40 days
And how I redeemed the years I lost in conversion therapy
My book releases in 40 days. And being a good church kid, my mind automatically goes to the significance of the number 40 in the Bible. Noah was in the ark for 40 days during the flood. Jesus was in the wilderness for 40 days. And the Israelites wandered in the wilderness for 40 years, which made me think of Exodus.
Well, Exodus International.
I spent nearly a decade in conversion therapy ministries that were under the umbrella of Exodus International. The group derived its name from the book of Exodus in the Bible and the story of the Israelites being led out of bondage and into the Promised Land. Their logo proudly proclaimed, “proclaiming freedom from homosexuality since 1976.”
They promised us that freedom was possible, but all conversion therapy did was lead us deeper into a wilderness of shame.
I did my best to be a good student. I waited for the miracle they promised. I believed if I prayed hard enough, followed their list of spiritual disciplines and behavior modification, God would make me straight. If it sounds far-fetched, let me reassure you that when you’re desperate enough, you’ll believe (and do) anything.
I went to their conferences. I sat in therapists’ offices and in support groups. I read all of the books I could get my hands on. I even worked full-time at a church.
The miracle never came.
And for a moment, I thought about ending my life because I couldn’t imagine any other way of living. Thankfully, I found the courage to end the way I’d been living my life and dropped out of conversion therapy.
But simply leaving conversion therapy didn’t instantly undo all of the damage it caused. Leaving felt less like freedom and more like failing. I had organized my entire life and identity around a version of myself that didn’t exist. And without it, I didn’t know who I really was.
As I tried to shed the version of myself I was told to be in conversion therapy, something told me to hang on to everything. The old conference notebooks. The tear-stained journals. The books with my notes scribbled in the margins. I kept it all in a box tucked away in the back of my closet, and it moved with me for more than a decade across three apartments in Chicago and five in New York City. I never opened it once.
For the next decade, I struggled with addiction. I carried shame. And I was so angry about all of the time I’d lost, the money I’d spent, and the false hope I’d chased.
I left my final job at a church and started a new life and career in New York City in 2018.
And after a moment of grace, I finally got sober in June of 2021.
Sobriety wasn’t easy for me at first. Recovery meetings felt a lot like conversion therapy. People in a church basement on folding chairs, talking about having “the will to change,” was triggering. But something about this was different. Sobriety didn’t ask me to change, but taught me to be ruthlessly honest about who I was.
In recovery rooms, we often read these words:
“We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others.”
For years, I had tried to shut the door on the pain of conversion therapy. I didn’t talk about it often. It’s not the easiest topic to bring up at a cocktail party or on a first date. But sobriety gave me the courage to face it with compassion instead of shame.
It was time to open the box.
As I re-read everything with a sober perspective, I discovered something I didn’t expect to find. Instead of feeling shame, I felt compassion for the younger version of myself. Instead of rage, I felt righteous anger. And instead of feeling a sense of loss, I felt compelled to create something.
I knew I needed to write the story of how I really got free.
I wrote the book I needed when I was wandering in the wilderness. For the kid sitting in a church basement, being told he’s broken. For anyone who lost years to shame and is trying to find their way back home to themselves. For the people still carrying baggage from their past who want to be free.
I wrote it to prove that our “lost years” can be redeemed if we use our experience to help light the way for someone else.
Today, freedom, for me, means no longer striving to be anyone other than who I believe God created me to be. It’s permission to stop performing, and to trust that being exactly who I am is enough.
Those “lost years” were just preparing me to share my journey of freedom with others.
As I shared last week, I’m in a crucial time for pre-orders, as this is when booksellers are making decisions and placing orders for the books they want to carry. Each pre-order helps make sure Conversion Therapy Dropout reaches readers everywhere. If you haven’t yet, please consider pre-ordering today.
And if you are a Barnes & Noble Premium or Rewards Member, you can save 25% through the end of the day today, March 26, when you pre-order using code PREORDER25. (Premium Rewards Members save an additional 10%!)
Thank you for being with me on this journey,
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A fabulous article, love it!