‘Just wait and see,’ a Christian youth group leader told me when I was 14 years old. ‘These things often blow over in time.’
My heart sank. For days, I had deliberated over who I could confide in about my sexuality – only to be shot down immediately.
Tears formed, as did a lump in my throat and I swallowed hard, determined not to show how much that hurt. His gentle voice was telling me that this wasn’t a big deal – but the pit in my stomach said otherwise.
He went on to say that I shouldn’t tell my friends and family I was having ‘romantic feelings’ about girls, just in case it would cause them unnecessary stress.
So 10 years later when I heard about Pope Francis’ recent statements that LGBTQ+ people deserve to have families and should be able to get civil unions, I felt numb.
I was surprised that I wasn’t happier. The words should be fantastic to hear, even though I’m now an atheist. But the announcement fell flat in my ears, while a niggling voice whispered in my head, ‘too little, too late’.
Growing up in a conservative Christian girls’ school as a closeted bisexual teen was tough. I was never bullied for my sexuality, but only because I never openly declared it.
On one occasion, I sobbed to a sympathetic friend over a broken heart. But once I named the girl I was crying over, she pulled away and muttered, ‘I’d rather not get involved.’
It was only these small moments – the awkward looks when I let something slip, the casual use of slurs at sleepovers – that kept me convinced to keep my secret hidden.
So I stuck to dating boys and kept the girls I was involved with a secret. I made it through to university without really telling anyone.
The first person I officially came out to was my fiancé. He shrugged and asked if it would affect our relationship. I said no and he kissed me and said it made no difference to him. The nerves in my stomach floated away; I didn’t realise it would be so easy.
I’ve since come out to old friends – both religious and not – who hear my sexuality for the first time and ask if I’m kidding, so I deflect with derision that they never noticed before. How could they though, when I worked so hard for so long to keep it hidden?
I’ve learned to be apprehensive when it comes to the crossover between sexuality and religion.
I never seem to be able to predict when homophobic comments might come sneaking out to rear their ugly heads. That’s not to say that all religious people are homophobic, it was just a natural response after years of being told that my sexuality wasn’t something to be proud of by people in my former church’s community.
The Pope’s endorsement of LGBTQ+ civil unions is a huge step forward for equality. It’s also a symbol that opinions are changing and hopefully will continue to do so.
I know that his words will lift a weight from so many queer Christians and Catholics who worry about their identity clashing with their religion.
I hope that this will make it easier for queer teens to find someone to talk to that they trust – whether that’s a priest, a youth group leader, their parents, or anyone else. And I truly hope that it means that this trusted person’s reaction will be world’s away from what I experienced.
But I also saw some senior church leaders being quick to state that Pope Francis can only represent his views, not those of the church itself. I worry that this statement won’t have the far-reaching positive effects so many LGBTQ+ people are hoping for.
The reactions to my coming out were not violent. I wasn’t scolded or threatened. In comparison to so many, I had a relatively smooth ride.
Yet even today, I still feel the flutter of panic in my stomach when I come out to someone new. So how much worse must it be for a queer person who had a rougher coming out story than I did?
While I am genuinely happy for LGBTQ+ churchgoers both old and young to hear this affirmation from the Pope, it comes with a bittersweet wish as well.
I wish that it would have come in time for my own church school education. I wish it would have come in time to save me from the crystal-clear look of disgust in my friend’s eyes.
Above all, I wish that it would have come in time for all the others before me who have faced persecution and exclusion from the church because of their sexuality.
For now, though, I’m hopeful for the future. Change comes slowly but it’s definitely coming.
It’s been 10 years since I first told that youth group leader my secret. Who knows what 10 more years might bring?
Do you have story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
Share your views in the comments below.
MORE: Lesbian prayed for her ‘gay to go away’ over fears Catholic family would reject her for liking women
MORE: Catholic Church ‘shocked to core’ by presence of evil, child abuse inquiry told
MORE: Pope Francis claims gossiping is a ‘plague worse than coronavirus’
source https://metro.co.uk/2020/10/23/the-popes-lgbtq-comments-little-consolation-13469107/
0 Comments