Gaining Perspective - Pt. 2
Part 2 of the 'A Mile In My Shoes' Blog Series
(Go to Part 1)
Let’s continue walking together in those same shoes.
It’s a painful journey, but necessary if we are to understand the silent battles our kids may be fighting. The cost of silence is steep, and the toll it takes on a young person can be devastating, leading them to places we, as parents, could never imagine.
Imagine: I make the deeply painful decision to hold my secret tight to my chest, attempting desperately to shove every thought to some abyss of the deep so it’s never found out. With every dismissed thought, a piece of me goes with it. I pretend to agree with everything I’m taught because I’m desperate for approval, especially within my family. The dissonance creates profound inner turmoil because I’m convinced that if I tell my parents that I’m gay, not only will they be disappointed, they might do or say something that’s irreparably damaging, and I can’t handle their negative response to my unspeakable attraction.
Besides, I can only presume how they really feel about gay people (I’ve heard the comments), so why would I choose to subject myself to their rejection? I conclude that I’d rather live a lie with them than tell the truth and risk living without them. How could I live knowing that, for the rest of my life, my family disapproves of me? Worse yet, what if they say they can’t or won’t love me anymore? Dealing with their disappointment is one thing, but contemplating being kicked out of their lives is something my brain can’t even begin to imagine. I’m a teenager, for cryin’ out loud. I need my family.
I weigh the risks and benefits of telling my family, and I’m still terrified.
There’s too much at stake, and it feels too risky.
I’ve kept my secret well into high school, but now kids are noticing I’m different.
I’m not dating, and I’ve been assigned a label. Students begin to bully me, using derogatory language to my face and behind my back. They are intentionally destructive and equally humored by their harmful behavior towards me, fracturing what little self-esteem I have left. I hear parents mumble under their breath at school and church.
Shame cloaks me with its cruelty. I feel deeply isolated, devastated by unceasing hurt and fear, and desperate for someone to talk to; yet all my wounds are invisible to anyone looking from the outside. Truly, nobody understands me, and I begin to believe all the negative talk.
Depression hits. Hard. I grapple with what the Bible says about being fearfully and wonderfully made, yet also wonder how or whether I’m actually deeply loved by God. Or my parents. I wonder why I’m made this way. I feel like a disappointment to God and to the parents He gave me.
I read “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” — Psalm 23:4
I’m desperate for comfort and reassurance in my darkest times, but I am struggling to access the comfort. I’ve sunk low.
I determine that it’s impossible to disclose my feelings to my parents, and thoughts of suicide creep into the crevices of my mind.
I sit and have long, hard talks with myself about the value of my very life. I know the disappointment, disapproval, and rebuke that I will face if I tell my parents I’m gay. I believe that death is an easier solution than facing my parents’ disapproval because I replay the comment in my head from that father in church that one day, who said he’d die if his kid was gay. I wonder if my dad would say the same thing.
Rather than have a conversation about the disguise I’ve worn for years, I choose a plan to end my life. Suicide moves from a contemplation to the only viable solution to my deep, dark, and isolated life. Soon, my thoughts go to such dark places, I’m tormented day and night. I wonder if I have a friend I can confide in, but everything is scary.
Resisting to share my story, I pull out the bottle of pills I’ve stashed for months, and…
Imagine, mom and dad, that this is your child’s actual life.
Every day, kids are in a deep and real struggle to find a way to say, “Mom, Dad, I’m gay,” and they’re terrified. These words and paragraphs are an extremely condensed version of the turmoil our kids face as they contemplate coming out to their Christian parents because many of us have left little room, intentionally or unintentionally, for honest conversations about what our children might actually be feeling.
Because we read, believe, and teach that homosexuality is unequivocally wrong, it leaves only fear and judgment to reside in a son or daughter who wrestles with that very thing. We leave little space for a child to even think about asking us anything that contradicts God’s word.
It’s a terrible predicament for a teen who is already navigating the hardest parts of growing up. Add contradictory sexuality questions to the mix, and a child feels like there is no way out.
I don’t have all the answers, and I wish I could say we had done better, but I am still a student of life. What I have learned is the significance of creating space to empathize with kids who struggle, particularly those from Christian homes who have questions related to anything LGBT.
It’s an imperfect process, and there are confusing turns. But you know what? Progress is better than perfection, so let’s take a walk.
“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” — John 10:10
Our very real enemy would love the story to end. Child suffers, despair wins, the end.
Momma, dad, pick up your sword. The Spirit is alive, and we’re going to fight FOR and alongside our child. Are you ready?
Hey!
