I'm Totes Gay: Celebrating the One-Year Anniversary of Our Voices of Hope Video

One year ago today, Allie and I made our debut in a video for the Voices of Hope Project. Even though most of my friends already knew I was gay at this point, the video was still the absolute largest coming-out event I had ever done, reaching tens of thousands of people. Below are the video highlights, for those of you who missed it. (Some of my opinions have changed slightly since this video was released, but it still gives a good snapshot of my life.)

(Follow these links to watch our full interview, to read Allie's essay or my essay, or to learn about other voices from the project.)


Since originally going public in August of 2014, I've learned that "coming out" isn't a singular event, but an ongoing process. I'm constantly meeting new people, so I'm constantly bringing people into my life who missed last year's reveal. While I have gotten more comfortable with sharing this part of me with others, the fear of rejection is always there in some form or another. That's why it's taken me this long to come out to my ward. (I'm posting this on my ward's Facebook page, as well as other places).

(Before you ask, yes, I love my wife very much, and yes, she really is pregnant, and yes, it is my child. You see, I experience something called secondary sexual attraction for my wife, but my attraction for men is definitely primary—I'm totes gay.)

If you're a member of my ward and reading this, there's something you need to understand before I go on: that fear of rejection I mentioned earlier. I'm sure all of us—gay, straight, or anything else—have experienced that feeling of "If they knew x about me, then they wouldn't like me." For me, that x is my being gay, and the fear of rejection has been reinforced throughout my life by bullying, passive comments, and even blatant homophobia. And despite clarifications by the Brethren, many people in the LDS Church still think that sexuality is a choice—they still treat the LGBTQ+ community like a leper colony.

So, even though I have legitimate reasons not to come out to our ward, I've consistently felt that it's what God wants me to do. I want to do His will. I want to be an example and a resource whenever you, your family members, or your children have questions about what it means to be Mormon and gay. I want to see as I am seen, and know as I am known (D&C 76:94). I want to live as authentically as possible within my ward family.

I do not want this to hurt how you, fellow wardies, interact with me. I don't want any guys in the ward to wonder if I think they're "hot." I don't want them to think that, simply by being in their presence, I'll somehow become infatuated with them. I don't want them to treat me like a woman, erroneously thinking that gay men and straight women are the same thing. I don't want mothers or fathers in the ward to be afraid of letting me near their children (a surprising number of people don't know the difference between homosexuality and pedophilia).

So—if you are a member of my ward—surprise!!! You didn't escape "the gay" by going to a married student ward! You're surrounded, and that doesn't have to terrify you.

To Accept Love Afforded

I love people.

I love to be with people, to talk to people, to hug people, to love people. Heck, I even love to just do homework with people. In my eyes, most anything can be better with the right people by your side.

I have amazing friends.

They are people with whom I share my the greatest and worst experiences of my life, as well as anything in between. I love to be around them, and I try to plan fun social things with them almost constantly. Except, every now and then, things slow down. I then realize that I've been pouring a lot of myself into these sorts of things, and I start to wonder if anyone's pouring back. All it takes is for my friends to invite me to something—to initiate something friendly—then I'm right back on track. But sometimes my friends can be busy, and sometimes that invitation takes a little while. That's where it gets complicated.

You see, I have a really high social tolerance—or better yet, social need—compared to most people. If I could hang out with people everyday, I definitely would. However, most of my friends probably think that it's enough to hang out a few times a month—that's their minimum for social happiness.

My minimum is every other day.

That means that I'm constantly inviting friends to do things, and they come, but I feel the need to be social again before they do. (Sure, they may like being social more often than their minimum requires, but it's not so much of an emotional need like it is for me.) So I invite them to do something else, usually before they have time to feel that same social need. Then I notice what I'm doing. Then this happens:

Brain: Whoa. [Friend person] hasn't invited you to do anything in like, forever.
Me: You're right! The last time I saw [friend person] was a whole week ago when I organized [social event]! I need to talk to him!
Brain: Wait—wouldn't he have contacted you already if he wanted to see you?
Me: Oh my gosh, maybe you're right. Maybe he doesn't want to see me! But we're friends—I'll just text him and—
Brain: No! If he really wants to talk to you then he'll text you. Don't text him.
Me: But—
Brain: LET HIM PROVE HE LOVES YOU!!!
Me: Okay, jeez! I'll sit here and be sad for a few days until he either contacts me or I give in and contact him anyway.
*Two days later*
Me: Hey brain, I felt like you were being silly earlier, so I finally just sent [friend person] a text. He's doing great and we're going to hang out soon.
Brain: He didn't even notice that he hadn't heard from you for an entire week and a half?
Me: Wow, I guess not!
Brain: Does he even value your friendship? My goodness!
Me: I dunno. I think I'll be sad about this for a while before I dismiss it as hooblah.
Brain: Sounds like a plan.

If you couldn't tell, I have a problem with false expectations and imagined intent. Because I'm very social, I expect my friends to be just as social. When they aren't, I feel like something is wrong. I imagine that they must be upset with me, or that they don't want to be as close of friends as I thought.

These are the stories I tell myself, and I know they're wrong. It just takes me a little effort to disbelieve them, and sometimes it takes me a little time to come up with that effort.

A wise friend of mine once expressed that he had this same problem, but that he knew the solution. He said that he needed to be content with the love that others were willing to give him, and not to be upset that others didn't love him as much as he wanted them to.

It makes for a hard application, but I agree. To accept love afforded means to reject love expected. I love my friends, and I know they love me. I need to accept the love that they show me in their own personal ways—without being dissatisfied whenever they don't show their love for me as I would show it.