What I Wish Every Queer Kid Growing Up in High-Control Religion Could Hear

As I was trying to remember the messages I heard about queer identities growing up in church, I ran into an unexpected problem: I had a hard time remembering specific examples.

Maybe that's because it was a long time ago. Maybe I've blocked some of it out. Maybe some combination of both.

I do have memories from my college years and beyond of things being said from the pulpit, in Bible studies, and in other religious settings. But when I think back to my childhood and early teen years, I can't easily point to a specific sermon or lesson and say, "That's the moment I learned being queer was wrong."

And yet, I know I learned it somewhere.

Because what I do remember is feeling shame. Feeling afraid.

I remember feeling attraction toward girls as a pre-teen and experiencing an immediate sense of anxiety about it. Whether it was feeling drawn to Major Margaret Houlihan on MASH* or noticing a spark of excitement when Phoebe kissed Rachel on Friends, I wasn't consciously thinking, Oh no, God doesn't allow that.

What I felt instead was a vague but powerful sense that something about me was off, and that I needed to disconnect from that part of myself and keep it hidden.

I didn't have language for it at the time. I couldn't have explained where those feelings came from. But somehow I had already absorbed the message that, as a girl, attraction to other girls was a problem to fix rather than a normal human experience to understand and explore.

Sometimes I wonder how my life might have been different if I had grown up in an environment where those feelings were allowed —or better yet, celebrated.

What if I had been taught to be curious about what I felt instead of afraid of it?

What if attraction hadn't immediately triggered shame?

What if I had learned to trust myself instead of monitor myself?

As a therapist who specializes in religious trauma, I hear versions of this story all the time from LGBTQ+ clients. Some were told directly that being queer was wrong. Others absorbed that message through a thousand smaller interactions. Either way, many grew up believing that something about them was broken and bad.

This Pride Month, I've been thinking about what I wish those younger versions of us could have heard instead—and what I wish queer kids who currently find themselves in unaffirming faith communities could hear now.

Nothing Is Wrong With You

This is the message I wish I could somehow send to every LGBTQ+ kid sitting in a church pew wondering why they feel different.

Nothing is wrong with you.

One of the most damaging aspects of high-control religious environments is that they teach people to view normal parts of themselves as evidence that something has gone terribly wrong.

You learn to monitor yourself.

Question yourself.

Distrust yourself.

You begin treating your own thoughts, feelings, attractions, and desires like potential threats and signs that you are sinful and bad.

Over time, this creates a profound sense of internal conflict. Instead of asking, "Who am I?" you start asking, "What's wrong with me?"

Those are very different questions.

And unfortunately, many LGBTQ+ people spend years trying to answer the second one.

You Don't Have to Choose Between Being Loved and Being Yourself

Many queer people raised in high-control religion grew up believing that authenticity comes with a cost.

Maybe you watched people lose family relationships after coming out.

Maybe you heard conversations about LGBTQ+ people that made it clear they would only be accepted under certain conditions.

Maybe love felt available—but only if you remained a specific version of yourself.

The message becomes clear:

You can belong. Or you can be yourself. Pick one.

Even after leaving those environments, this fear often lingers.

I see it show up in clients who struggle to set boundaries because they're afraid of rejection. I see it in people who hide important parts of themselves in relationships. I see it in people who feel anxious whenever they take up space or express an unpopular opinion.

Because somewhere deep down, there is still a younger part of them asking:

"If people really knew me, would they still stay?"

The Shame You Feel Was Taught

One of the biggest misunderstandings I encounter about shame is the belief that if we feel it strongly enough, it must be telling us something important about ourselves.

But shame is not evidence of a flawed character or lack of worth.

It is usually evidence of conditioning.

Many LGBTQ+ people from high-control religious backgrounds assume their shame is proof that they are bad.

In reality, shame is often the predictable result of years of exposure to messages that taught them their identity, relationships, attractions, or future were unacceptable.

If you spent years hearing that being queer was sinful, disappointing, rebellious, harmful, or would separate you from God, it makes sense that shame would show up now.

But the presence of shame does not prove the message was true.

It often reflects how thoroughly the message was taught.

That distinction matters because if shame was learned, it can also be unlearned.

Your Future Is Bigger and Brighter Than What You've Been Told

One thing I hear frequently from LGBTQ+ religious trauma survivors is grief. Grief for the years they spent hiding. Grief for relationships that were lost. Grief for experiences they never got to have. Grief for the version of life they thought they were supposed to live.

Those losses are real. But something else often happens during the healing process.

People begin imagining futures they never previously allowed themselves to consider. They find communities where they don't have to explain themselves. Relationships where they don't have to edit themselves. Friendships where acceptance isn't conditional.

For many people, life becomes much larger than the narrow possibilities they were originally given.

There Are People Who Will Love and Celebrate You Exactly As You Are

When you're growing up in an environment that rejects part of who you are, it can be hard to imagine that truly affirming relationships exist. Sometimes it feels like everyone thinks that way. Like everyone agrees with the messages you've been taught. Like acceptance is something reserved for people who conform and follow the rules.

But that isn't true.

There are people who will celebrate your relationships. People who will affirm your identity. People who will support your growth, your healing, and your authenticity. People who won't require you to shrink yourself in order to belong.

I wish every queer kid growing up in high-control religion could know that.

Because so many of the fears they carry are built on the belief they were taught that acceptance is not possible.

In reality, there are entire communities full of people who will welcome queer folx exactly as they are.

A Pride Month Message for Queer Religious Trauma Survivors

If you're reading this and carrying shame, fear, grief, confusion, or anger from your religious upbringing, I want you to know something:

You are not the problem.

The messages that taught you otherwise say far more about the systems that taught them than they do about you.

This Pride Month, my hope is not that you force yourself to feel joyful or celebratory.

It's that you move one step closer to trusting yourself.

One step closer to accepting the parts of you that were taught to hide.

And one step closer to building a life that feels like it actually belongs to you.

Looking for Support?

Healing from religious trauma involves more than simply changing beliefs. It can mean untangling shame, rebuilding trust in yourself, grieving what was lost, and learning how to relate to yourself with more honesty and compassion.

If you're navigating religious trauma, spiritual abuse, purity culture, faith deconstruction, or the impact of growing up LGBTQ+ in a high-control religious environment, therapy can help.

I specialize in working with survivors of religious trauma and provide telehealth therapy for adults in California, Florida, Idaho, and Missouri.

You can request a free phone consultation below to see if we would be a good fit to work together.