it’s one mile. Our children live every day in a world that often misunderstands and mischaracterizes them, and they battle judgment and cruelty that can harness their genuine personhood. Our son asked us to empathize with his reality when he indicated, “It can be like coming out every day, because when you meet new people, you never know how you will be received or rejected. Sometimes, I don’t even feel safe. It’s exhausting living in preservation mode.”

My sole wish is that we step lovingly, carefully, and necessarily through these deep waters together. Our children’s well-being is worth fighting for, so I’m hopeful we can journey together to bridge misunderstandings, and learn with and from our children, and they from us. With prayerful hearts, parents and children can do a better job of managing the messy middle. Our relationships are worth it, and our God is faithful. He will not abandon us, even if we don’t always get it right. He will honor our intentions of soul care for one another, and I think that’s a great place to begin, don’t you?

“We love, because He first loved us.” — 1 John 4:19

We can do this. C’mon along.