Community Voices

A Heavy Load on a Rutted Road

By JD C.
Buenos Aires, Argentina

A couple of weeks ago a friend of mine pondered, "I wonder if storybook endings and fairy tales ever really come true." I instantly replied, "If you pick the right story, sometimes they do. What's funny, though, is that fairy tales stop at happily ever after but before the reality of ‘ever after' becomes clear. And the ‘happily ever after' is nothing else but volumes containing inside stories, fights, arguments, ups and downs, etc." He felt that the comment was true and found it very interesting—while to me it seemed obvious.

I believe that in every story there is reality—the way things really happened—and our own reality—one that is interpreted through our own biases. It's not relevant whether it's your own compilation of experiences, feelings and thoughts, or somebody else's, even if it's based on wishful thinking and has never resembled reality. Everyone has at least one story to tell, and despite the differences of details in all of them, the parts of each one of those stories are very much the same: Exposition, Rising Action, Climax, Falling Action, and Resolution. Now, you would think the Exposition to be the easiest part to a story line since it has to do with "setting the stage" and explaining the situation that leads up to the further development of the plot. Well, to me it actually is the hardest part to explain out of the five.

Today, I spoke with a friend who I hadn't spoken with since we served together as missionaries. He had major expectations of me that stemmed from the Church leadership background within my family and the impact it's had in my home country. Hesitantly answering his questions—yet never failing to be honest—I acknowledged I had been given noted responsibility within the Church since returning from the mission. As the conversation went on, however, I noticed myself avoiding details while affirming to him that sometimes we aren't yet ready to confront certain circumstances—sometimes we act or do good because that's what's expected from us without first considering our feelings. When the conversation ended, I was left with a heavy bag of memories from the previous seven years that I was hard to carry. That was my story. There are two reasons why this catching up was so excruciating: fear and shame.

When I had barely turned 22, I was called to serve as a counselor in our ward bishopric. In only the second week of that calling, I attended the disciplinary council of somebody I knew very closely. The experience tore me apart. I remember wondering how Church members could get to that point, while I was so sure I would never have to worry about being in such a situation. I felt I should immediately apply what I gather from such experiences and never take things for granted, because while my knowledge and confidence may have been strong, too much of both sometimes paints a target on my most defenseless crux, my Achilles' Heel: my feelings of attraction to other men.

It wasn't too long after this disciplinary council that I started stumbling into darker paths myself, trampling much more fragile responsibilities and covenants than had the gentleman whose council I attended. Recalling my naive overconfidence causes me to laugh a little bit… perhaps because there are no more tears left. I still don't quite grasp how I opened the door to temptations related to my attractions, letting them take everything from inside me and crushing everything around me. Ironically, what kept me afloat during such a devastating, dark season was something that I had also always carried with me and underestimated as much as I did my same-gender attraction: my testimony.

In my endless journey to find a place where my challenges, my purpose as a son of God, and what He would have me do can all exist in harmony, I find myself going back and forth reflecting upon the behaviors in which I engaged:

Did I see my actions coming? No. I would see SGA behind the door all along but never thought I would ever dare to let it in.

Could I have avoided succumbing to same-sex behaviors? Yes. Had I been more aware of my vulnerability and ready to face particular temptation from close proximity.

Are same-gender attraction and the consequences of giving into it meant to happen? No. I keep reminding myself that just because it is, doesn't mean it should be.

Do my attractions affect how I feel towards myself? Yes. It does not only make me feel short of several capacities, but it also contributes to my tendency of being too hard on myself.

Do I let my life revolve around my attractions? No. I try really hard not to. Doing so would hold me from progress through other challenges and blessings.

Have I learned something from this experience? Yes. Giving into both the feelings and the actions contrary to the gospel principles didn't add anything positive to my life; however, it made me fully appreciate the basic knowledge of the gospel I've always had.

Do I feel better or relieved after having acted on my attractions? No. On the contrary, I feel worse than I did before.

Do I feel like I've failed? In feeling as though I've lost God's trust, I feel like I've also lost my own.

Do I know how the story goes on? No. This will just be another "happily ever after." No details at all.

Is there a way for me to move on? Yes. Christ makes it possible for me to be reconciled to His life.

Is same-gender attraction an obstacle to overcome? No. I think I may have to coexist with my same-gender attraction instead of ignoring it.

What is there to overcome, then? Myself. I believe that acquiring knowledge and being wise in knowing how to apply it will enable me to endure any challenges God sees fit to place before me.

Every so often I lay in bed and make an effort to clear my mind, focusing my senses onto myself as a whole, in no specific timeline or scenario. The outcome occasionally varies a little, but there's one particular phenomenon that unceasingly remains prevalent: I find myself empty.

In order to remain safe while I try getting back on track, I have trained myself to shut my feelings down so my mind takes full control. I only let them out when it's about caring for others and lending them a hand in their sorrow, pain, or troubles. Stepping out of my life in order to aid others results in an inexplicable satisfaction. Yet, in order to be successful in helping those around me, I also need to be willing to let others help me back, including God. It all makes sense, but I can't help feeling stuck at times because of my struggle to trust.

My difficult childhood, my lonesome upbringing, the ever-chaotic relationship with my parents, my unusual perceptions and non-standard characteristics along with whatever else I might be missing in the account of my life so far, have always seemed to contribute to me sticking out. And though there were two wonderfully uplifting years in the middle—my full-time mission for the Church—the subsequent years have been a struggle, thus exhausting in me the last bit of that which fuels any human being: hope.

Whatever challenges I may face, there is constantly a Rising Action in which shame and fear stem from that which is unknown. I shift my feelings, whether consciously or not, to keep myself safe while I strive to determine my play disregarding the nourishment of my testimony which sometimes feels like my only rudder. If I don't reach a conclusion hastily or undertake that which is unknown quickly, I emerge empty of insight and/or identity, weakening my trust and hope until I am left with none. Then, God alone is the Light I am capable of seeing—and that's when I realize it's the same Light that had been shinning upon me all along since the very beginning.

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