I came out earlier this week and I am honored to openly join the ranks of Queer people in this world. I will have more to say about all of this in the coming months, but for now I figured that I would link my coming-out-content from across my social media platforms. 🌈 🥰

TikTok: ‘I Just Came Out: Deep Breaths to Stave Off a Panic Attack‘ Video

Instagram: ‘Come with Me to My First PRIDE‘ Video

Facebook: An Incredibly Long Post, text included below

Well… if I don’t share it now I will chicken out and then go through the super weird process of trying to keep all my Facebook friends from seeing my IG or TikTok accounts.

And even though my brain is considering that as a real possibility, it is best for my mental health to just get this out in the open once and for all.

Why is it less scary sometimes to share in front of a random crowd, but not the people who mean the most to you?

(I know… I know… because potential rejection from the people who mean the most to me would hurt the most)

My family has been incredibly supportive throughout the past few years — from deconstructing my religion (2021), to processing the pain of divorce that I did not want (2022), and coming out (2023)… I am grateful for my parents and my siblings who have seen me and loved even the parts of me I was sure that nobody could love.

*trigger warning*

Dissociation is no joke… and it has played a major role in my identity as a queer person. I have, quite literally, come out to myself at least six times in my life.

How does one come out to themselves over and over and over again? Because dissociating and blocking out entire parts of yourself is less traumatic than the reality of coming out as queer in the religious/conservative dynamic I was raised in.

(at least… that is how my brain saw it and I have a lot of sources to back up that feeling of very real self-hatred/religious trauma)

I was raised as a member of the LDS/Mormon church. And I learned from a very early age that even associating with LGBTQ+ people (let alone BEING one of them) was wrong… and had the potential to destroy my eternal happiness. So when I realized I was bisexual, I dissociated.

As I grew older, the narrative around me shifted to accepting and loving LGBTQ+ people around me, but that being that way yourself was a dire sin. I am forever grateful for this shift in religious teachings from my former church because it opened up room in my heart for the lived experience of others and allowed me to act with the empathy I so desperately wanted to show. It also allowed me to make friends with LGBTQ+ people and see that they were loving and beautiful and wonderful and worthy of love. But, even when I came out to myself again (after LITERALLY DISSOCIATING SO MUCH FROM MY IDENTITY THAT I FORGOT I WAS QUEER AND REPLACED IT WITH PERFECTIONISM, SCRUPULOSITY, AND TRAUMA)… it was still so painful and traumatic that I dissociated again.

Then, the narrative shifted again to where it was acceptable to have queer thoughts… it didn’t mean you were going to hell anymore… but that acting on queer inclinations was a threat to the eternal family and plan of God. Again, I am so grateful for this shift because for so much of my life, I felt like a dirty, disgusting, hateful, shameful being. I felt like something was fundamentally wrong with me and I was so ashamed that I literally dissociated from this entire aspect of my identity. This shift in doctrine/policy made a little more room for me to not absolutely hate this part of myself.

Over the years, things in my religion of origin have shifted even more to be a bit more inclusive of allowing queer members to practice the religion… but there are still eternal consequences of salvation for seeking queer relationships. In my former religion, which most of my neighbors and friends and family are still members of so please be kind, the doctrine is very clear: gender is binary and marriage is between a man/woman only. As such, there are foundational aspects of heaven that are only reserved for those who refrain from acting on their LGBTQIA+ “tendencies.”

The fear of being kept from God’s presence was so real for me. Even after I finally came out to myself and my former husband — I I think the last time I came out to him was in 2018 — finally coming out in a way that my brain didn’t fully dissociate from it — I still hid my queerness like a horrible secret. Sure I wasn’t hiding it from myself anymore… but I was still hiding from the world. Until this past year, when I was faced with the fact that I was single and would eventually date again, I had only come out to a few people in my entire life.

(actually who knows, I could have dissociated from conversations or experiences because my brain is that good at forgetting.)

When I was active in the church, I had the privilege of being bisexual – so I was able to mentally and emotionally block attraction to women and funnel that attraction into men. Vulvodynia really threw a wrench in the “get married and then everything will be fine” plan… but AJ and I did our best to work through it together. Being in a hetero-presenting relationship, while secretly queer myself, was hard. I knew. My husband knew. But I was terrified that anyone else would find out. Most of my family and extended family are still practicing members… and I desperately feared their rejection. I live in a very conservative, religious town where I didn’t want to isolate myself and my kids. To be honest, I have seen and heard acts of discrimination against queer people (mostly passive acts), and this kind of environment did not make me feel safe to be “found out.”

So even though being queer didn’t affect day-to-day life that much (I was married and content and honestly not thinking about women much apart from the occasional celebrity crush)… it also affected my day-to-day life dramatically.

I experienced extreme anxiety about even the smallest acts of allyship… because I didn’t want anyone to suspect. Though staying silent in the presence of “jokes” and discrimination was brutal… but what was the alternative?

I have hated myself. Dissociated from myself. Had intense thoughts of harming myself. Feared for my safety. Clung to the promise of being “fixed” in heaven. etc

Deconstructing religion was the hardest thing I had ever done. I tried so hard to hold onto my faith even as I felt it slipping through my fingers.

But once I deconstructed my faith and left the LDS/Mormon church in 2021, I no longer hated myself. I no longer feared the queerness inside of me.

And then, in 2022, divorce was the hardest thing I had ever done. I tried so hard to hold onto my marriage even as I felt it slipping through my fingers.

But once I accepted the divorce, I realized that this was a new beginning.

And then, accepting myself as queer and coming around to the idea of not only identifying as queer but also dating as a queer person… that… that has been surprisingly easy. Actually coming out in 2023… though… that has been hard.

Convincing myself that the WORLD isn’t going to hate and abandon me, even though I’ve FINALLY accepted this part of me has been a game of mental chess.

But I have decided to change the game.

I am 31 years old. And I have spent my whole life dissociating from and hating my queerness.

For the sake of my mental health, I refuse to do that for one second longer.

And just to clarify, I did not get divorced because I am queer – but especially considering my vulvodynia history y’all can expect that to factor into my dating preferences moving forward. I know that this is a real possibility – that people will feel uncomfortable around me now, especially my religious friends and extended family (LDS or otherwise).

I hope you can still love me.

I hope you can still respect me.

But if not, I choose me.