Someone asked me this question the other day: “Do you think there’s a connection between homosexuality and sexual abuse?”

I don’t want to answer it. Why? Because I know regardless of what my answer is, someone, somewhere won’t agree with my answer, and then I’ll be labeled as a hypocrite, religious jerk, etc. etc. etc.

I’ve avoided publishing topics on homosexuality for this very reason. Because somehow, some way, despite being careful with my words, someone will get hurt, me included. But it’s time…

Yes. Yes, I think they’re related. Definitely not in all cases, but I would bet the majority. I’m not a scientist. I’m not a psychologist. I have no initials behind my name to qualify me to answer, but I have my own experience.

That time in the tool shed.

It happened more than once in the tool shed by a family friend. He would touch me inappropriately and make me touch him. It happened for several years.

Then it happened in the swimming pool by a relative. Then again in my bedroom.

Then it happened again by a different relative — a manipulative game to get me to follow his rules or I’d be in trouble.

Though a dark cloud of shame lived over me, sexual abuse seemed to be the new normal. I didn’t have a clue what normal was, really.

Did that make me attracted to girls?

No. I didn’t wake up one day and say, “I’ve been sexually abused. I like girls now.” It was a process. Shame kept me from desiring to be a girl. The last thing I wanted was attention from another man who would hurt me. They would all hurt me. I was convinced of it.

I was raised as a single child, with an alcoholic father in and out of the picture, and a mother working three jobs, and facing her own battles of the past. I played with my boy cousins. There weren’t Barbie’s or fingernail painting. There were guns and knives and GIJOE’s, oh my! I was a tomboy, no doubt about it. (No, being a tomboy doesn’t make you gay.) All kids should play in the dirt, and if your daughter wants to fight a battle with plastic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles taking out Shredder, you should let her.

But.. looking back, I see how comfortable it was for me to take on that roll. I didn’t have to worry about being attractive to men. I wasn’t consciously aware of what I was doing, but I realized wearing ball caps and t-shirts hid the girl, kept me tough, and kept men from hurting me any more than they already had.

Mix that with a food addiction that helped me stay at 330 lbs., sure to keep anyone from being attracted to me and I was perfectly in control.

At a young age I was forced to watch pornography by a babysitter. It opened a door for me that took years to shut. By the time I was a teenager my view of sex was so distorted, again, I wasn’t aware of what normal was. I don’t remember thinking girls were more attractive than guys. I just remember vivid images of both that if we’re being honest, I still struggle with at times today.

It’s almost as if there’s a filing cabinet in my brain I don’t remember is there. I’ve cleaned the files out and replaced them with clean, healthy images of life. However, I’ll hear a word in conversation and I’m triggered all over again. Images flood into the front of my mind and there’s a battle taking place within seconds.

But I fight back. “I have the mind of Christ and I hold the thoughts, feelings, and purposes of His heart. I am a new creation in Christ Jesus and my mind is renewed. I am an overcomer and Satan does not have authority over my mind.” I remind myself I am God’s child. He loves me. Those thoughts and images no longer control me. Then they are gone, at least for a while. I pray someday they’ll be gone forever.

The first time I had a same sex attraction.

A friend of mine in high school professed her attraction to me. My plan for ball caps and t-shirts and a mullet (I pray all those pictures are destroyed) backfired on me. I was trying to protect myself from men, not thinking there were other girls out there struggling, too.

It opened a whole new door for me. Someone liked me for who I was. The t-shirt and ball cap were good enough for someone to want me. I was surrounded by confusion. Maybe this is what would finally make me normal. I was too scared. Scared of what, I’m not sure. Our friendship didn’t last long after that. I had a reputation for pushing people away when they tried to get to close to me, both emotionally and physically. She knew way too much.

I moved away from my hometown as fast as I could after graduation. To another state. It was there I would be free. I could do anything I wanted. I was away from the pain and could start a new life. Surely the pain of my past wouldn’t chase me there.

I had my first “date” with another girl. Seven hours away from my hometown, in a strange land where no one knew me, I could be anybody I wanted to be. The date was super awkward. We shook hands and said goodbye. It turns out we were both way too much alike in personalities to get along. I drove back to my tiny Nashville apartment and wiped away the thought I could be gay. Maybe it was just that one attraction in high school. I would keep this a secret, too, just like I did everything else.

Defining my sexuality.

It wasn’t long before I moved back home. I couldn’t seem to find my significance in Nashville. Maybe I’d find it back home. Instead, I partied my way through my emotions pretending life was grand. One night, after a conversation about homosexuality and way too many Bud Light’s around the kitchen table with some friends, one of them said to me, “You’re gay. Why don’t you just admit it?” No one had ever said it out loud. It seemed more real than ever before.

I really questioned my sexuality. Maybe I was gay. Maybe this was my destiny. I would finally find my significance by being open about who I really was, whatever that looked like for me. So I said, “Okay, I’m gay.” I told my friends. I told my mom. Honestly, I still had no clue what it meant to me, but I finally felt like I had a title — something I could tell someone about me. I finally had a place in life. I finally belonged.

I have to wonder as I write this, how many others choose the life of homosexuality because they just want to belong somewhere — anywhere?

After a one-night stand with some guy from the bar, as I tried to scrub the shame off myself in the shower, I declared a man would never touch me again. I was gay and I would live my life that way. Looking back now, I have no idea how or why my friends put up with me the way they did. Not because I chose to be gay, just simply because I had to be tiring in my pursuit of some kind of meaning. They loved me anyway. Most of them.

A week later, after another long night at the bar, I started a relationship with a friend from high school (No, not the one from earlier in the story). I look back and my head spins at the thought of how it all worked out. Months before, I consoled her as she walked through a painful breakup from her boyfriend. Now, we were “sneaking around” trying to figure out what in the world we were doing.

That was the start of a five-year relationship. It was safe for both of us. It made sense. I was taking my commitment to never trust another man seriously. I was in control. Things would finally be okay. We moved in together, finally telling a few friends and family members. We were convinced our problems would be fixed. Instead, it was a relationship with two toxic people, full of jealousy, depression, and deceit. We both still had our secret battles. Ah, but did I mention it was safe?

Then we came to know Jesus, life is great, the end….

That’s not exactly how the story goes, but I’d love to tell you about the rest some other time. You can read some of it here. I want to get back to where sexual abuse fits into this.

Does sexual abuse cause homosexuality or same sex attraction?

No. I believe homosexuality is a choice. Why do a man and a woman get married? Because they choose to spend their lives together. Why does someone got to college? Because they want to earn a degree to further their career. Why do some choose to eat gluten-free? Maybe they don’t like wheat. Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.

Why does someone choose to be gay? Because there is a lie they believe about themselves and their lives. Because their identity is not rooted and grounded in Christ. Because they’re searching for a significance they’ll never find outside of a relationship with Jesus. Because shame and fear are stupid.

Being sexually abused didn’t cause me to choose homosexuality. But I think it made a big impact on my decisions, just as I believe it makes an impact on the lives of others who choose that life. I have to wonder how different life would be had my childhood not been stolen from me. Sexual abuse brings shame. Shame brings fear. Fear causes us to believe lies. Lies cause use to walk in the darkness. If we keep the lights off in our lives, God’s Word can’t shine.

But where there’s light… Truth replaces lies. Truth dispels fear. (2 Timothy 1:7) Shame is replaced by radiance. (Psalm 34:5)

I can’t take back what happened to me. Want to know the truth? I wouldn’t take it back it now because looking back I can see God in the midst of if all.Yes.. I can see God in the midst of being molested over and over again.He didn’t do it to me. He didn’t cause it. It wasn’t His will for my childhood to be stolen, but He got me through it. And today.. He’s still holding me in the palm of His hand.

God longs to hold each of us in the palm of His hand, even when we’re choosing homosexuality. Do you know why? Because He created each of us in His image. His image. He doesn’t make mistakes, which means He didn’t make a mistake when He created me or you.

You are not who your past says you are. Our significance as individuals isn’t found in other people, whether straight or gay.

That was my one and only relationship with another woman because I learned my significance wasn’t found in my relationship with her. I realized my identity wasn’t found in a label. It took years to truly etch into my heart who I fully am in my relationship with Christ. There are days I still struggle with it.

I didn’t have an “I’m gay” then the next day, “Oh, no I’m not” experience. That’s another story for another day. I fought. It was hard. It will be hard. It is hard. Life is hard, my friend.

But God… He is patient. Kind. Loving. Merciful. Gracious. Hopeful. Compassionate.

At the end of the day, regardless of your mistakes, you are loved. You are chosen.

Will you believe that, take hold of it, wrap your arms around it, embrace it, and live out that truth?

You are chosen. You are loved. You are loved. You are chosen.

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