Updated on May 2, 2019 at 11:40 a.m. with information from the debate on House Bill 517.

David Pickup says moving to Texas was a no-brainer.

A few years ago, he shuttered his family therapy practice in California and came home. Here, he says “business is booming.” Here, it’s so busy he’s hired an intern. Because here in Texas, conversion therapy is still legal.

“I’m overbooked every week,” says Pickup, 62, sitting in a small, modern office at the Colonnade Addison, a sprawling development just north of Dallas. “All the business is here now.”

Pickup calls it “reparative” or “reintegrative therapy.”

Yet it’s best known as “gay conversion therapy,” the attempt to lessen or rid someone of their attraction to members of the same sex. Psychology professionals have largely rejected it as unproven and potentially dangerous, a practice that can seriously harm patients. Governments, too, have cracked down, with more than a dozen states issuing bans in the past five years.

But Texas politicians have avoided the issue for years, giving the therapy free rein and refusing to even discuss whether to regulate the practice.

Until now. On Wednesday, state lawmakers debated whether to ban conversion therapy for minors. While the bill is expected to face significant opposition in red Texas, it marks a turning point for LGBT advocates who have long lobbied for change.

1 / 2Rep. Celia Israel, D-Austin, is one of just six Texas legislators in state history who have openly identified as lesbian, gay or bisexual. (Ashley Landis / Staff Photographer) 2 / 2David Pickup, a licensed marriage and family therapist, poses for a photograph at his office in Addison, Texas on Dec. 14, 2018.Pickup is the only licensed therapist in Texas who practices reintegrative therapy, better known as conversion therapy, which aims to lessen or rid someone of their attraction to members of the same sex. On Wednesday, May 1, 2019, lawmakers will debate a bill to ban conversion therapy for minors. (Carly Geraci / Staff Photographer)

'We don’t need fixing'

In the Texas Legislature’s 173-year history, only six members have openly identified as lesbian, gay or bisexual. Rep. Celia Israel was the third.

The Austin Democrat has tried to get her peers to talk about conversion therapy every legislative session since she took office in 2014. This year, they gave in. On Wednesday, the House Committee on Public Affairs briefly debated the bill. It was not voted on, however, and is unlikely to pass the necessary hurdles to become law by the time lawmakers go home on May 27.

During the hearing, Israel told her own story — about how she was too scared to come out in her youth, how fear drove her to try to take her own life at 17 and how she's found acceptance and love with her wife and new LGBTQ colleagues in the House.

"I ask you, on behalf of 9-year-old Celia. All I wanted to do was perfect my turnaround jump shot," Israel said. "I also ask you on behalf of 17-year-old Celia, who nearly ended her life. ... I thank God I was not the subject of this type of conversion therapy. Then again, I did not have the courage, as a minor, to speak the words, 'I'm a lesbian.'"

"I bring you this bill for all those Texas kids who do have the strength to say, 'Mom, Dad, I'm gay.'"

If Israel's bill becomes law — unlikely in the GOP-dominated Legislature — state-licensed counselors could be penalized for trying to change a child's sexual orientation or gender identity. Her House Bill 517 would not apply to parents or religious leaders, like pastors, and adults could still seek out conversion therapy if they wanted.

Israel expects a tough fight Wednesday. The anti-LGBT forces that pushed the bathroom bill in 2017 will be out in force, as will Israel's conservative colleagues and practitioners like Pickup.

“It’s chilling to know that there’s people who honestly believe that we can be fixed,” Israel said. “We don’t need fixing. We need protection.”

'The potential to harm'

Since conversion therapy's heyday in the 1990s, the most egregious methods have gone underground.

Stories of forced "pray away the gay" boot camps and aversion or electroshock treatments have become unusual — though not nonexistent. It's more common now to hear about so-called "therapies." Some are taught in churches and rooted in religion, like Alcoholics Anonymous but for homosexuality. Some pull from psychoanalytic traditions like talk therapy.

The practice has even begat a new language, of sorts. Clients aren't "gay," they're "same sex attracted," conversion therapy supporters say. Counselors aren't looking to "cure" them but to help them find "authenticity" or "confident subjective feelings of masculinity." Pastors seek "sexual and relational wholeness through a more intimate relationship with Jesus Christ."

Even the practice itself has a thousand names: ex-gay and reparative and reintegrative therapy; change counseling; and sexual orientation change efforts, or its more innocuous acronym, SOCE. It’s spun off whole institutions and all kinds of “treatments,” one-on-one or group, child to adult, voluntary and coercive.

While the methods and monikers are different, the aim is the same — to see a patient’s gay feelings dwindle or even disappear. Practitioners, generally speaking, reject that homosexuality is innate or natural.

Pickup believes these feelings must be the products of trauma or neglect and sees no evidence someone can be “born” gay. To “lessen” or “dissipate” homosexual feelings, he employs talk therapy and “Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing,” or EMDR, a therapy most often used to treat post-traumatic stress disorder.

Without data to back up his methods, Pickup points to himself as proof. A victim of sexual assault at age 5, he says he ignored his trauma for years until he saw a reparative therapist.

“It totally resolved my homosexual feelings,” he said. “It’s not miracle therapy. It’s not ‘pray away the gay.’ ... This is a very different and legitimate belief system.”

The American Psychological Association hasn’t altogether condemned conversion therapy. But it has warned repeatedly that there’s no comprehensive study showing it works, and considerable evidence that it can have lasting negative effects on those who try it.

"Mental health professionals should avoid telling clients that they can change their sexual orientation due to lack of evidence that such change is possible and the potential to harm the patient's mental health," the APA said in a statement to The Dallas Morning News.

Pickup chalks that position up to a “gay caucus” inside the APA.

It’s impossible to know how many Americans, let alone Texans, have experienced some kind of conversion therapy in the last few decades.

One study found that around 698,000 adults had gone through the practice and estimated that 77,000 more teens would experience some kind of conversion therapy before they turn 18. Most are white men who say their faith is very important, the APA says.

'Uphill battle'

Two Hollywood movies about conversion therapy were released last year. More and more former leaders of ex-gay programs are rejecting their past teachings and openly identifying as lesbian or gay. And big business has begun targeting the practice, with Apple and Amazon refusing to continue hosting conversion therapy mobile apps.

Forced conversion therapy for minors is banned, or at least heavily regulated, in 16 states and dozens of cities. But there are no such restrictions in Texas.

Pickup says the state’s conservative political and religious bents make Texas the perfect place to practice. Any attempt to ban licensed counselors like him from doing this work infringes on free speech and religious rights, he says, promising to fight Israel’s bill as he has the bans in other states.

“It robs a child’s rights. It robs a parent’s right of having an input in their child identity,” Pickup said. “It’s an egregious violation of many rights on many levels. And for those who are people of faith, it’s a violation of religious rights.”

Reflecting on the political realities, Israel acknowledged her bill is a long shot.

“I’m not going to change the minds of those people who think this is a religious attack. I’m not going to change the minds of the people who are making money off of this practice,” Israel said. “But my colleagues are good and decent people who need to know this practice is happening and it’s doing damage to kids.

“Uphill battle? Yes,” Israel admitted. “Worthwhile battle? Absolutely. Because a public hearing can save lives.”

Stories of conversion therapy

Brian Nesbitt, 48, poses for a photograph at the Warwick Melrose - Dallas on Friday, Jan. 4, 2019. Nesbitt went through conversion therapy in the 1990s. Conversion therapy is the practice of trying to change an individual's sexual orientation through psychological or religious interventions. (Shaban Athuman / Staff Photographer)

Pastor Curtis Smith poses for a photograph at Trinity Metropolitan Community Church in Grand Prairie, Texas on Dec. 14, 2018. Smith went through conversion therapy for nearly 20 years before finding community in the pro-LGBT church. (Carly Geraci / Staff Photographer)