How do I deal with unmet sexual desire? It's a question which led me to ask, what is my sexual desire? Of course, "sexual desire" is a category with a lot of things in it. "There's a lot of different fish in that bucket," I told myself. But let's not call it a bucket. Let's call it an aquarium so all the fish have plenty of room to swim around, and so we can get a good look at them.
My mom didn't start saying she loved me until she became a Christian in the early 80's. Now she says it almost every day, and I feel like she's doing it to make up for all those lost years. As far as I'm concerned, those "I love you's" are empty because she's been saying it to the straight Michael she's always preferred instead of the Michael actually in front of her. And because of that, I've learned to tolerate her acknowledged denial of my life.
For so many years I thought I was just dirty, lustful, and awful for thinking all these terrible sexual thoughts. I was filled with constant shame because the sexually intrusive thoughts kept coming. The realization that I can actually, with practice, redirect my own thoughts, is more freeing than I can write.
Adam makes his YOB podcast debut (or does he??) as he helps us get over the hump of this Enneagram ConvoCast series! As a member of our community he opens up about the need for vulnerability as a Three, along with the core struggle it launches against the impressive persona he strives to present. We ponder the reason why Threes are perhaps the least common type in YOB – and maybe even within the greater "Side B" community? Is it simply because the closet is especially comfortable for a Three and less threatening to their reputation in the Church? Adam also confesses why he thinks Threes are the least desirable type in the Church and how that's impacted his ability to belong as a believer.
I spent nearly three decades of my life sexually involved with other guys, and even longer than that attracted to them, and in all that time I never once considered Pride Month or attending any Pride parades or events. Part of that thinking is because I was raised in the South in the 60's and 70's, and in the Black community particularly acting like a homosexual was strictly taboo.
Phillip Henry died yesterday at 29 years of age. That was the short, somber text message on my phone. No! Not Phillip! I thought. He was such a close friend. That last thought was only a half-truth. My friendship with Phillip had only just begun, and I'd had such hopes for it. Now, he was gone.
Though we hold certain theological convictions as queer or "Side B" Christians, I was recently reminded we share much history and experience with the greater LGBTQ+ community – which shapes and influences our own lives and experiences. Things are better now than they were sixty years ago, but abuse by religious and secular societies still exist. There is more work to be done.
Who am I? This could be a question for self-edification or self-deprecation. A question answered with set shoulders and proud confidence, or a rhetorical question asked to oneself at the depths of loneliness and despair. The best way I have determined to answer that question is I am...loved by God.
He's the guy who has clarified my boundaries with cuddling and physical touch more than any other. The guy from whom I've sought comfort in touch more than any other. The guy who has made me feel seen and warm and laugh and cry like no other. He's the first (and to this point, only) guy I've fallen in love with.
I still have that Link costume somewhere in my closet. Perhaps it's the wandering through the woods that I love, the isolation, the music; or, perhaps it's something deeper that has stuck with me after all these years. Perhaps it's that I feel like the protagonist: adrift in time, unsure whether I'm a child or a man. This is how I feel as I move back into my childhood bedroom – the place where my sexual trauma occurred.