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| Kade with his sister Kodi |
By Kade Kimber
I called my
mom first. After fumbling for the right words, which is never really a problem
for me, Mom said, "Honey, just say it. Tell me what you're trying to
say." I said, "Mom, I think I might be bi." Saying I thought I
might be bi, rather than just saying I was sure I was gay, was as far out of my
comfort zone as I could go at the time. Since then, I've learned that this is
VERY common for those first coming out of the closet. It was a first step,
anyway, so that was something. My mom replied with, "Honey, what took you
so long? I've known since you were little. Your aunt, grandma, and I used to
talk about it when you were young and I've just been waiting for you to come to
me in your own time. I just didn't think it would take this long. But, it
doesn't matter to me if you're bi or gay. All I want for any of you kids is to
have you be happy and healthy. You're the same exact Kade I loved five seconds
ago and that will never change. So, can we just accept this and get on with
life so that you can now be happy?"
It was such
a relief--of epic proportions, in fact. Though on one hand I was admittedly a
little angry that my mom knew the whole time and didn't say anything, I also
knew that I'd have shut down immediately and gotten defensive if she'd have
approached me about it. She truly did know best and allowed me to come to the
realization on my own, and she was there to support me when I did. I couldn't
have asked for anything better. Similar scenarios played out with the five
other people I told over that night and the next--my two big sisters, my two
best friends from childhood, and a close friend who happened to be someone I
baptized while on my mission. They were all equally as supportive and I feel so
blessed to have had that kind of coming out experience.
A few months
after this, I still hadn't really told anyone beyond those initial confidants, but
life was looking on the up and up. I felt like a weight beyond all weights had
been lifted from me & the energy from it was amazing to me. I shifted my
prayers from "please take this from me--and if not this, then my
life" to "please help me get through this". That altered approach
alone was life-changing. It was also during this time that I decided that I
needed to get a dog; even though I was "out" to some people and that
reduced my feeling of isolation significantly, it didn't take away the fact
that I still was essentially a hermit & I thought a dog would help get me
out of the apartment more. I got my dog, whom I named Matza Ball, right at the
same time my lease was ending with my then-roommate. It couldn't have happened
at a better time. I never came out to my roommate while we lived together; he
made so many anti-gay jokes and was such a violent person (like when he almost
punched a hole in the wall simply because he spilled some soda on the kitchen
floor) that I didn't dare tell him. He
was also LDS, but that was about the extent of our similarities.
I moved into
a new apartment complex and specifically got a non-LDS roommate. I needed
someone who could accept me for who I was without fear that they would try to
guilt trip me every chance they got. It was just what I needed while I figured
things out. Things were falling into place rather nicely. I loved my new
apartment, I got along fine with my roommate, and I had Matza Ball to keep me
company & to get me out of the house. Every Friday night, I'd wind down
from a long week of work by taking Matza on an extended walk. It was great for
the both of us. It was while we were on such a walk one evening that we bumped
into my neighbor from across the hallway while he was out walking his dog. We'd
seen each other in passing while out with our respective dogs, but hadn't ever
spoken. This particular night, we said "hi" to one another...and then
I glanced back to find that he was looking back at me, too. I wasn't prepared
to handle this, but I did know that I wanted to find out more about him--and if
the reason he was staring back at me was because he was attracted to me as much
as I was him.
So, the next
day, I knocked on his door. I told him I hadn't ever introduced myself and
apologized for that and then we started chatting. I decided to be brave and
casually mentioned that I'm gay. It felt so incredibly strange to say that to
another human being. He was the first to hear the actual words from my mouth.
And, after a little bit of fishing and coaxing, he finally admitted he's gay,
too. We started hanging out together, and then that turned into dating. Again,
I hadn't prepared for this. I had planned on remaining an active and worthy member
of the Church. But, I was beginning to realize what this would mean for my life
in terms of relationships. And I wasn't so sure I was OK with a life of
loneliness after all.
After dating
this guy for a while, I finally decided to share it with one of the two people
who spoke to me at church--and she, incidentally, was a good friend of mine
that I knew on my mission. I had become very close to her family while I was a
missionary and she was like the bratty little sister that was fun to torment.
That relationship turned into a great friendship after moving back here, so I
felt like it was time to share my news with her. On one hand, it was a mistake;
on the other, it fast-tracked a resolution I'd not expected.
By this
point, I'd already told her I was gay, but hadn't mentioned I was dating. When
I did, she flipped out and made me promise to go visit with our bishop
immediately. I didn't really want to, but I promised nonetheless. So, off to
the bishop's office I went. I'm not sure what I expected as an outcome of that
meeting, but I definitely wasn't expecting things to go the way they did. The
bishop told me I wasn't gay, that my wires were just crossed, and that he knew
a counselor that could "fix" me. None of that shocked me to hear,
though it did hurt my feelings to think that--while said in truly the most
loving of ways--anyone viewed me as having my wires crossed. It made me feel
like I was less-than. More like I was a sub-human. But the strangest thing
happened that I'd never in my life done before--I pushed back & questioned
my bishop's counsel.
I told him
that I had done the counseling route and I knew that my wires weren't crossed,
nor was I broken. At the same time, I also knew I couldn't go back into the
closet. I explained that it was such a dark and scary place from which I fought
so hard to escape, so there would be no going back at that point. The words and
the passion with which I said them completely shocked me. It was the first time
I felt like I was starting to stand on my own two feet in all of this. Sure, I
knew there was the possibility that my membership in the church I loved would
be revoked due to my decisions and actions, but by then I'd learned something
bigger: God loved me. God didn't warrant that love upon how many hours I spent
in a pew, or how many hours of scripture reading I completed, or how diligent I
was with my home teaching. No. God simply loves me for who I am--His child.
I had taught
this as a missionary; I had never in my life felt it for myself. It was elusive
and frustrating. In fact, I remember many, many monthly meetings with my
mission president in which he encouraged me to set the goal of learning of
God's love for myself. I don't think either of us in those moments would ever
have guessed in our wildest dreams that I would finally gain an understanding
of this love by me coming out of the closet. Oh, how God works in mysterious
ways. But, by having that knowledge, I was able to say what was in my heart and
know that my pushing back to my bishop was the right thing to do. That doesn't mean it hurt any less.
Telling him
those words didn't hurt, mind you, but the realization of what that moment
meant did: I couldn't have it all. I don't know why I thought I could. I guess
I just was overly optimistic. But, at any rate, I couldn't be a gay Mormon--or,
at least, not the gay Mormon I thought was possible. I got to my car and just
sobbed as reality hit. I called my mom on my drive home from church and told
her what had just transpired. She said, "Honey, I've been trying to
prepare you for this, as I knew this was coming. I know you think you can have
it all, but in this case, you can't. I'm so sorry. You've got some tough
decisions to make. But, we'll get through this and you'll be even better for
it." In that moment, I didn't see how that was even possible.
I don't
recall the exact parting with the bishop from that meeting, but it was
something along the lines of that we'd touch base soon, I was to continue to
pray, yada yada yada. At any rate, I was quite surprised to get an email from
him a couple of days later--an email in which he said that he'd been wrong. The
more he'd thought about it and prayed about it, he said, the more he realized
that I was right. My wires weren't crossed and there was nothing wrong with me.
He encouraged me to be happy and to be as close to the Church as I could be as
I continued through life. He said to be the best person I can be, regardless of
if I'm active in church or not. And he said he always would be there to love
and support me, no matter what I decided. I sat there stunned. I read and
re-read that email a good dozen times. After years and years and years of
feeling like I'd never have any resolution, after feeling defeated and lost,
and after having to muster up bravery time and time again to share my inner-most
secrets, it was over. Don't get me wrong--my battle to make it through the
coming out & acceptance process wasn't even close to over; if anything, it
was just beginning. But, at least my battle to have some sort of religious
resolution was over. That was more than I'd had to that point.
That day, I
decided that I would do exactly what the bishop said: to be the best person I
could be, regardless of my religious standing. Over the years since then, I've
had several people comment to me that I'm one of the few people they've known
to be gay and not have hard feelings towards the Church. I guess I never saw a
point to be any other way. What purpose would that serve? To me, I'd only be replacing
what had been an incredibly painful and large part of my life with even more
negativity if I went on a Church-hating rampage. When I came out, I immediately
experienced a huge amount of mental freedom. No longer was I spending every
spare waking moment hating myself. In fact, it occurred to me that I didn't
even know what to think about if I wasn't spending the time beating myself
down. There was no need to go back to that point, so I wanted to fill the vast
amount of thinking space with more positivity and happiness--not with disdain
for a gospel I still loved.
This required
me to make one massive distinction that I'd never before given much thought: I
decided that to get ahead with the most joy and least amount of loss from
Church inactivity, I had to separate spirituality and religion. And, beyond
that, I had to give up on the "why" questions. Why me? Why am I gay?
Why does God allow this? I couldn't think of a possible scenario in which I'd
gain any satisfactory answers in this lifetime, so those questions had to be
put on the shelf to be dealt with in the next life. It didn't matter why; that
doesn't change my reality. So, then the question became, what am I going to do
with this? Living my best life was a bit too vague. Good, but vague. I had to
use it to achieve some greater purpose. I did not go through Hell and back only
to just say "well, there it is" and get on with life. No. I had earned
the right to much more than that.
It took me a
little while, particularly because I had to give myself time to feel
comfortable in my own skin, but I finally figured out what it was that I did
earn: the opportunity to help others going through similar experiences. I
didn't just have sympathy, I had pure empathy. And to me, nothing can trump
that when you're in need of someone who understands you. Because of the suicide
of my stepbrother during my senior year of high school, I'd already committed
to never knowingly let someone feel alone or unloved, no matter how little I
may know the person. The later added focus to help others struggling with
homosexuality really built upon that commitment and gave me more purpose. To
accomplish this, however, meant that I was going to have to be open and let
people into parts of my life that I once never fathomed I'd be sharing with
even my closest friends, let alone total strangers. But, if that's what it took
to help ensure that I could impact even one person in this lifetime, it would
make every second of my personal struggle worth it. And that would then become
my "why" answer, if there ever was one.
Most people
who know me would say my life is a pretty open book. Those same people would be
quite surprised to know just how closed off I really can be. Among other
things, the mere fact that no one would ever have guessed the degree of my
inner-turmoil all of those many years, as I tend to be a very social &
positive person on the outside, is basic proof of that. So, it took some
serious thought and time weighing out the pros and cons of how to proceed. I
ultimately decided that at the end of the day, this was my story to tell and I
wanted to be the one to control the message instead of leaving it open to
interpretation--or even worse: rumors. I'd seen the rumor mess happen to a
classmate of mine & I did not want that to happen to me. To combat this, I
sat down and wrote an open letter that I eventually posted on Facebook so that
it reached the bulk of the people who might even care to begin with. I felt so
naked doing that, but I knew that was the only feasible thing to do in order to
just move on with my life already.
Leading up
to this, I had actually been out of the closet for about three years. The few
friends and family members who did know my truth were told to not mention or
even hint about it on Facebook, as I did not want anyone (including my father)
finding out without me conscientiously making that happen. But, I had grown
weary having to so closely monitor anything that was posted. At that same time,
I had dated a handful of guys and was enjoying what was becoming my
longest-lasting relationship to that point with a man I'll simply call Doc (to
help preserve his privacy).
After
several short-term relationships with people who turned out to not be such good
or nice people in the end, I was over relationships. I had decided that I just
needed to surround myself with good people and to make new friends, preferably
ones like myself who are gay but don't define themselves by it. In that spirit,
I answered an online personals ad from someone who sounded like they were in
the same boat as me. They happened to be gay and just wanted someone cool to go
hang out with, go to the movies with, etc. This person was Doc and he respected
that I'd been very badly hurt emotionally in my last relationship. We had a
blast just hanging out together. And, over time, we had a great friendship
going. I still had oh-so-much baggage I was dealing with and had built up a
huge wall emotionally, but he gave me my space. Then, one day we were driving
to dinner and arguing over something stupid when he turned to me in the middle
of it and said, "I get that you have a lot you're still working through
and I am fine to give you the time to do so. But, I can't pretend anymore that
I don't love you, because I do." I was stunned. I said, "You love me?"
He said, "Yes, I do." I said, "Well, that's good, because I love
you, too."
Over time,
as that relationship continued to grow, it was becoming harder & harder for
some friends and family members to not post Facebook comments that included
Doc's name just as a natural course of conversation. I had to delete many
comments and send private notes explaining the reasoning--and it was always
that it might lead someone to suspect that Doc was more than just a friend.
Finally one
day, a post made it onto my wall and I wasn't to where I could easily delete it
while I was running about town doing errands. That's when I decided I'd had
enough. I was strong enough to handle whatever unkind words may be thrown at me
from even the most vocal family members or friends. I immediately pulled into a
Target parking lot and called my dad. I told him that, while I didn't want to
be, the fact is that I am gay. I did everything I was supposed to, but nothing
had changed that reality. And, not only that, but I was in a serious relationship
with a guy. "Oh, and by the way, Dad, he's black, so Grandma is probably
reallllllly rolling over in her grave by now." (I love my dad's mom
dearly, but she had an unfortunate streak of racism in her.) Dad's response
shocked me. He said, "Well, Son, it sounds like you did everything I'd
advise you to do. You prayed, you fasted, you worked with your bishop, and you
even tried counseling. I know it's not what you would want and it's not what I
would want for you, but it doesn't change anything. You're still my son and I
love you just the same. Oh, and Grandma probably is happy for you, too, as I'm
sure she's got a different perspective on things now."
That
conversation did my soul so much good. It needed to happen and I'd put it off
long enough. I was then free to open up to others, which is when I posted my
open letter. I called it my "Doozy of a Note". And it was a doozy. I went
ahead and posted it on Facebook--and then waited for the deluge of insulting
responses from well-meaning individuals who were "loving the sinner and
hating the sin". (Incidentally, I do not think there could be a more
judgmental statement than that & I despise it.) Yet, the exact opposite
happened. People I'd not seen or spoken with in years were commenting or
sending me private emails offering support and encouragement. Multiple people
even emailed to say that they believed their son or daughter is gay and that I
helped them understand how to help that child. Some were even more personal and
I'll not share their stories out of respect for the people who opened up to me
about their own struggles, but needless to say, I was awestruck not only by the
amount of love & support that was being poured out to me, but by the fact
that my sharing this information about my life had even a small impact on some
individuals. I felt so grateful and so humbled. And relieved. Life could
finally just be life.
Well, kind
of, anyway. There was one person I still could not bring myself to tell--my
other grandma, my mom's mom. Oh how I did not want to disappoint Grandma. I was
the one grandchild who had been active, served a mission, and seemingly lived
the active Church life she wanted all of her kids and grandkids to live. She
had high hopes I'd be married in the temple and have a large family. To dash
that dream for her was more than I could handle; to do so while also telling
her I was gay was out of the question. And yet, a chain of events eventually
required me to do just that before all of us (including Doc) would be in Boston
for my oldest sister's graduation from law school. I wrote Grandma a letter and explained
everything the best I could; my mom made it a point to go visit my grandma the
weekend after the letter was sent so that she could be there to answer
questions and re-assure her that I'm fine. I almost had a heart attack from
stress while waiting for Grandma's response. Once her letter did arrive, she
said in it that my being gay made her cry--not because she was disappointed in
me, but because it'd been such a struggle for me. She assured me of her love
for me and said she was looking forward to seeing me and meeting Doc. Still, I
had my reservations about all of that happening.
But, happen
it did. Grandma is truly one of the sweetest people God has ever put on this
earth and I never for a second thought that she would say something rude or
unkind to Doc or in front of me. At worst, I thought she'd perhaps make a
comment to Mom in her own passive-aggressive way when we weren't around that
would let me know she didn't approve of Doc or that she was displeased with me.
It would still be said kindly, but it'd be insight into how she truly felt. However,
the day after introductions had been made & we'd all spent time together,
Mom told me that she'd spoken with Grandma one-on-one that morning and Grandma
said how much she liked Doc. I was flabbergasted. But that was only the tip of
the iceberg of things to come.
As part of
our plans while in Boston, we wanted to take Grandma on a whale watching tour
that Mom & I had previously enjoyed. We all ventured to the pier and waited
for the ferry. Grandma and I both share in having knee problems, so we sat down
while the others milled about. We sat there looking at the ocean and chatted
for a bit. Then, Grandma turned to me and said something along the lines of, "It's
been so great meeting Doc. He seems like such a good guy. Honey, I know this
isn't all what you would have picked for yourself, but life doesn't always go
as we plan, does it? I'm just so glad you found such a nice guy. It's so hard
to find love in this life and I'm glad that you have found it. That makes me
really happy." She didn't need to say anything further; I knew in that
moment that I had been mistaken in thinking this was something I should keep
from her. My grandma continues to amaze me with the limitless boundaries of her
love and it means the absolute world to me to know she is happy for me and with
me.
In the years
since then, Doc and I have been so blessed to build a wonderful life together.
At the time I'm writing this, we're a couple of weeks away from our five-year
anniversary. As with any relationship, it has its own challenges, but we're
fortunate to have a wonderful group of friends--both gay and straight--who are
true friends and who love us just for being us. It still amazes me to see that
happen, as a part of me still anticipates the same rejection I felt growing up.
Gym class was always the worst, so I came to absolutely hate (and I don't use
that word lightly) any sort of team sports. Thus, the fact that Doc & I are
now playing in an LGBT charity kickball league is mindboggling on so many
levels.
I know I
have so far to go and always have areas for personal improvement, but I have
such a profound sense of gratitude to be where I am today & to have such
inner peace. If I can help bring that to another soul in even the smallest of
ways, then I hope & trust that the Lord will lead me to that so I can be of
service. That will make it so that all of this will have been worth it for this
boy who grew up feeling so alone and out-of-place, but who now feels loved and
at peace!
I wouldn't
in a million years choose to be gay. But, of course, we don't always get what
we want. We do, however, have the ability to make the most of it. I wasted so
much time hating myself and despising what really amounts to just be a small
part of what makes me who I am. Coming out allowed me to stop wasting time self-hating
and I now spend that time living each moment to the fullest. Words can't even
begin to explain what that feels like. It also makes me sad that so much time
was wasted unnecessarily. I didn't
necessarily need to come out at an earlier age, as I think things happen when
they do for a reason, but I could've spent a lot more time learning to love
myself so that I then could realize that others can love me, too.
If I could
go back and tell the young version of me anything, it would be: 1) you are loved
just the way you are, flaws and all; and 2) it truly does get better. I'd want
the young me to have that knowledge and the hope that would have made many,
many dark days perhaps a little brighter and less lonely.
Do I have it
all? No, I don't. But, I have enough. Learning to make my spirituality be
independent from religion has been a huge factor in getting to this point. I am
encouraged by the progress I see in the Church's acknowledgement that greater
work needs to be done to let gay members feel more included and loved. The
steps they're taking are good. The steps Church members need to take, however,
are even greater. Church members don't need to understand the struggle fully.
But, they do need to understand that it's an unwanted struggle that does not
benefit one iota from judgment, gossip, or unkind words. At the end of the day,
we are all spirits on this journey called life. If we are true followers of
Christ and not just Christian in name only, lifting one another up along the
way should be a much higher priority to us than spending our time judging the
struggles of one another. My spirit is finally at peace and I'm profoundly
grateful for that. I didn't think that going against my religious beliefs would
ever bring me peace; it just doesn't make sense. But, when we realize we are
more than any given religion and that physical religious rites are not what
determines our personal worth, peace can be brought to and from our spirits.
I think of
religion as a vehicle that helps to carry our spirituality. Most of us don't
know how all of the components of a vehicle works; we just know that it gets us
from one point to another & we have faith it will do so. But, as with any
vehicle, it can have its fair share of problems. It needs tune-ups and maintenance
to keep going. Sometimes those tune-ups don't go correctly or are going to be
lengthy, so we're forced to not use our vehicle while it gets fixed. It doesn't
mean we don't need to still get from one point to another; it just means we
have to figure out another way to accomplish that. In the case of the Church's
(and more specifically, Church members') current lack of acceptance and
inclusion of their gay brothers and sisters, our spirituality is left without
the vehicle it once fit so nicely within. And, quite frankly, it sucks. But,
whether our solution is to find another vehicle in which to carry our
spirituality, or learning to carry it ourselves, we do so. We have to.
Otherwise, we're at a standstill and not getting to where we need to be. That's
a horrible position in which to find one's self. I'm ever-so-grateful that--as
painful as it has been at times--I've been able to keep carrying my
spirituality forward. And, I readily acknowledge it hasn't been done completely
on my own. Loving friends and family (many of whom are active Church members)
inspire me, reach out to me, and accept me, despite my many shortcomings. That
means the world to me as I continue to define for myself what it means to be a
gay Mormon--something I never wanted, but am nonetheless.
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