"Ex-Gay" Therapy Stunted My Creative Growth

For those that know me well, know that the performing arts have been a major part of life growing up. I definitely identify with the cliché phrase: “I started singing when I learned to talk. I started dancing when I learned to walk.” I definitely drove my family insane with the amount of music that came out of my room. I invested countless hours and perhaps hundreds to thousands of dollars in lessons, traveling expenses, and performances. One of my biggest dreams was to be on Broadway (no surprise there) or to travel the world as a notable opera singer. I personally don’t think that I was “great,” but I was definitely on my way to being well recognized and getting closer to my goals (I am really trying not to sound arrogant here, but I was in a place where I was aware of the talent I possessed). I was involved with a couple different theatre companies and got to be on stage regionally. I performed at festivals with vocal groups and we did quite well. Dancing was something I enjoyed, but never something I really did in a big spotlight—hip-hop and jazz were my fortes. Towards the end of high school I began to pursue bigger dreams, including auditioning for company roles on Broadway, applying to Juilliard School of the Performing Arts (I applied junior year), and declaring my major at some schools as either a Vocal Performance major or a Theatre major. My plan was simple at one point, I was going to make it as a performer or go into the Navy (which another dream of mine).

I’ve mentioned before how throughout high school I was often already presumed to be gay because of my interest in the performing arts. Go figure they were right, but as we know stereotypes don’t always prove everything. As I was watching YouTube videos last night, I was watching some amazing vocalists and dancers. I began having one of those movie flashback nostalgia moments. It got me to thinking about the performing arts in my life and how they have gone through the same effects I have through my experiences.

Specifically would be the way my passion and dedication were addressed during my ex-gay experience. To put it bluntly, ex-gay therapy really destroyed my creativity (or at least attempted to). As with many ex-gay programs, participants are often taught how to “butch themselves up” so that they will be more inclined to be straight, usually this involves participating in male-contact sports or other “masculine assumed” activities. Apparently, dancing and singing aren’t masculine. It was recommended that I give it all up to God so that I could become the straight man of God I am called to be. Through compromise I agreed to stop dancing, since it was never anything really too big in my life (well at least not by itself). I just finished up with a variety show project with a theatre, so I fasted from theatrical performance as well. I was unwilling to give up vocal performance though. I was on a music scholarship at Azusa Pacific University and needed the funds. So my counselor recommended that I sing either bass or baritone, as opposed to tenor, because apparently tenors are more inclined to be homosexual. I agreed and began training to deepen my voice (since I had issues being a bass), I also informed my choir director that I would be singing baritone instead of tenor.

Since starting my recovery process, I realized how much my creative growth was stunted as a result of ex-gay therapy. Although I’m re-entering the performance scene as a theatrical performance activist in-training, I am still unable to fully reclaim being a vocalist or a dancer. Part of me was (and still partially) afraid to sing again because 1. I am reminded of my counseling experience. 2. I am still learning to affirm my own masculinity. 3. I need train again. I’ve sung in the past year, but I still maintain a lower vocal range. When I’m home alone though, I do let it all out. Same thing with dancing. When Vince is at work, I sometimes clear all the furniture in the leaving room and go for it. It’s almost like ex-therapy has instilled this hard to understand stage fright that I can’t explain. I continue to let myself come to a place where I am comfortable reclaiming all parts of my performance life. I have no problem acting. I can act just fine. But I am still hesitant to sing and dance. What does that mean for me?