There’s an interesting side-effect of growing up gay without knowing it. Back then I knew something was happening, but even now I probably don’t understand the full impact. But allow me to take the scenic route in explaining it, and just enjoy the story.

I think I’ve told part of this story here before. About how my church bishop was the first person to discover that I looked for pictures and videos of naked boys online. I wasn’t searching for “gay” or “porn” because those words weren’t what was going through my head. There’s a lot that flew above my radar back then. Anyway, the bishop found out about it, including that it was only ever boys. He gave me the church pamphlet on homosexuality (cue incredibly obvious hint #1) and got me to visit a counselor. I don’t remember his reasoning for sending me to the therapist, but I went to a few sessions and talked openly about the boys in my grade that were cute (incredibly obvious hint #2). I don’t think anyone told me outright that I was gay, because I hope I would’ve remembered that. And I don’t think they were trying to make me straight, because if they were I must’ve dashed those hopes by stopping the sessions after only a few weeks when I apparently “felt happier.” Since my visits to the counselor were church-directed, the bishop never told my parents the reasons behind them, and neither did I at the time.

So here’s the point of the story. Whenever I told people about this – mainly to laugh at the obvious hints I missed – I always thought I was around 14 years old. But eventually I asked my mom if she knew exactly when it was that all this happened. Luckily she keeps daily planners so it’s totally possible for her to look back into the past and see details like that. Some time later she told me that the only reference she could find to me and a therapist or counselor was in 2007, meaning I was 16 or 17, and not very far away from graduating high school. This rocked me, because I couldn’t reconcile my memories of that time with the idea of being 16 years old. Surely I must have been much younger.

In a completely unrelated timeline, I remember deciding that my mental age had halted at the level of an early teenager, say 14.

I had a lot of trouble accepting parts of myself growing up, particularly around body hair and bathrooms. I don’t know how old I was when I finally stopped thinking my leg hair was gross. I was mildly anxious every time I had to use a public bathroom with a brother or my dad in there at the same time. I’m still not super keen on urinals, and in a stall I sit to pee more than 99.5% of the time. I still think it’s weird that every guy seems to think it’s normal to stand and aim into those tiny toilets just because we can. And don’t get me started on realizing what people actually mean when they say “put the seat down.”

I felt separated from the other kids my age. Like I couldn’t understand their jokes, or that they wanted something from me but never explained what it was. And at the same time I’m going around fantasizing about seeing them shirtless or naked, and having absolutely no tools to work through those feelings. I thought I was doing pretty decent on the puberty thing: except the attractions I was promised never arrived.

I talked about this once to a friend on Facebook sometime after graduating. I told her that all the high school drama we experienced happened right around the time I was supposed to start liking girls. She wondered if maybe I might like boys. I said that would explain a lot, but probably no – because I didn’t feel that I liked anybody.

See, the attraction to girls never arrived, because gay. But the attraction to boys was derailed by my worldview and culture. I wasn’t able to work through the onset of sexual desire at the expected time or with the provided educational materials. Everyone was talking about how crazy I’d get about girls, so I couldn’t see my craziness towards boys as being related.

Until the cork got pulled.

That first North Star Conference, where I experienced meaningful hugs, gentle and accepting touch, and an environment of understanding from others who are experiencing the same thing. That conference broke through this barrier I had erected around some of the most basic aspects of intimacy and relationships: the ability to desire someone, and the permission to belong.

Over the next year or so the things I missed during puberty began to unfold. I stopped feeling like a stranger in my body. I started noticing and accepting attraction for what it was. I imagined kissing, being kissed, and wanting it. You could say I began to grow again.

But now I feel like I’m behind, trapped in a time warp and ten years older than I should be. When I think about what physical characteristics I find attractive, a 20-year-old is much more likely to catch my eye than a 30-year-old. But I hesitate to “swipe right” on these guys who are five or more years younger, because I immediately imagine that they’ll think I’m too old for them, just like how I usually ignore guys that are older than me. I know there’s a wide gap in experience when ages are so different, so even if we both manage to match, we’re pretty likely to have trouble connecting and understanding each other.

Things are progressing, though. As I look more at the real people around me and less at the Instagram models and movie stars, I do feel a slow shift.

I think over these years as I’ve tried to “make up” for missing out on all the rainbows, my mind has finally started to absorb and process the firehose of emotion and hormones that is the most important half of puberty. When I was able to understand and give voice to what was happening, and share the experience with others who understand, then and only then could I take steps forward toward maturity. But back when I was suppressing myself, or at least unable to fully grasp the extent of my feelings, I halted my own growth.

Isolating yourself from others because they don’t understand you. Refusing to accept your feelings because they are frightening and unexpected. Building walls around your fragile heart to keep out the pain. These things cause more harm than good, and I know I’m not the only one that did this.

We need each other. We need connection, understanding, and love. Without these we do not receive the nutrition we need.

We need to feel our feelings. We need to express them and learn to cope. Without this we build up pressure and all our energy goes towards containment rather than progress.

So reach out to your friends, your children. Let them feel your love. Let them know that they are not alone. Tell them they will be okay. Tell them it’s okay if they are different, and mean it. Try to help them understand themselves, though you can only do so much. Be ready to listen without judgment. And don’t try to change them just because you don’t understand something.

Our individual growth is a personal journey. It’s different for everyone. Our hobbies, tastes, and aspirations are built from the world around us and how we interpret it. If we’re scared of the world or ourselves, we hinder our own growth. If those around us think we’re growing into a strange shape and try to prune us back, they hinder our growth. The only way to accomplish what is best for everyone is to support each other in their individual paths. Water your friends. Lean on them for support and let them lean on you. Don’t worry about growing into some predefined shape. The beauty in life is in its variety, its tenacity, and its infinite possibility.