When I was newly out, I quickly discovered that many of my gay Mormon brethren were either getting degrees in Psychology (often driven by the desire to understand why we ended up gay and the other boys didn't) or moving to more liberal states like California. I promised myself that I wouldn't become a cliche. I knew what it was like to try and find happiness living the kind of life everyone expected me to live. I didn't want to fall into another pyramid scheme which promised happiness, so long as I do what everyone else did. I wanted to forge my own path.
So here I am, a gay former Mormon, living in the very liberal state of Washington, and with one year left in grad school to become a therapist. I've become the thing I tried not to become. I don't regret any of my explorations into other paths. I've followed my passions and went wherever my sails could take me. I've made good money (when you're used to lower class living anything close to middle class seems like luxury living). I've had more freedom to experiment with life than most people on our planet probably ever get the chance to try.
To be honest, I think I was secretly waiting for some Mormon miracle to happen. I'd realize that my mom was right and I wasn't gay after all. I could return to the church, get married, have kids, and be just like everyone else living a blissful life of mediocrity. Oddly enough, in many ways, I think the church did call me back.
To me, being a Mormon meant learning how to serve others. On my mission, I experienced how it felt to be in the role of a healer. It was my job to love everyone and serve them in any way I could, and I loved it. That spirit of service never left me, and here I am. I'm older, happier, more confident, married to the love of my life, and that Mormon spirit of service is here with me. My past pushed me to "fulfill my calling" and become the healer I always dreamed I might become.
With my didactic year behind me and my first year of clinicals just weeks away, I find myself in a pensive mood. I started with high hopes and in many ways felt invincible. I believed I had finally "gotten over" my trauma and was ready to dive in head first. I studied hard. I'd memorized veins, psychological terms, prominent researchers last names, and most of all I knew terms of the trade. I felt ready to do therapy from day one. If Ben Fineman and his ability to research is to be believed, and I think it should be, I probably could have been a fine therapist from day one. Yet, as the months drove by and our readings and conversations reactivated my triggers, I slowly sunk back into the depression that had taken me years to overcome.
I'd been to therapy before, but I never could afford to go more than a handful of sessions. When I did go to therapy, it was usually for a quick fix. I had no experience going to weekly therapy sessions and actually doing the work. The money was always a barrier. I didn't know about sliding scales. I didn't know how hard the work can be. I didn't know how slowly the change would come. I didn't know how complete and unfettered I would feel when it was all done. My program director suggested it was important to go to therapy as a new LMFT student. So, I ear marked the cost as part of my education and I'm very glad I did.
The insights and support from my therapist has truly been life changing. I was a little frustrated at first because I thought 3 sessions should have been enough, but things kept coming up. I kept going in circles around different topics that had recently upset me. But by the 10th session, I'd come full circle, and I realize now how important that work was. With COVID and then the murder of George Floyd adding to the stress I ended up making some sessions weekly. I am so amazed by the work that can get done with weekly sessions.
I avoided the cliches I saw because I didn't want to be hurt again by following a path that was supposed to bring me joy, only to be abandoned and betrayed again. I learned that lesson well when I left the church. Yet, I'm happier and more confident than I ever have been. It's true that my husband and I have been together for nearly 10 years. It's true that we're mostly monogamous. And yes, I escaped Utah. I don't care anymore if that makes me a cliche. I'm happy and at the end of the day, I don't care what path or label gets put on my life, because it's mine to live.
