The Venn Diagram of Religious Trauma and Queer
A place where extra wounding happens
Hi all! A short post this week. I’ve been busy celebrating Pride weekend here in Bellefontaine, and (!!) putting together and editing an article for *an actual publication* (!!) that I’ll be super stoked to share with you all.
Sticking with the theme of LGBTQIA+ pride month, let’s keep it light (LOL) and talk a bit about the particular intersection of religious trauma and sexuality, eh? [consider this your content warning…]
The two podcast episodes I’m releasing (one last week and one upcoming next week!) share commonalities of religious trauma related specifically to sexual orientation, from two people who grew up gay / lesbian near here while being part of conservative Christian faith. Highly encourage you to listen to both stories!
I have a hypothesis that those of us whose sexual orientation did not fall within the strict heteronormativity of evangelicalism *tend to* have a higher propensity to have religious trauma than those who did not.
Why is that?
Sexual orientation — who you’re attracted to, who you love (and who you’re NOT attracted to, for my ace peeps out there!) — is such a basic human element of who we are. It’s part of our biology. And in many ways, it’s ungovernable.
Then to be told that these feelings that are totally out of your control are not only bad, but make you unacceptable to God? And will even cause you to be shunned from the kingdom of God?
It’s a giant recipe for shame. Shame, as many of us now know thanks to Brene Brown, is feeling there is something wrong with YOU as a person. Guilt is feeling like you DID something wrong. Guilt can be a healthy response especially if you did do something wrong — it keeps us accountable to each other and can help us modify our behavior. (Obviously it can be taken too far, as us ex-evies well know!). But shame is pretty toxic for our well-being.
The other thing making this extra toxic is that this experience is shared by a minority of the population. “Original Sin” (which I have plenty of negative feelings about!!), by contrast, is a broad human condition. No one escapes it, so everyone’s in the same boat and though the shame experienced is still toxic (IMHO), it’s a little more diffused.
Same-sex attraction (or differences with gender identity), though, is experienced as more forbidden, more unusual, more “deviant”… more bad. Especially when we were all growing up, especially now in areas of our country that are fighting culture war fights, and especially in rural areas with little queer visibility.
If you’re different from your peers in ways you don’t really understand or can’t relate to others, and you don’t have much in the way of role models for how to be a [gay, lesbian, bi, trans, etc] person, you’re mostly going it alone. Then add in religious messaging telling you that these feelings you’re experiencing are actually evil and contrary to God’s plan… yikes.
Honestly, it seems like a miracle if anyone is able to come back to faith — not evangelicalism, just Christianity in general — after being told that a fundamental part of who they are is wrong. I have much admiration for people who grew up being told they were wrong for their sexuality and go on to become pastors, theologians, or other faith leaders! And I also respect decisions to leave and never return.
What are your thoughts? Do you think there’s a special Venn diagram slice of trauma for people who have experienced religious trauma in a queer body? If you feel comfortable sharing, how have you grappled with these questions either on a personal or a theological level?
Do you think there’s a special Venn diagram slice of trauma for people who have experienced religious trauma in a queer body? As a bi person, yes, yes, yes. I think my experience is a huge reason I'm so passionate about inclusive spiritual spaces. Lately, I've been trying to write more about my experiences, and it's been great but heavy work. I know I say this a lot, but I really appreciate your writing and work!
A resounding yes.