I/O

When you start to get confused
Because of thoughts in your head
Don't feel those feelings, hold them in instead

Turn it off like a light switch
Just go, click
It's a cool little Mormon trick
We do it all the time

When you're feeling certain feelings
That just don't seem right
Treat those pesky feelings like a reading light

And turn 'em off, like a light switch
Just go back
Really, what's so hard about that
Turn it off, turn it off

The satirical advice from The Book of Mormon the Musical's "Turn It Off" (a musical that I in no way recommend, as it is offensive to multiple groups of people) is advice we've all heard before, especially if we were raised in a Christian environment.

The character singing this song goes on to talk about when he started to get feelings for his classmate Steve in fifth grade.  It wasn't good enough to have those feelings and not act on them, that was like "a dimmer switch on low."  You had to completely turn them off.

Being gay is bad but lyin' is worse
So just realize you have a curable curse
And turn it off, turn it off, turn it off

Sound familiar?  We've all become experts in turning something off.  That's how we function as adults.  Have a laugh your friends find annoying?  Turn it off.  Have an unpopular belief? Turn it off.  Are you a nerd (I don't mean a cute nerd, I mean a real nerd)? Turn it off.  Don't like tacos?  Turn it off.

But the part we never talk about is that it's impossible.  Who you are, what you feel, think, do, there is no light switch that magically makes those things disappear.  They're still there, we just ignore them.  

Little by little, the version of us that people see becomes different than reality.  Sometimes the two bleed into a grey area of existence we don't even understand anymore.

Stop right now and take off the mask / masks you wear on a daily basis.  Who's left?

Three years ago I went to a very small, independent school on the west coast with an excellent medical program.  In the months leading up to that move, I had removed myself from an abusive situation that had entrapped me for the past 9 years.  I was struggling with gender dysmorphia, depression, and for the first time, anxiety.  I needed help. 

But what I saw instead was an intense disinterest in people's baggage, and a fascination with their outward behavior.  I had classmates in the closet, terrified of what would happen if anyone found out.  We had a pretty good idea of what would happen, too, because fast forward a couple years and the entire student body was called together to inform us that two students had been expelled, and why, and that any further contact with them should be in a "redemptive context."

The point is that I quickly learned to wear the perfect mask.  I changed my music, my clothes, my food, my exclamations (apparently conservative frat boys still say gnarly) just so everyone would know my life was as flawless as theirs.  It wasn't, and what I didn't understand yet: neither were theirs.  

I mention an artist who uses accompaniment other than guitar, piano, or another unplugged instrument?  Oops, turn it off.  Get a sideways look for seeking advice from a female friend?  Oh, I didn't know that was bad, better turn it off.

Meanwhile nothing in my heart was changing.  I was still struggling, more than ever in fact.  And as I looked holier, I slipped away.  I made poor decisions, I hurt other people, I broke school rules I never expected to break.  It became harder to keep the mask in place because who I was at heart and who I wanted to look like became diametrically opposed.  

There was more depth to the fake me than the real.  Until this August.

I was lost, confused, broken, angry, and I decided it wasn't worth my happiness to lie.  Maybe if I just made it clear who I really was, I'd be happy.  I wasn't.  I lost community, stability, friends, and while all of those were built on a lie that I had built, they still stung.  Apparently, it's a difficult thing to be friends with someone, and then have them tell you they don't know how they feel about church, that they're gender fluid, and that they have nothing in common with your lifestyle.

But I was honest, for the first time in my life, about who I was in that moment.  It was relieving to not play a part.

What follows is my own experience, and I make no attempt to make this a standard.  A week ago yesterday I was sitting in a pew at The Gathering Asheville, leaning into a sermon that shook my foundation.  And I heard Him.  That's the only way I can put it.  I had no idea that conviction could be so sweetly spoken.  

Evan, things that you feel shame and guilt over from when you were nine are no different than the struggles you have now that society says are okay, but they wouldn't be okay with what you feel shame for.  It's conditional and situational for them.  I'm not telling you to feel shame for your struggles now, but I want you to leave all your shame behind, and step away from what your struggle is now.  If you say yes, it's gone, you'll never have to worry about it again.

I didn't even say yes, all I could manage was okay.  It was gone.  It's still gone.  I'm okay with that too.  He didn't tell me to be different, He asked me to say yes.  That's all I know.

What I've learned so far?

1. Turn it on.

Whatever you have in your life that you've turned off, don't.  Be honest with yourself and with others about who you are, and what part of life you find yourself in.  Don't hide behind false pretenses.

2. Say yes.

If you're being honest, completely honest, then you're in a place to hear Divine requests.  You don't even have to be looking for them, when it's time, you'll hear it.  When you hear it, you have a choice.  Believe me when I say that yes isn't painful.  Okay works too.

3. Let Him turn it off.

If you say okay, He'll get rid of it.  But really this time.  You won't be shoving it down and pretending it doesn't exist, because it really truly doesn't.  You won't. even. miss it.

Where does it go from here?  I don't know, but I imagine you keep saying yes.