Episode Two – It’s a Family Affair.
I want to start this recap with gratitude, thank you to everyone who listened to my very first episode and even shared it on social media. Sharing is caring, and it’s the best way for this podcast to reach those who need to hear these conversations.
In this second episode, I move from the theory of religious trauma. I explained this in Episode 1. Then I move into my personal story. If you haven’t listened to the first episode yet, I recommend starting there, as it lays the foundation for what I share here.
My Life Felt On Hold
I once wrote in my journal: “I have no idea why, but one thing I know for sure: it feels like my life is on hold.”
That summed up what it felt like to grow up gay in a heteronormative, non-affirming environment. After leaving religion, I felt lost — desperately searching for a sense of safety, love, and worthiness. Yet, because of my upbringing, the underlying belief that I was “not okay” or “not safe” continued to haunt me.
Even after deconstructing, I still caught myself searching for “Truth with a capital T.” I now know that certainty doesn’t exist — but back then, not having it made me feel unsafe and anxious.
Coming Out in a Religious Family
When I first told my family about my struggles with same-sex attraction, I was still a Christian and believed God would “heal” me. Each birthday, I secretly wished I’d wake up straight.
My family’s reaction was emotional — some cried, out of love, but also out of fear. Their response made me feel like something was deeply wrong with me. Later, family members would ask difficult questions like: “If Jesus offered to heal you, would you accept?”
These conversations often placed me alone against two or more relatives who disagreed with my identity. Out of love and loyalty, I engaged in them, but in hindsight, I see how damaging they were. What I needed was affirmation; what I received was the message that I wasn’t enough.
The Longing for Research and Understanding
One of my frustrations was that I had done the work of researching LGBTQ+ issues and theology. However, many in my family had not done this work. Their opinions were often shaped by pastors or books that reinforced what they already believed.
I even shared the film Prayers for Bobby with them — a heartbreaking story about an evangelical family who only begins to change after their son dies by suicide. That movie underscored for me how devastating it can be when families delay facing these realities.
Years later, two family members came to me and asked for forgiveness. It was emotional and meaningful, though the wounds from earlier years had already left their mark. While they had moved on, I had spent those years holding myself together, doubting, and struggling.
The Second Adolescence.
Because of all this, I often felt like my life was paused — that I lost years of growth and development while trying to come to terms with my identity.
Psychotherapist Adam Cohen describes this as a “second adolescence.” For queer people who couldn’t safely explore identity in their teenage years, adulthood becomes a time to revisit that process — often messy, scary, but ultimately healing.
This resonated deeply with me. It explained why I sometimes felt behind, underdeveloped, or stuck. Healing means giving our younger selves the experiences we missed the first time around.
The Body Remembers
Things with my family are better now, I still carry the impact of past trauma. I sometimes dream of old arguments and painful conversations.
As Bessel van der Kolk writes in The Body Keeps the Score, trauma is stored in the body. My experiences still live in me, resurfacing in moments of stress or in my dreams.
While I’m grateful for the growth in my family and for the love that exists now, the bond remains somewhat shallow. Vulnerability is still hard for me, partly out of self-protection. And that’s okay — I’ve learned family relationships don’t have to be perfectly deep to still be loving and respectful.
Finding Self-Approval
Recently, I came across a quote by therapist Todd Baratz (@yourdiagnonsense) that hit home:
As adults, we don’t need our family’s approval. The harder we try to force it, the further away we get from ourselves. This is the loss. Work through it. And give yourself the approval and validation you need. Do so by developing deep relationships with like-minded people and communities. Life begins in childhood, but happens in adulthood.
This is such an important reminder — especially for queer people who may never get full approval from their families. Healing comes from building community, finding chosen family, and giving ourselves the love we once sought externally.
Living Beyond Religious Trauma
Believing in my own convictions has taken me years. For a long time, I felt like my life wasn’t moving forward — but now I see that I was growing, healing, and learning all along.
Even today, I sometimes feel anxious or caught in fight-or-flight mode, even though I know I’m safe. That’s the long-lasting impact of religious trauma. My practice now is to remind myself: I don’t have to fight anymore. It’s okay. I am safe.
Final Thoughts
If my story resonates with you, I hope you feel less alone. Healing religious trauma is not a straight line. It involves rebuilding trust in yourself. It also means giving yourself the safety and love you always deserved.
Thank you for listening and for sharing this podcast. If you’d like to connect, you can always DM me on Instagram @QueerlyHavingIssues. And don’t forget to follow the podcast to be notified when the next episode drops.
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