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.

How Scientists Are Withholding Information from the Public

The following is something that frustrates me:

This week in my nutritional biochemistry class, we were required to write research papers and complete peer reviews of each others' papers. It scares me that, in this senior capstone class, my peers are still making rookie writing mistakes like using huge, redundant phrases where one word would do, or by misplacing commas of all things.

"But Ethan," you might say, "they're science majors! They aren't studying writing on the side like you are!"

"True," I would respond, "but shut up I'm still talking."

Many science majors, after graduating, inevitably will go on to do research in their field. And what do they do after that? They write scientific papers and get their research published. This means that they'll be writing fairly frequently, assuming they don't get fired. If they're going to be writing so much, shouldn't they be trained in writing?

Unfortunately, many universities don't require much in the way of training for these future writers. For most science majors, BYU itself only requires an additional 3 credit hours of advanced written communication after the freshman writing class—and its science-specific writing class is only recommended, so science majors may not even take it.

"So they suck at writing—what does it matter?" you might ask.

"It matters to who reads their writing," I'd say. "Now stop interrupting me."

Obviously I have to read sucky science writing, along with other science majors. Fortunately I've learned how to dissect relevant information from scientific articles ever since I began studying nutrition. But, even though I can do it, it still annoys me. Besides, science majors aren't the ones who are being hurt by this—unless you count the dead brain cells we used up trying to make sense of it all. You see, we still actually learn this cryptic information.

Poor science writing really ends up hurting the general public.

The general public doesn't know how to dissect relevant information out of these scientific articles like I do. Even if science writers had perfect grammar, they still use a lot of jargon and technical terms, simply making scientific writing inaccessible to the public. This is a problem (1) because the public won't be able to understand cutting-edge research that pertains to them, and (2) because poor writing leaves them ignorant and frustrated with scientists. I think it's obvious why my first point is a problem, especially when it comes to the health sciences, but let me explain my second point a little further.

Typically, scientists write for other scientists. They don't bother explaining things in terms the layman could understand, and even if they did, they often write in such an aesthetically confounding way that readers are hard-pressed to find any glimmer of meaning. Take this passage as an example:

"An intraperitoneal glucose tolerance test was performed in the overnight fasted offspring by administering glucose (250g/l) intraperitoneally as a bolus, at a dose of 1g/kg body weight" (Lagishetty, 2008).

If you're confused, this is what that means:

"After withholding food overnight, we injected a piece of glucose (250 grams per liter) into the rat pups' abdomens at a dose of 1 gram per kilogram of their body weight to see how well their cells would use the glucose."

That is a dramatic example, but it isn't anywhere close to the worst science writing I've ever read. Fortunately some science writers are gifted and write clearly, but "some" isn't enough.

This is the age of information. Scientists need to learn how to make their information accessible, or the public will continue to disregard it. Take vaccinations as an example. People fear what they don't understand—they distrust it. The majority of the public doesn't understand the science and research behind vaccinations. They instead turn to things that they do understand, even if those things are false. Now, this isn't exactly the scientists' fault, but they aren't helping either.

Yes, people in general should be more educated in the sciences. They should trust doctors and researchers—experts—when their evidence proves something right or wrong. For the best results, however, these experts need to make their research more accessible and more understandable. They need to be better trained in writing.

They need to stop making me suffer through their papers.

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.

Middle Margins: An Introduction

NOTE: This post is not to be used to coerce your gay friends/family to try dating or marrying someone of the opposite sex. This is purely my experience and my decision. Even LDS Church leaders have said that "the Church does not necessarily advise those with same-sex attraction to marry those of the opposite sex."

In November of 2014 my wife Allie and I (then only engaged) participated in the Voices of Hope Project, sponsored by North Star International. At this point I had already come out as gay to my friends and family, as well as anyone who was paying attention on Facebook. I even maximized who would see my coming out post by posting it on the day of my birthday in August. (I also announced the date and time Allie and I would be getting married, making for what one friend would describe as "the most confusing coming out post ever.") Because of all that, I didn't expect much of a reaction to come from our Voices of Hope video. At least, not a negative one.

I was pretty dang wrong.

Amid the overwhelmingly positive responses from our friends and family, strangers seemed to come out of nowhere and go out of their way to tell us our marriage was doomed. To tell us that we were "making a mistake," to tell us it was "a terrible idea for so many reasons," to tell us that "the majority of mixed orientation marriages fail"—even to tell us that "[we wouldn't] have a healthy sex life."

What the butt??

As far as "non-strangers" go, a man who said he went to the MTC with my high school seminary teacher (because that somehow boosts your credibility) said, "No amount of hope, faith, and ignorance of psychological facts will make your marriage a success if you have not completely come to terms with your sexual orientation." Then I got a message from some gay, obscurely distant family member telling me about his divorce.

All of that unsolicited information was great, but all of those people had one thing in common: they were loudly ignoring our story while trying to make us fit within the framework of their own. It didn't matter that I came out to Allie on our fourth date, because a man who came out to his wife on their 14th wedding anniversary got divorced. It didn't matter that I don't believe in reparative therapy, because a man who got married hoping to become straight left his wife for another man. It didn't matter that I love my wife dearly, because apparently gay Mormon men only marry women in response to social pressure and homophobia from the LDS Church.

Can I just say that people are dumb?

(Yes, to an extent, people are a product of their circumstances and their worldview is largely shaped by their experiences—and that's all completely valid and understandable. But when people are completely ignorant toward me I call them dumb because it makes me friggin feel better.)

Despite all of the negativity I've seen, I still try to speak out whenever I can, because this is bigger than me. There are so many people out there with stories like mine that think they're alone. They keep quiet because they feel marginalized and "othered" by both the LDS Church and the LGBT community. They feel like something is wrong with them because they're somewhere in the middle, and they wish desperately that their life could be as black and white as the extremists try to paint it.

I'm here to say that there are plenty of us here in the middle, and gray is GREAT. I love The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and I follow and revere its president, Thomas S. Monson. I also think men are friggin hot (not all of them), and there's a certain part of me that can only be emotionally fulfilled by other men—and my wife and I are okay with that. Marriage and love is much more complicated than sexual orientation, and while I recognize that not everyone shares my experiences, I ask that they please at least respect my experiences. (If you want an A+, you can try to understand my experiences!)

My purpose for this blog is mostly to have an outlet when I want to talk about something I think is important. I'm not always going to be talking about LGBT or even LDS issues, but they'll probably pop up every now and again. I really just want to promote discussion, understanding, and love. I want to defend people who feel marginalized and to promote the middle ground.

By the way, our sex life is AMAZING.