Why I’m Thankful God Made Me Gay
Through the eye of truth, we awaken to the infinite—where the lines of imagination and reality converge, revealing the beauty of self-discovery and transformation.
I’ve reached a place of peace with my understanding of reality. My beliefs now harmonize with both my heart and mind. But this harmony didn’t come quickly. It was forged through challenges—questions that shook my faith, identity, and understanding of the world. The journey was painful, but it led to profound growth and a deeper spiritual connection.
Growing Up in Faith
I grew up deeply rooted in Catholicism, with faith as a cornerstone of my identity. In those early years, I trusted the Church implicitly. It was ancient, unyielding, and filled with adults who seemed to hold the answers to life’s greatest questions. How could I, a child, challenge what they taught?
By middle school, though, cracks began to form. My attraction to the same sex, something I had noticed years earlier, became harder to ignore. At first, I didn’t understand the stigma surrounding it. But as I grew older, the world around me made its condemnation clear: “God hates gays,” I heard. “Boys liking boys is forbidden, and you’ll go to hell.”
I accepted these proclamations without question. The Church was thousands of years old; surely it knew the truth. The adults in my life had lived longer than my few short years; surely they knew better.
The Anxiety of Difference
By fourth or fifth grade, I noticed that boys around me were beginning to take an interest in girls. I didn’t. I thought it odd—queer, in the original sense of the word. At the time, I convinced myself it was just biology. Puberty simply hadn’t arrived for me yet. I just needed to wait.
But middle school came, and the change I hoped for never happened. Instead, my attraction to boys grew stronger. Anxiety set in. What was wrong with me? I clung to the hope that my straightness would awaken eventually. But it didn’t.
Caught in a dangerous bind, I knew I was in trouble. In God's eyes, my thoughts made me shameful—there was no hiding from His omniscience. But at least in my community, I hadn’t revealed myself. I understood the risks: physical, verbal, and emotional abuse, coupled with ostracism from my family and peers.
Retreat into Imagination
My solution was to retreat inward. My imagination became my refuge, a sanctuary where I could construct the safety and love that felt unattainable in the real world. In those moments of isolation, I built vast, vibrant worlds like the Meadow, Avradam, Oddadam, and Nysa—an isle of Atlantis, where the harsh judgments of reality couldn’t follow me.
In the Meadow, I wasn’t “wrong” or “sinful.” I was me—beautiful, worthy, and deserving of love. These worlds weren’t just a place to hide; they became a mirror reflecting the acceptance and joy I desperately craved but couldn’t find in the outside world. They offered a glimpse of what life could feel like if I were free to be myself.
These imagined places weren’t static. They grew with me, evolving as I grappled with my fears and longings. They gave me companions—figures who embodied the kindness, understanding, and encouragement I yearned for. In these places, I could test my thoughts, rehearse my truths, and envision a future where I belonged.
More than an escape, these worlds were a lifeline. They taught me how to navigate the isolation I felt as I withdrew from my peers, giving me a framework for hope and resilience. They were spaces where I could process the weight of rejection and fear without being consumed by it.
But the cost of living in these worlds was high. While they shielded me from external pain, they deepened my sense of separation from others. I became increasingly depressed, burdened by the contrast between my imagined sanctuary and the unyielding reality outside of it. Thoughts of suicide often crept in, but even in my darkest moments, a small voice inside urged me to wait, to hold on a little longer.
Looking back, I see how these imagined places shaped my ability to navigate the real world. They gave me the tools to explore the truths about myself and the strength to endure until I could create those feelings of safety, love, and acceptance in my actual life. They were the first steps on a journey that led me toward reconciliation and profound growth.
The Collapse of Belief
The tension between my inner and outer worlds fractured my spiritual foundation. Eventually, my Catholic beliefs collapsed under the weight of irreconcilable contradictions. Rejecting a doctrine that deemed my existence sinful wasn’t a choice but a necessity. To survive, I had to reject it.
But I wasn’t left without a belief system. Those imagined worlds—safe havens I built in my mind—became the foundation for a new understanding of the world. They taught me that others’ rules or judgments didn’t have to dictate reality. From them, I created a framework that embraced both reason and intuition, blending the clarity of logic with the depth of emotional truth.
This belief system was my own, shaped by pain but rooted in truth. It allowed me to see beyond the confines of societal and religious dogma, giving me the courage to explore what felt true to me. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest. It evolved as I grew and helped me bridge the gap between who I was told to be and who I truly am.
Discovering Deeper Truths
Years later, after much reflection, I realized the immense gift hidden in my challenges. If I hadn’t been gay, or if my identity had been widely accepted, I might never have questioned the teachings of others.
Through questioning, I uncovered profound truths:
External systems are flawed. The systems we inherit—whether religious, societal, or cultural—are often shaped by the fears, biases, and limitations of those who create and sustain them. These structures can provide guidance but are far from infallible. They frequently prioritize conformity over individuality, leaving little room for questioning or personal growth. True understanding, however, cannot be dictated by these external frameworks. It must come from within, through the courage to challenge what we are told, explore our own experiences, and build a belief system that resonates deeply with who we are.
The Self is infinite. At its core, the Self transcends the boundaries imposed by others’ judgments or definitions. It is vast, formless, and inherently free—an infinite well of potential and creativity. The Self is not a static identity confined to labels or roles; it is a dynamic force capable of shaping a deeply meaningful life. When we embrace this truth, we unlock a capacity for transformation and connection that goes beyond what we thought possible.
Love is unconditional and eternal. At its truest, love isn’t bound by conditions or expectations. Learning to love myself—including the parts I was once taught to hide or reject—was transformative. It showed me that the capacity for connection begins with acceptance. By loving myself fully, I became more open to giving and receiving love from others. This unconditional love is expansive, bridging gaps and fostering authentic and deeply fulfilling relationships.
The divine is everywhere. God, as I now understand, is not confined to the walls of a church or the pages of doctrine. The divine exists as a presence woven into everything—within us, around us, and in the connections we form. This God does not judge or condemn but invites us to grow, create meaning, and experience life's beauty in all its complexity. The divine is not separate from us; it is a part of us, urging us toward love, understanding, and enlightenment.
Gratitude for the Journey
In hindsight, I see the beauty in my struggles. If I hadn’t faced these challenges, I might never have questioned the systems that shaped me or discovered the profound truths about myself and the world. What once felt like insurmountable obstacles became the very catalysts for my growth and awakening.
Those imagined worlds I created weren’t just sanctuaries; they were my first guides. They showed me how to dream beyond the constraints of societal expectations and fear. They taught me that the boundaries we perceive are often self-imposed, and they gave me the courage to step into a reality I could shape for myself.
Through these struggles, I understood the infinite nature of the Self, the power of unconditional love, and the presence of the divine in all things. I learned to embrace life with wonder, courage, and purpose, no longer bound by the chains of shame or judgment.
Looking back, I am grateful. Those challenges shaped me into someone who can live authentically and love deeply. They gave me a life I couldn’t have imagined as a child—a life filled with joy, connection, and meaning.
That’s why I am thankful God made me gay.
