The Breaking Point — Trevor Paul Johnson

I imagine that every person who comes out as LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender) reaches what I call a “breaking point.” It’s the point where you decide you must face the reality of your situation and do something about it. For everyone it’s different. I was so terrified of being gay that I couldn’t admit to myself that it was even a possibility for the majority of my life. At a very young age (probably 8 or 9) I recognized my attraction to men but I was constantly hiding it and felt a lot of shame about it. Growing up I would nonchalantly look at male swimsuit and underwear models in the Sunday ads, I’d glance at shirtless men running on the road inconspicuously, and I’d try to convince myself that I wasn’t intrigued by the male bodies I saw naked in the locker room. I got to a place where I could numb myself to the reality of my same‐sex attraction. It was a coping mechanism, a way to survive in my Mormon paradigm. In Mormonism, as well as most world religions, being gay just doesn’t fit.

Depending on your level of religious commitment, faith can play a large or small part in the way you see yourself and the world. In Mormonism it’s taught that the greatest blessing you could ever receive is living in God’s presence with your eternal family, attained only by obeying certain commandments that qualify you to be sealed together in the temple for this life and the next. Marriage is strictly between a man and a woman. These commandments include, but are not limited to, not drinking alcohol or coffee, no premarital sex, and paying 10% of your income to the church. The thought of not following through with these commandments or the expectation of having a traditional eternal family was terrifying. It wasn’t an option. Period. So being gay wasn’t an option either. In order to “healthily” avoid considering the possibility that I was gay, I developed a kind of homophobia. I adopted the belief that gay men were perverts, child molesters, promiscuous, miserable, untrustworthy, AIDs‐ridden, etc. Little did I know that as my hatred towards LGBT people grew, my self‐hatred grew along with it.

Mormonism comprised so much of my identity that I did everything I could to conform to the doctrinal and cultural expectations. I was baptized at 8 years old, received the priesthood at 12, attended four years of seminary classes in high school, attended BYU (a Mormon university), and served a Mormon mission in Ecuador for two years. I was checking all of the boxes and found a lot of satisfaction in fulfilling those requirements so effectively. The next box to check was finding a woman to marry. The only problem was I was having trouble finding one I was attracted to or interested in enough to be in a romantic relationship with.

The fear that being gay was the reason I was having such a hard time dating seeped in slowly. At first I convinced myself that it was just hard to find the right one and that I was probably the kind of person that would date girls casually until I found “the one,” after which I would promptly date, propose to, and marry her. With that belief I made it to my first serious relationship with an amazing and attractive woman right around my 23rd birthday. We dated for six months and I thought she was the one. I enjoyed kissing her and felt connected to her emotionally. I loved her. But the whole time I was hearing the faint screams of something deeply suppressed and stifled inside me saying that I wasn’t being authentic. Things fizzled and ultimately ended with this incredible girl. We weren’t compatible in ways I wasn’t willing to see in the beginning because I was so desperately clinging to the fact that I felt a stronger emotional connection with her than any other woman I had dated before.

The break up was painful but helped prepare me for breaking out. It forced a deep self‐reflection and caused me to begin the process of not caring what others thought of me. I began to relinquish the control over the way I was perceived. Finally, in January 2014, I got to my breaking point.

I was experiencing seasonal depression. I felt unmotivated and apathetic. I didn’t have the energy to continue projecting the perfect Mormon image. One night I was on Facebook and came across a picture, a harmless wallpost, of the bare backsides of several men. I was intrigued and, after looking closely for a minute or two, began looking up other similar images. My heart raced, I was quickly aroused, and I frankly didn’t have the energy to care about or fear the consequences of looking at these pictures of mostly bare men. What I felt that night was an attraction that I had experienced many times before over the previous 15 years, except this time I didn't smother it. Afterwards, I didn’t feel as much guilt or shame as I expected. Instead I thought, “Well, I guess this is a thing. It’s probably about time I put this on the table and figure out what it means.”

Gratefully, a few close friends had been open with me about meeting with a therapist at BYU so I was aware of that opportunity. Their transparency and honesty about therapy removed most of the previously existing shame associated with needing to see a therapist. I decided to schedule an appointment and a few weeks later I was in my therapist’s office telling my life story more transparently than I ever had. I said things in that session that I had never dared say out loud before. I was shocked at how unfiltered I was. I had spent a lifetime hiding this thing and putting EV‐ER‐Y‐THING through my "straight man" filter. I realized as I opened up how much effort I had put into hiding that I was attracted to men. I had been consumed every minute of every day hiding this thing that caused me to feel so much shame (and I probably wasn’t as good at hiding it as I thought). I was afraid that I would be discovered and then rejected and then lost in hopelessness and misery.

The relief I felt opening up to a neutral third party about a very real part of me was overwhelmingly liberating. I remember thinking, “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if I’ll end up marrying a woman and staying Mormon or marrying a man and leaving the church. I’m willing to accept either option as long as I feel like I am being honest and authentic.” That day I began a lifetime journey of navigating what it means to be gay and finding a healthy mental, emotional, and spiritual place to exist in. I haven’t done everything perfectly so far, nor do I profess to have all the answers. But I feel calm where I am and hopeful in my future. I feel more authentic and honest than I’ve ever felt. I can see my goodness. I feel God’s love for me. I know I am worthy of love and connection.