I believed I was a good person. At the same time, I felt dirty. Disgusting. Unworthy. Ashamed. Guilty. My sexuality was devilish. Carnal- something that would never allow me to be with God. But when I wrote my poems, it was freeing. Beautiful and who God made me to be. It was nothing to hide. It was as real a love as anyone else's.
Wasn't that how it should always be?
Coming out honestly seemed like a lot of effort when fundamentally, I stay the same. I love that scene in "Love, Simon" where people have to come out as straight, because that's a little bit how this feels. At the same time, it also seems right that I do it. My blog is so much about letting others know they aren't alone and there is always good to come. Suffering doesn't last a lifetime. My goal here is to create a community; a welcoming environment where people feel they don't have to hide. That's why I decided to write this post.
I've denied my sexuality off and on for a long time. The mind is a powerful thing. There were times, in certain moments, in certain places, I accepted myself. I believed it would all be okay and I could love whomever I wanted. But soon after those freeing moments, the guilt would drown me. My religious affiliation didn't make it any easier. I'd been raised on the idea of marriage between a man and woman, that perhaps having this attraction itself wasn't a sin, but it would be if I were to "act" on it. So, I convinced myself I would fall in love with a man and marry him because I, at least, had that option as a bisexual woman. The older I got, the more I thought, "But what if the person I want to spend the rest of my life with isn't a man? I don't want to settle." I'd been raised to never settle for anyone.
I started writing this post about a year ago, give or take a month. It started with a poem I'd written a few weeks previous as I sat in the hallway of our religion building at BYU-Idaho. I wrote these types of poems fast, my hand always covering the words before to make sure any passerby wouldn't see the sins I felt I wrote. On February 7th, 2019, I watched people go by as I waited for my own religion class to start.
I sent a screenshot of a girl's Instagram that I really liked to a friend towards the end of my first semester at BYU-Idaho. I thought she was beautiful and I wanted someone to know that. Somewhere in my subconscious I decided I would tell him. This friend of mine had been one of my closest friends. I had no real secrets from him and he always made me feel comfortable and safe. When I made a comment about her to my friend after sending the text, he joked by asking me, "Maggie, are you bisexual?" I answered.
It was an easy conversation and he accepted me for who I was. But I was preparing to go on a mission and I knew there was nothing to be done about it. As part of the interview questions for going on a mission they asked me if I "struggled with same sex attraction." (though I often argue I have never struggled with liking girls. The only struggle came from hating myself because I was taught it was bad). I said no. I didn't want anything to get in the way of me doing what I felt God wanted me to do, what I wanted to do then too. So, it would remain buried in my years of poems, in that text conversation, in prayers with God, and in my head.
18 months passed. We received a lot of questions on same-sex marriage and relationships. I admitted to people I didn't understand any of it, but spat out the answer of "God will work it all out in the end" (though I wasn't sure I actually believed that). Anyway, after that year and a half, I thought maybe I'd gotten over it. I was set in my religion and had unwavering faith in God, with a foundation as solid as you could get. Nothing would deter me from that path.
I went back to BYU-Idaho and I soon realized the feelings were still there. I was actually embarrassed. I wrote a high concentration of poems on my sexuality, a lot of them angry, or with words that essentially said I could never love who I truly love. I decided I didn't want to feel shamed. I wanted to tell someone. I felt hopelessly alone and it had to be said. That's when I wrote the blog post about it. It's since been deleted because once I started thinking of the repercussions, of the "what will people think?" scenarios, I got scared. I can fall in love with a man, too. I kept telling myself those girls I liked growing up were just flukes. Maybe I didn't even like them. Maybe I just was really close with them and appreciated them. Maybe it was all in my head that my heart beat a little faster when I was with them and perhaps I didn't actually look forward to seeing them everyday like I did when I liked a boy at school. And maybe, just maybe, those feelings of wanting to date them were me being dramatic or something.
A few months after being home from my mission, my brother came out. It was a roller coaster of emotions. I'd become set on marrying a man and only dating men. I had to stay in the church. I had to follow God's commandments or I was going to hell. I was a returned missionary, after all. But in a way I thought, maybe I could tell my family. They were so accepting and loving of my brother (and why not?). Like I said, though, it was a roller coaster of emotions- for everyone. And I felt like I had a choice, but my brother didn't, so why would I bring up my sexuality when I'd "made up my mind" and had this course? Besides, when I talked with people about LGBTQ+ matters, it was all about "loving, not supporting" and so I believed no one would ever support me, which meant they would never truly love me either.
I was angry. Angry with God, with the church I'd dedicated my life to. I rebelled and made a lot of different choices out of anger. I lost my faith. I sat in church and legitimately rolled my eyes. Eventually I stopped listening and came for appearances, to go in order to keep my ecclesiastical endorsement.
As we all know, I started therapy and medication. Not only did that change the course of my life in relation to my mental health, it helped me find confidence in myself. I felt I could speak my mind for once. I wasn't riddled with anxiety. It was time to use my voice, to no longer stand by as people were being hurt.
If you lived with me, or ever saw my Instagram stories on my personal account, you'll know I spent a semester working with a fantastic group of social work students and the LGBTQ+ community. For this class we were to pick a community and create an intervention in which we would just, help them in a way we saw they needed. I felt inspired to work with the LGBTQ+ community and my group felt it was a good idea. So for a semester we attended Understanding Sexuality, Gender, and Allyship (USGA) at BYU-Idaho. We tried to work on a campus that is... small, to say the least. We worked incredibly hard to help this community, these human beings be seen, to help them find safety and love on a Christian campus. I wanted to help students now and in the future not have to live in fear and hiding.
Somewhere along the way, I had to admit it was a project for me too. For an entire semester I saw bravery and acceptance of self in a place I'd grown more terrified of in the last year than ever before. I watched students wear their labels with pride and come together on a campus that can be pretty judgmental. I wanted to be like that. I didn't want to hide anymore.
When I was a kid, I used to have contests with my brothers or my cousin for who could hold their breath the longest. I remember trying to hold my breath for so long. My lungs would hurt a little and I grew increasingly desperate for air as the seconds went by. It felt like I would never get another breath. Being at BYU-Idaho, hiding a part of myself, felt like I wasn't breathing, and it hurt. I wanted to be able to fully live my life and be authentic. I wanted to feel like I could breathe again. So, I came out to my group because I decided there was nothing to be afraid of. I'd decided it was time to stop bs-ing myself into thinking I had a choice.
It was another warm welcome. I'd never been happier than saying it out loud. I was so excited as I was walking home after our group meeting. I sent a Marco Polo to my brother and his then boyfriend (now fiance) and told them. And that was easy too. The next part was to tell the rest of my family.
I planned to tell them at Thanksgiving, but the opportunity never felt like presented itself and I was scared. It wasn't a fear of losing their love or anything like that, it just seemed hard to tell that to the people who had this vision of me marrying a man in the temple. I had to ruin that vision for them.
One day my mother and I were at the mall around Christmas. I'd prayed a lot for strength to tell my parents. For an opportunity to present itself. My lack of a dating life tends to be a topic. I'm education and career focused, so, like most parents, mine just wanted to make sure I was okay.
My mom is incredibly easy to talk to. She's also come to know what I'm thinking and is a very smart woman. I told her sitting in the food court over Chinese. My father was told later that evening in the middle of a restaurant.
I've hit some bumps in the road as how to come out to the rest of my family and things like that. Honestly the tears shed over this whole thing are kind of a blur now. All I feel is the joy I've been filled with since talking about it out loud. It's not just on paper that no one reads.
Since my posts on social media, I've been asked how I came to know about my sexuality. And I guess the answer isn't very straightforward. Acceptance of myself had been off and on (Denial became my best friend for a long time). Knowing came in moments until it grew into something I really understood. It came when I prayed to understand myself, from watching others, and really just looking at myself in the mirror and no longer denying my right to freedom and joy. It came somewhere and I can't really pinpoint it, but it came. And now I realize I don't have to sit in the middle and play this game of tug of war.
Towards the end of last year, I felt I couldn't give up on my Father in Heaven. There were too many miracles, too many witnesses of His existence, too much of the Spirit to deny Him and His Son. I would lie awake and think, "What am I doing?" I'd believed my entire life (and taught every day for a year and a half) that Christ has felt every pain, every experience, and joy we go through. Surely He knew how this felt. I'd also taught that we have a loving Heavenly Father and Savior. With so much prayer, so many tears, and heartache, I came to see myself through Their eyes. My first and foremost identity is as a child of God. They love me more than I can ever comprehend. I've had so many sacred experiences in this time. I know this is who God has made me to be. It isn't something to hide and hate myself for. It's not a mistake. It's not a trial to overcome, it's not for people to get over themselves and learn to accept (and support) and love me. That's not my purpose in life. My sexuality is as much a part of me as it is the color of my skin, but just like my brownness, I am more than that.
This has all brought me to a much different place than I imagined a year or so ago. But I am so much happier than I could've ever imagined. I no longer feel pain. Guilt. There is hope and a new found peace in Christ. I've understood there is a place for me in the world, just like there is for you.
"Don't ever doubt your worth."
Thank you for taking the time to read this- it always means so much.
---Maggie
PS- These 3 links give some basic information on bisexuality, bi-erasure, and bi-phobia. PLEASE watch/read at least 1 of them. If we never take the time to educate ourselves, we'll never change.
https://www.hrc.org/resources/bisexual-faq
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oa6AnOCQD50
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cK7yuKsP_5A
Wasn't that how it should always be?
Coming out honestly seemed like a lot of effort when fundamentally, I stay the same. I love that scene in "Love, Simon" where people have to come out as straight, because that's a little bit how this feels. At the same time, it also seems right that I do it. My blog is so much about letting others know they aren't alone and there is always good to come. Suffering doesn't last a lifetime. My goal here is to create a community; a welcoming environment where people feel they don't have to hide. That's why I decided to write this post.
I've denied my sexuality off and on for a long time. The mind is a powerful thing. There were times, in certain moments, in certain places, I accepted myself. I believed it would all be okay and I could love whomever I wanted. But soon after those freeing moments, the guilt would drown me. My religious affiliation didn't make it any easier. I'd been raised on the idea of marriage between a man and woman, that perhaps having this attraction itself wasn't a sin, but it would be if I were to "act" on it. So, I convinced myself I would fall in love with a man and marry him because I, at least, had that option as a bisexual woman. The older I got, the more I thought, "But what if the person I want to spend the rest of my life with isn't a man? I don't want to settle." I'd been raised to never settle for anyone.
I started writing this post about a year ago, give or take a month. It started with a poem I'd written a few weeks previous as I sat in the hallway of our religion building at BYU-Idaho. I wrote these types of poems fast, my hand always covering the words before to make sure any passerby wouldn't see the sins I felt I wrote. On February 7th, 2019, I watched people go by as I waited for my own religion class to start.
it was a game of"Her" referred to no one in particular at the time. It was all just a longing emotion. Perhaps while writing it I remembered when I was 13/14 and had my first major crush on a girl. Remembering those moments when I told myself throughout my years growing up it was wrong to be excited to see this girl or others at school. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. My heart was filled with ache, feeling isolated that no one knew the struggle between feeling like I had to choose God or love (being Mormon, or being openly bisexual). And I was scared to ever bring it up because of the environments I often found myself in as a member of the church. It wasn't until I decided to serve a mission that I finally told someone.
tug of war
my heart wanted to follow Him
but it also wanted
her
I sent a screenshot of a girl's Instagram that I really liked to a friend towards the end of my first semester at BYU-Idaho. I thought she was beautiful and I wanted someone to know that. Somewhere in my subconscious I decided I would tell him. This friend of mine had been one of my closest friends. I had no real secrets from him and he always made me feel comfortable and safe. When I made a comment about her to my friend after sending the text, he joked by asking me, "Maggie, are you bisexual?" I answered.
It was an easy conversation and he accepted me for who I was. But I was preparing to go on a mission and I knew there was nothing to be done about it. As part of the interview questions for going on a mission they asked me if I "struggled with same sex attraction." (though I often argue I have never struggled with liking girls. The only struggle came from hating myself because I was taught it was bad). I said no. I didn't want anything to get in the way of me doing what I felt God wanted me to do, what I wanted to do then too. So, it would remain buried in my years of poems, in that text conversation, in prayers with God, and in my head.
18 months passed. We received a lot of questions on same-sex marriage and relationships. I admitted to people I didn't understand any of it, but spat out the answer of "God will work it all out in the end" (though I wasn't sure I actually believed that). Anyway, after that year and a half, I thought maybe I'd gotten over it. I was set in my religion and had unwavering faith in God, with a foundation as solid as you could get. Nothing would deter me from that path.
I went back to BYU-Idaho and I soon realized the feelings were still there. I was actually embarrassed. I wrote a high concentration of poems on my sexuality, a lot of them angry, or with words that essentially said I could never love who I truly love. I decided I didn't want to feel shamed. I wanted to tell someone. I felt hopelessly alone and it had to be said. That's when I wrote the blog post about it. It's since been deleted because once I started thinking of the repercussions, of the "what will people think?" scenarios, I got scared. I can fall in love with a man, too. I kept telling myself those girls I liked growing up were just flukes. Maybe I didn't even like them. Maybe I just was really close with them and appreciated them. Maybe it was all in my head that my heart beat a little faster when I was with them and perhaps I didn't actually look forward to seeing them everyday like I did when I liked a boy at school. And maybe, just maybe, those feelings of wanting to date them were me being dramatic or something.
A few months after being home from my mission, my brother came out. It was a roller coaster of emotions. I'd become set on marrying a man and only dating men. I had to stay in the church. I had to follow God's commandments or I was going to hell. I was a returned missionary, after all. But in a way I thought, maybe I could tell my family. They were so accepting and loving of my brother (and why not?). Like I said, though, it was a roller coaster of emotions- for everyone. And I felt like I had a choice, but my brother didn't, so why would I bring up my sexuality when I'd "made up my mind" and had this course? Besides, when I talked with people about LGBTQ+ matters, it was all about "loving, not supporting" and so I believed no one would ever support me, which meant they would never truly love me either.
I was angry. Angry with God, with the church I'd dedicated my life to. I rebelled and made a lot of different choices out of anger. I lost my faith. I sat in church and legitimately rolled my eyes. Eventually I stopped listening and came for appearances, to go in order to keep my ecclesiastical endorsement.
As we all know, I started therapy and medication. Not only did that change the course of my life in relation to my mental health, it helped me find confidence in myself. I felt I could speak my mind for once. I wasn't riddled with anxiety. It was time to use my voice, to no longer stand by as people were being hurt.
If you lived with me, or ever saw my Instagram stories on my personal account, you'll know I spent a semester working with a fantastic group of social work students and the LGBTQ+ community. For this class we were to pick a community and create an intervention in which we would just, help them in a way we saw they needed. I felt inspired to work with the LGBTQ+ community and my group felt it was a good idea. So for a semester we attended Understanding Sexuality, Gender, and Allyship (USGA) at BYU-Idaho. We tried to work on a campus that is... small, to say the least. We worked incredibly hard to help this community, these human beings be seen, to help them find safety and love on a Christian campus. I wanted to help students now and in the future not have to live in fear and hiding.
Somewhere along the way, I had to admit it was a project for me too. For an entire semester I saw bravery and acceptance of self in a place I'd grown more terrified of in the last year than ever before. I watched students wear their labels with pride and come together on a campus that can be pretty judgmental. I wanted to be like that. I didn't want to hide anymore.
When I was a kid, I used to have contests with my brothers or my cousin for who could hold their breath the longest. I remember trying to hold my breath for so long. My lungs would hurt a little and I grew increasingly desperate for air as the seconds went by. It felt like I would never get another breath. Being at BYU-Idaho, hiding a part of myself, felt like I wasn't breathing, and it hurt. I wanted to be able to fully live my life and be authentic. I wanted to feel like I could breathe again. So, I came out to my group because I decided there was nothing to be afraid of. I'd decided it was time to stop bs-ing myself into thinking I had a choice.
It was another warm welcome. I'd never been happier than saying it out loud. I was so excited as I was walking home after our group meeting. I sent a Marco Polo to my brother and his then boyfriend (now fiance) and told them. And that was easy too. The next part was to tell the rest of my family.
I planned to tell them at Thanksgiving, but the opportunity never felt like presented itself and I was scared. It wasn't a fear of losing their love or anything like that, it just seemed hard to tell that to the people who had this vision of me marrying a man in the temple. I had to ruin that vision for them.
One day my mother and I were at the mall around Christmas. I'd prayed a lot for strength to tell my parents. For an opportunity to present itself. My lack of a dating life tends to be a topic. I'm education and career focused, so, like most parents, mine just wanted to make sure I was okay.
My mom is incredibly easy to talk to. She's also come to know what I'm thinking and is a very smart woman. I told her sitting in the food court over Chinese. My father was told later that evening in the middle of a restaurant.
I've hit some bumps in the road as how to come out to the rest of my family and things like that. Honestly the tears shed over this whole thing are kind of a blur now. All I feel is the joy I've been filled with since talking about it out loud. It's not just on paper that no one reads.
Since my posts on social media, I've been asked how I came to know about my sexuality. And I guess the answer isn't very straightforward. Acceptance of myself had been off and on (Denial became my best friend for a long time). Knowing came in moments until it grew into something I really understood. It came when I prayed to understand myself, from watching others, and really just looking at myself in the mirror and no longer denying my right to freedom and joy. It came somewhere and I can't really pinpoint it, but it came. And now I realize I don't have to sit in the middle and play this game of tug of war.
Towards the end of last year, I felt I couldn't give up on my Father in Heaven. There were too many miracles, too many witnesses of His existence, too much of the Spirit to deny Him and His Son. I would lie awake and think, "What am I doing?" I'd believed my entire life (and taught every day for a year and a half) that Christ has felt every pain, every experience, and joy we go through. Surely He knew how this felt. I'd also taught that we have a loving Heavenly Father and Savior. With so much prayer, so many tears, and heartache, I came to see myself through Their eyes. My first and foremost identity is as a child of God. They love me more than I can ever comprehend. I've had so many sacred experiences in this time. I know this is who God has made me to be. It isn't something to hide and hate myself for. It's not a mistake. It's not a trial to overcome, it's not for people to get over themselves and learn to accept (and support) and love me. That's not my purpose in life. My sexuality is as much a part of me as it is the color of my skin, but just like my brownness, I am more than that.
This has all brought me to a much different place than I imagined a year or so ago. But I am so much happier than I could've ever imagined. I no longer feel pain. Guilt. There is hope and a new found peace in Christ. I've understood there is a place for me in the world, just like there is for you.
"Don't ever doubt your worth."
Thank you for taking the time to read this- it always means so much.
---Maggie
PS- These 3 links give some basic information on bisexuality, bi-erasure, and bi-phobia. PLEASE watch/read at least 1 of them. If we never take the time to educate ourselves, we'll never change.
https://www.hrc.org/resources/bisexual-faq
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oa6AnOCQD50
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cK7yuKsP_5A
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