Just because I'm "out" doesn't mean I'm always going out of my way to talk about sexuality. Outside my closest friendships, I still don't feel comfortable sharing. I still feel ashamed of my sexuality. Even after all this time. All these stories, written or otherwise.
I remember being envious of the other boys who seemed so free in their bodies, so free with their bodies. I remember being envious of their slenderness, and later on, their muscles. I remember lying in bed wishing so hard that I could wake up and be miraculously thin. I remember knowing that I shouldn't hate my body but having no idea how to stop.
College held the hope for a fresh start. Home meant the weight of my double-life: the pain of lying about porn and "everything is okay" all the time; the great friendships that never felt deep or authentic enough for my broken self.
When I was a kid, my dream was to grow up and get a wife and kids. A lot of kids. My family and church taught me to pray for my future spouse. So, I did. Everyday for years. I prayed for the girl I'd one day marry, that God would protect her and care for her, whoever she was.
I hated being the awkward, quiet introvert; I wanted to be like the energetic, chatty, extroverted kids. They always seemed to make a bajillion friends and were always the life of the party who people laughed at and enjoyed. I hated myself for not having charisma or speaking when it mattered. I thought something was wrong with me.
The vast majority of "Queer Eye" is not even addressing sex; it is addressing prejudice, shame, and loneliness. I have experienced shame, the idea that I am simply unlovable. I even believed for many years that God hated me, that God himself couldn’t even love me.
When we give our hearts to people we are changed, even if they never give us their hearts in return. These effects aren't scars — they don't begin as wounds — and I wouldn't call them baggage. They're like paint splashes on our canvas hearts or imprints on our soft, clay souls.
It's the final episode of our Five Values series! Our editor, Tom, discusses his personal journey of vulnerability from attending a conference to writing a book to cofounding this very blog. Additionally, he affirms the role vulnerability plays in each of our stories — whether we're publicly "out" or not.
He wanted me to be a man, to be tough, emotionally disciplined and not giving in to my grief. After all, we should consider ourselves like soldiers in battle who can't afford to stop and grieve when someone dies. I couldn't fully process everything at the time, but you can imagine how I felt as a sensitive guy.
As I entered into ministry, I knew my SSA could end it all in one swift move. I hoped that instead of being rejected I would be loved. I hoped that people would notice their prejudice and change once they met me. I spent much time in prayer -- but also smoking.