As children grow up, the common advice is to “be true to yourself.”

In my upbringing, this directive took a distinctive turn — and I was urged not only to embrace my genuine self, but to align it in a way that deepened my connection with God. Consequently, I treated my sexuality as if it were a contagious bug like the ones on handrails of public stairs my mother warned me to never touch. 

It wasn’t until my high school years, spent in a private Catholic all-girls school, that the inevitable collision between these two facets of my identity occurred.

The aftershocks of this collision can be broken down into stages, starting with plain old denial. In my sophomore class, there were two girls out with their sexuality and I was left confused about how one could be gay at a religious-based school. I’d think about my boyfriend at the time and feel grateful as if God had come through for me. The whole notion of “praying the gay away” is pretty sad, but let’s face it: Many people have unfortunately been there. Really, how could I not? I was dealing with something I believed would push me further from God and challenge the religious ideals I held so close. 

It was a confusing time that I mostly just chose to brush off.

Then, two years down the road, I hit the most emotional phase: confession of my “sin.” Over the next four months, there were countless tears shed as I opened up to friends and family. 

My older sister was the first person (aside from a random person on Omegle) who got to know about my sexuality. I distinctly recall saying, “I think…” not because I was unsure, but because admitting it without leaving room for uncertainty or a shot at being “normal” was too much. However, the immediate weight lifting off my chest every time I shared my truth and received love and support was unforgettable. 

The chains of shame imposed by the Catholic church were breaking, and I was the one breaking them. Even now, it’s the most empowered I’ve ever felt.

And finally, these last two stages are simultaneous. I don’t think I’ll ever be out of them — not truly. 

Anger. It crept in when I sat through mass every Sunday, listening to the priest go on about love and marriage between a man and a woman. It flared up when I caught wind of the immature jokes guys threw around, using the word “gay” as an insult. It stung when two girls at school went to prom together, posing for pictures with their parents, and I couldn’t help but think my parents would never do that. 

Now that I have a girlfriend, the anger feels even more personal. When someone gives us a weird look as we’re holding hands or friends make an inappropriate comment, I just can’t brush it off. I catch myself wondering if they have religious beliefs that make them judge that way, because many years ago, I might have had the same reaction. But then I get angry at myself for being so understanding of others’ discomfort, as if religion makes it okay. 

It will never be okay for me.

The final stage for me is the biggest cliche of all: acceptance. 

Now, there’s no more “I think” in my speech. Instead, I’m telling my Uber driver I’m headed to see my girlfriend without hesitation at the chance he may be homophobic. It’s about ditching any guilt I used to carry about myself or who I love. It’s about figuring out how to be both gay and Catholic when, for so long, I thought I could only be one. 

My faith is something personal to me as it is to each individual. I appreciate the foundation I received from Catholic school and my family, but now I can pick and choose bits of ideologies that connect with me and let go of the ones that don’t. I’m not choosing to “live in sin” by embracing my identity but rather I’m choosing to disregard the belief that being gay is a sin altogether. 

I can’t say for certain that embracing my sexuality brought me closer to God, but I do know that if I hadn’t, I would never want to be closer to him. And I may not go to mass every Sunday, but when I do, it’s more special walking in without feeling weights dragging me down. 

Navigating this intersectionality of my identity has even introduced me to some amazing people of faith. They have witnessed their mentees go through similar struggles shared by my generation, and being around those like them who believe your sexuality doesn’t define your devotion is what gives me hope. 

I’m now optimistic that younger folks will grasp this lesson way earlier than I did. If I may aid in the process any way, I’d like to say this: If you are questioning your relationship with faith and sexuality, please know there is no one and correct way to be Catholic or whatever religious denomination you identify with. 

It’s not easy embracing one’s sexuality, especially when it appears at odds with that version of yourself. But thinking about me four years ago, I can confirm that it takes even more energy to cut and reshape oneself into a puzzle piece that’s just never going to fit. 

There’s only one way to be yourself, so why not reach for it?