I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints as a kid. You might recognize this church by their more commonly known nickname of Mormon. Perhaps you even recognize the name from the broadway musical titled The Book of Mormon, which takes a rather humorous look at the faith. Or maybe you’re thinking, “Mormons, I know them. They are the people that have nine wives and the women wear their hair in that weird bouffant.” Let me correct you there: The Latter-Day Saints (LDS) are not those people.

LDS people pride themselves on values orbiting around family, missionary work, helping others, and obeying the word of wisdom, which means no alcohol, tobacco or coffee. They are all around good people. But, they are also the church that spent 20 million on the Prop 8 fight to ban gay marriage in 2008. And more recently, they are the church that came out with a policy stating any children raised by gay parents are not allowed to be baptized until they are 18 years old, and they must agree that same sex marriage is wrong. Basically, these kids must disown their parents.

I assume this came as a blow to many members who wanted to be able to love their church and themselves, and I can relate. In my own life, I went through a similar experience of feeling like I had to choose between my church and my truth.

It was the late 1990s, and I was a teenager at the time, questioning my sexuality while also realizing that I did not fully fit in with the LDS way of life. I had never met another person who was openly gay, let alone one who was raised Mormon, but during that time, Ellen DeGeneres was stirring up controversy for coming out on TV, and I was secretly taping all of the episodes. Still, this was long before "It Gets Better” and “NOH8” campaigns were on billboards and the Internet. There was no Google or YouTube. No cell phones or video chat. I had limited resources of how to find other people possibly going through what I was going through.

I was conflicted with guilt about not wanting to marry a returned missionary—as many women in LDS do—so I pushed my daydreams about Neve Cambpell to the side, continuing to go to church every Sunday and attend my youth group. This was my life as a closeted gay teen before there was an abundance of mainstream visibility and okay-ness to be open.

Once I got to college, I quickly began to realize that neither the Gavin Rossdale poster on my dorm room nor my boyfriend were going to make me feel any differently about the opposite sex. I was coming to terms with what I had always known but chose to avoid out of fear of being different. I was gay. And I was afraid of hurting my family, especially those who were still active in the church.

Even though I had stopped going to church when I was 18 and began living my life authentically, that did not stop the missionaries from knocking on my door and encouraging me to come back and accept the gospel into my life again. On one such occasion, while I was living with my girlfriend, I told them that they did not want me back because I was gay. “Are you sure?” they asked.

Soon after, I received a letter in the mail informing me that I had been excommunicated from the church. Because of who I love, I was no longer worthy enough.

"I told them they did not want me back because I was gay. 'Are you sure?' they asked."

Despite not being active in the church for a few years, I still felt hurt and rejected. I did not expect these feelings, but they were there. I was in mourning, as I was saying goodbye to a religion that had been a major part of my life up until then. It was a religion that I once believed in, even if we did not always see eye-to-eye. But now, the same religion that once told me I was a child of God was now telling me—through a form letter, no less—that I'm not the kind of child of God they want. My sadness turned to anger and I struggled for a long time to regain any faith at all.

Part of my confusion was that I did not understand how a religion that holds such high emphasis on service to others, loving thy neighbor, and abiding by the golden rule, would not accept me for who I am. I was torn between being loved by the church and God and lying to myself. I started to slip away from the faith and became more and more isolated within myself. It was not the LDS members that I had a problem with, or even the values—it was it’s unprogressive view of what qualifies as acceptable love.

It's been fifteen years since I came out, and although they are very loving and supportive today, some of my Mormon family had to go through their own process of acceptance and coming to terms with the fact that being gay was not a phase for me. We had to be patient with one another.

And even with our different beliefs, I will always love my LDS friends and family just as they will love me. I do not blame them personally for the things I see in the news or the money the church spends on rejecting my marriage to a woman.

My wife and I just spent Thanksgiving with my Mormon brother and his family, who have always acknowledged our love as true. We are aunties to their kids. They prove to me that there is more than meets the eye when a harsh headline rings out regarding Mormons and the LGBT community—just as I don’t represent every gay person in the world, they don’t represent every LDS member either. My resentment about being shunned has turned into my own spiritual journey towards a more loving and compassionate life—one that is inspired by a universal truth that everyone shares: In the end, we all want the same things. To be loved, understood, and to feel that we matter. We all want to feel like we belong.

All photos c/o the author, Aja Blue.

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