I don’t have what it takes to be a man. 

That’s what I told myself. 

I have a vivid memory of my dad and me wrestling. He called it wrestling. I know now it was physical abuse. He would pin me down and tell me to break free. But with the same effort I used to push against him, he pressed equally as much and more. He continued urging me to fight. I would tighten my body and push with no effect, no longer enjoying it but wanting to please him, impress him, and keep at this masculine exercise he insisted all fathers and sons enjoyed.

But there was no relief and I finally let my spirit go. He chanted “C’mon,” but I was no longer there. My body was pinned on the floor. I was floating above it, looking down at this confounding activity and wondering if I had what it takes to be a man. 

Satan used experiences such as that and sexual abuse to convince me that masculinity was something outside of me. He sent me on a wild goose chase to find it.

I would observe how other guys moved, talked, and interacted. I would adjust my mannerisms, interests, and language to craft a fragile shell of manhood, while the boy inside never grew up. 

By the time adolescence hit, most guys were bored with each other. Girls emerging into their feminine beauty turned heads. Not mine. I was still trying to earn my man card, paying even more attention to these mysterious guys who saw the changes in their bodies and newfound sexual energy as empowering, rather than dangerous.

When my hormones kicked in, my focus remained on men, and my sex drive got wired to them. Needless to say, that didn’t help me feel like one of the guys.

Entering college, I had to fight harder to convince myself I could succeed. Thousands of people were in on a secret to living. I was peering in from outside. More than ever, I knew I wasn’t enough. 

I recall sitting in fear and anxiety while my fine arts professor described our final project. I had a knot in my stomach as perfectionism and fear of rejection battled against my desire for creative expression.

Why am I unsettled? Why can’t I enjoy this?

I remember my eyes landing on a classmate I admired. His strong frame rested comfortably in his chair as he leaned back and stretched one leg in front of him. 

If Aaron would be my friend, I wouldn’t have to be scared.

If he would look at me and smile, I would know I’m not alone.

If I had his confidence, I could enjoy any situation.

I zipped my backpack at the end of class and turned to see Aaron walking out the door. A surge of electricity passed through my body. I wanted to go with him. It was one of the strongest sensations I had ever felt.

Over the following days, the memory of that electric feeling grew larger. Fear and confusion mixed with excitement. More unquestioned thoughts fired at me.

This is not good.

Something is wrong with me.

Maybe I’m gay.

My mind was compelled to make meaning of the experience, telling me it was a problem, that I was separate from other men, and that my thoughts and sensations were reasons to question my identity. I wanted to run from them, pretend they didn’t exist, and go on with my life.

I would spend years avoiding my unwanted attractions, not realizing the action made them bigger. It was like holding a beach ball underwater. They became a force that drained my energy and inevitably popped back up. My compulsion for avoidance was not due to the attractions themselves, but to the meaning I gave them. They were a threat and they meant I was broken. Neither was true. They were just experiences. 

I didn’t give myself to my classmate. Not out of motivation towards something better, but from fear of doing something wrong or being judged. I also had a gut sense that I would lose myself and not find my way back. I would live out of fear many more years before realizing it is no way to make a life.

While I didn’t engage physically with men, I did seek escape through pornography and masturbation. This hindered connection with God, myself, and others, and further cemented my arousal template toward the male image. 

If I could sit down with my eighteen-year-old self that day after class, I would assure him that he is okay, he is seen, known, and loved by his Creator and by me, and he was having a human experience in a world that is not as it was meant to be. 

I would tell him that thoughts, feelings, and sensations are not who he is and they are not facts. I would help him to look at the experience with curiosity rather than rush to judgment.

But I’m not sure he would have heard me. Just like the word of God I read on repeat since childhood had become merely text on a page, words from someone who cared may have fallen flat as well. My father didn’t have my back, and I didn’t believe God had my back either. Or if He did, He wasn’t powerful enough to help. The promises of God seemed far off compared to the intensity of my emotions and experiences. 

Let me list some of God’s promises. It will be obvious to you they held the answers I was seeking to my fear, self-doubt, and anxiety, but they were lost on me. 

• God will sustain you. (Psalm 55:22)

• God’s peace will guard your heart. (Philippians 4:7)

• God delights over you with singing. (Zephaniah 3:17)

• God will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go. (Psalm 32:8)

• God is your refuge and strength, your help in times of need. (Psalm 46:1)

• In all things, you are more than a conqueror because God loves you. (Romans 8:37)

• God will never leave you nor forsake you. (Deuteronomy 31:6)

• God’s perfect love casts out all your fear. (1 John 4:18)

• Nothing can separate you from God’s love. (Romans 8:38-39)

• We are God’s masterpiece. (Ephesians 2:10)

• God is not finished with you. (Philippines 1:6)

I wish those truths had penetrated my defenses, but I continued doing life on my own. I tried harder to be a man. I tightened up my fists to white knuckle it through life and push down the destructive beliefs which felt so true.

It didn’t work.

My senior year I found myself in the emergency room. My obsession for control led to a manic episode and I nose-dived into a paralyzing depression. I finished college crawling out of bed each day, willing myself to eat and put one foot in front of the other when the only thing that made sense was to bury myself six feet underground.

I was exhausted.

This was not the state I envisioned being in when crossing the stage at graduation to start my life.

I wish I could say it was a wake-up call, but I just doubled down. If God could help me, I didn’t deserve it. I had to do penance for my manic behavior before I could hold my head up again. 

I sidelined my obsession with manhood for efforts to stay safe at all costs. I never wanted to feel hopeless or out of control again. 

But what you focus on becomes your reality. Three years later I pulled into the ER again. 

This time, God provided a recovery program that would shed light on the effects of my abuse, and a mentor that had walked in my shoes. I shared my history, sins, and fears without rejection. I let down my guard to a man who was the face of Jesus to me and I am forever grateful.

I learned the power of vulnerability. I uncovered deeply held beliefs that were keeping me stuck. I got comfortable being uncomfortable. I forgave. God showed me a life beyond my imagination, where I would thrive, not just survive.

Jesus says whoever seeks to keep his life will lose it and whoever loses his life for His sake will find it. I had nothing to lose when I handed my life to Him. It was one of control, fear, and shame that paled in comparison to the riches He had in store for me. 

I didn’t have to be some ideal version of myself or look away from my sinful self in disgust. I just had to be His. That is the gospel. If you haven’t surrendered your life to Him, I beg you to do so. I promise you won’t look back. 

When I gained my footing in life, I felt led to focus on healing from same-sex attraction. I joined a local support group and found a community of men who understood my yearning for masculinity. Its power lifted. 

I was able to share without shame that I had no desire to kiss a girl. Gross. When I voiced my obsessions, temptations, sin, and trauma, I was empowered. I was inspired by others whose sexuality God had redeemed.

I was consistently pointed to Jesus, supported to grow as a man of God in a safe environment, held accountable, and helped in navigating conflicting desires. And I changed. It was a magical time in my life.

One day during worship, a smartly dressed woman walked through the door whom I swear I had never seen before. In reality, she had been a regular in a baggy T-shirt on the back row. At that moment she became the only person in the room. She was beautiful and mysterious. 

I had let go of striving and God blessed me with a desire I didn’t expect. 

Our first date, my proposal, her response, our marriage, three beautiful kids God equipped me to raise, is a dream come true. But He is my greatest gift. 

A life in Christ is not free from challenges. God used marriage to break me down and put me back together closer to His image. Losing my dad to suicide shook me. My career beckons me to sacrifice my faith and family. My kids drive me crazy. I am still tempted to trade the truth of God for lies. 

And I don’t have what it takes. But I know He does. 

I’m not worthy. He is. 

I don’t know what future this life holds, but I know He has built a home for me in heaven. He invites you in as well. 

God bless,

Jason

Watch my interview on the Love & Truth Network podcast: