The Celebration I Never Knew I Needed: What a Pre-Teen’s Coming Out Taught Me About Healing
A few weeks ago, I found myself sitting in the living room of a friend’s house, watching their pre-teen unwrap a Pride-themed care package that my wife and I and a couple friends had put together. There were rainbow pins. A mug that said “This is pretty gay.” A t-shirt that said “Gay and wonderful”. A handwritten card. It wasn’t a party in the traditional sense - we weren’t a large group (it was the parents, their two kids, my wife and me, and another queer couple), and there weren’t balloons or streamers (though, coincidentally, a few decorations from the dad’s birthday lingered and had rainbows on them😊…).
We were technically there for dinner and a game night. But the truth is, we had orchestrated a small surprise: a quiet, joyful, intentional “we love you and are proud of you” moment in honor of one of their kids recently coming out.
And even though it wasn’t my celebration, it touched something in me. I didn’t realize how much I needed to witness that kind of acceptance. That kind of welcoming. That kind of unconditional belonging surrounded by laughter, snacks, and a round of SkipBo.
Because I didn’t have that. And I know I’m not the only one.
When Queer Kids Are Celebrated Instead of Shamed
This pre-teen had come out to their parents just a few weeks earlier, and with the child’s full consent, their parents had told us. They wanted to make sure they were showing up well, saying the right things, and surrounding their kid with real, tangible love and solidarity.
It was noteworthy to me that the parents were affirming their child’s identity in real time, without hesitation or theological caveats. There was no panic. No shame. No sadness. No “grieving the life they thought their child would have.” Just love, curiosity, and joy. As a therapist who works with survivors of religious trauma - especially queer folks who were raised in high-control religious environments - I can’t emphasize enough how rare that is.
Many of us who come from conservative church backgrounds grew up with the opposite.
We were taught that queerness is a sin, a phase, a temptation, or a test of faith that we had to overcome. We were taught to hide it. Starve it. Shame it. Pray it away. Confess it and repent. And if we did dare to speak about it out loud, we risked everything - our relationships, our safety, our place and our belonging in our communities, and even our sense of being loved by God.
So to sit across from a kid who was being celebrated - not just accepted - was profound.
This Is What Intergenerational Healing Looks Like
Watching this moment unfold felt like witnessing a timeline bend. Like something sacred was being rewritten - not just for this kid, but for all of us in the room who never had that kind of moment.
I saw the way my wife smiled as the mug was unwrapped. I felt the emotion catch in my throat as I watched the words on the card be taken in. I noticed how my own body softened and felt at ease as we laughed and played games and offered words of encouragement.
It felt like healing.
The thing is, intergenerational healing doesn’t always look like family therapy or reconciliation. Sometimes it looks like a room full of queer adults surrounding a young person with the love we never received. Sometimes it looks like giving a kid the words we wish someone had given us. Sometimes it’s a gift bag, a chosen family, a small group of people saying, “We see you. We love you. You belong.”
And when we do that for someone else, it often heals something inside of us, too.
When Joy Activates Grief
Here’s the part I didn’t expect - when the care package was being opened, I cried.
Not because anything was wrong. But because something was so beautifully right—and it made the absence of that rightness in my own childhood come into sharp focus.
I grieved for little me. For the kid who only heard queerness mentioned in whispers and warnings. For the teenager who didn’t even know what she was hiding—just that something about her felt wrong. For the college student who poured her confusion into prayer, begging God to fix whatever it was she couldn’t name. Sometimes joy cracks you open in the same places that shame once closed off.
And sometimes witnessing someone else’s wholeness reminds you of the ways you had to fracture yourself to survive.
That’s not bitterness or resentment. That’s just grief doing what it does—surfacing when it’s finally safe enough to feel.
To My Fellow Queer Survivors of Religious Trauma:
If you’re feeling a little lost, a little proud, or just trying to show up this Pride Month, you’re not alone.
Maybe you didn’t get a coming out moment surrounded by love and joy.
Maybe your story was marked by silence, secrecy, or fear.
Maybe you’re still navigating complicated family dynamics.
Maybe you’re still learning that you don’t have to earn acceptance.
Pride is full of joy and glitter and celebration. But it can also bring up grief, longing, anger, or confusion. That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It just means you’re still healing.
Your queerness is not a burden. It’s not a mistake. It’s not something to overcome. It’s something to be cherished. Honored. Witnessed.
You are worthy of the kind of love that doesn’t flinch or come with caveats.
You Deserve to Be Celebrated
You deserve people who surprise you with care packages and laugh with you over card games and tell you you’re perfect just as you are. You deserve soft landings and honest conversations and moments that remind you that life doesn’t have to be about hiding.
You deserve to be seen.
And if you never had that—if you still long for that—you’re allowed to grieve it. You’re allowed to want it. You’re allowed to seek it out. You’re allowed to create it for someone else and feel yourself heal a little in the process.
That night around the table, watching that kid be celebrated, I realized something:
Maybe healing means letting yourself want what you never had - and then finding ways to give it, receive it, and keep it going. For the next generation, and for yourself.
Perhaps this story brought up feelings you weren’t expecting—joy, grief, tenderness, or even a sense of longing. Or perhaps you were like my wife and me on the drive home from that night - wondering what it would have been like to experience that kind of support related to our identities at such a young and important age. Healing from religious trauma, especially around queerness, is layered and often nonlinear. But you don’t have to do it by yourself.
I work with LGBTQ+ clients in California, Florida, and Missouri who are untangling the harm of high-control religion and learning how to feel at home in themselves. If that’s where you are, I’d be honored to support you. Learn more about starting therapy with me by requesting a free consultation below.