Please God, Make Me a Boy
Come As You Are was written on a giant poster that hung over the entrance of the sanctuary of the church my family attended on some Sundays as a kid. But I always questioned those words because I never felt like I was entering the church as my authentic self. And I wouldn’t for many years to come.
As a kid, I never really thought about much about gender. I had friends that were boys and friends that were girls, and I never really cared what they were. I was just happy to have friends. For my sixth birthday party, my parents invited several kids, both boys and girls, but only boys showed up. My parents were worried that I would feel uncomfortable, but I could have cared less. All I cared about was that people showed up and that we had lots of fun.
I played with typically girl toys and typically boy toys, but as I got older, I did away with femininity and gravitated more towards masculinity. When I was seven, the first journal entry I wrote was, “I want to be a boy!” These feelings grew stronger and stronger in the coming years.
Also at the age of seven, I was diagnosed with Dyslexia, and my parents wanted to send me to a school that was more accommodating of my alphabetic phonics program than my current one. They did find one — a Christian K-8 school near our house. While this school was extraordinary in helping me with my Dyslexia, it was not so helpful in helping me understand my struggles with gender.
The school was connected to a large, very conservative Christian church in which my family was in and out of involvement. Not to mention, we lived in Kansas, notorious for being anti-LGBT. When we went to church, we all dressed up. That included being forced to wear a dress or something uncomfortably feminine like that. That is why I couldn’t understand why the sign Come As You Are was there.
I was always coming as someone my parents and conservative Christian society wanted me to be, not as myself.
From a young age, I knew who I was
In the fourth grade, I became very vocal about my wishes to become a boy, but I had a limited vocabulary to do so. Often times, I would say that I hated my name and wanted to change it. That I hated being a girl, wanted to cut my hair, and would always choose boys clothes over girls.
Nevertheless, my parents would argue with me, saying that God made me a girl and that God doesn’t make mistakes. At school, the opinion was the same.
One day in math class, we learned about fractions, so to demonstrate the concept, the teacher divided kids up by age, hair color, eye color, etc. One of the divisions was gender. The boys were supposed to go to the right of the classroom, and the girls to the left. I looked at each group. I knew I had the body of a girl, but I thought more like a boy. What did that make me? I stood in the middle and declared, “I’m both!” The teacher quickly dismissed me and told me clearly, “No. God only makes boys and girls.” (Apparently, she had never heard of an intersex person.) I hung my head down, defeated, and shuffled over to the girls’ side of the room.
My newfound outward masculinity worried my parents. Unfortunately, the only advice they received came from their conservative friends. That advice led to decisions like sending me to therapy where a woman forcibly painted my nails and took away my boy clothes, leaving me in tears and feeling trapped again.
One incident I distinctly remember was when I went with my dad to get a haircut. When the lady finished my haircut, she said, “Is that good?” I looked over to my dad, unhappy. He sighed and said, “No! She wants it cut like boy!” When we got in the car, my dad was angry and said to me, “What now? Do you want surgery?” I cried.
Every night I would ask God to change me
I would pray to God every night that he would make me a boy, and would often start crying when I woke up and discovered that I my body had not changed. I bargained with him, saying he could make me blind or in a wheelchair. As long as I was a boy, I didn’t care.
After weeks of crying and bargaining, I questioned whether or not God existed because it seemed like he couldn’t answer the one and only prayer I had.
That all changed when the next year, fifth grade, I watched the Gospel of John and fell in love with the character of Jesus. I believed wholeheartedly that Jesus loved me and accepted me, and that I would always be able to be myself around him, despite having to be someone else in my Christian community. I was on top of the world for the entire year until… puberty happened.
I remember waking up one day, right before sixth grade, and I noticed my chest looked different in the mirror. Then, I realized what had happened. Puberty started. I was utterly devastated. As a kid, older women, including my mom, would tell me that I was just a “tomboy” like them when they were young, and that it was just a phase. They said that when I grew up, I would start liking boys and want to start acting more girly to try to impress them and get them to like me back. I believed them because I figured they were adults, so they knew everything.
However, when I hit puberty, I had no attraction towards guys. Rather, I realized I had a strong attraction towards girls. I thought I was gay because, again, I had limited vocabulary.
Puberty was horrific for me. I felt like I had died inside. I watched jealously as my male peers got deep voices, hairy legs, and broad shoulders, and wondered when that would happen to me. Likewise, I was going through female puberty, feeling like my body was betraying me more and more.
It left me completely depressed and suicidal. I was so upset that I told God I hated him and didn’t want him in my life anymore. Some of the worst parts of middle school, though, were feeling alone and feeling like I couldn’t talk to anyone about how I felt. I was constantly hammered with the same messages — “Being gay is wrong. Being gay is a choice. Being gay is a sin.” I heard being gay even compared to murder and pedophilia. Not to mention, I knew absolutely no one who was LGBT+.
I thought I was the only one.
I wore my hair long so that God and everyone else would love me
Fast forward to eighth grade. I rededicated my life to Christ after completing a challenge set by a chapel speaker at school to read a chapter of Proverbs each day of the month. I fell in love with God all over again. Unfortunately, it was a narrow-minded version of God.
I decided to attend a Christian high school because 1) all of my peers were going to that school and 2) because I was becoming afraid of my attractions and discomfort with my gender. At fourteen years old, I believed that God would not love me unless I forego all sexual feelings and learned to be happy as a girl. What better way to escape unwanted feelings than to throw yourself into religion and high school life?
That’s exactly what I did. I became very busy with academics, extracurricular activities, and volunteering at two churches. I didn’t have time to process my feelings. My freshman year, I learned that a junior at my school had been expelled for being gay. Shortly after, I was informed that a young man who attended my previous Christian school was expelled for the same reason. That reinforced the idea that I had already believed before entering high school. I had to forego my sexual feelings.
Nevertheless, I did everything imaginable to become the person I thought God wanted me to be. I read my Bible. I prayed. I journaled. I went on mission trips. I put my uniform skirt on and wore my hair long so that God and everyone else would love me. As time went on, though, my sexuality and gender struggles still remained. In fact, they were getting harder and harder to push aside.
Near the end of my junior year, I was able to get a hold of herbal testosterone boosters and estrogen blockers through a bodybuilding website. I desperately wanted to escape my body. I was excited because I thought maybe I could get a deep voice or grow a beard. I had already figured out ways to make my voice sound deeper and to bind my chest when I was fourteen, and once I got a car, I made regular trips to the store to start shopping in the “forbidden” men’s clothing section.
I remember having a dream that I was at a camp with all my classmates. I woke up, looked in the mirror, and noticed I had this big, bushy beard. I smiled. I was so happy. My friends were all outside, calling for me to come hang out with them. As soon as I heard their voices, my heart sank. I wanted to hang out with them, but I knew that they would never accept me, looking like this. Sadly, I shaved my beard and went outside.
For the first time I learned there were others like me
The summer between my junior and senior year changed my life. With ACTs and college visits coming up, I realized I needed to think about my future. I tried envisioning myself in different occupations, and at one point, I realized that in all of my visions, I never once saw myself continuing life as a girl. That is when I spent lots of time on the internet and discovered a video about a young boy who was like me — born female. I learned the word “transgender.”
I connected instantly, but I also felt incredibly scared. I mean, I hadn’t even accepted my sexuality. How could I know? Maybe I was just gay, and I knew for sure what I believed about being gay… or what I had been taught.
Senior year was a struggle, to say the least. I was constantly researching, wrestling over Scripture, watching YouTube videos, and reading articles and books on both sides. On top of that, I was deciding on colleges and trying to be a good role model for the freshmen and sophomores.
Once again, I felt like I couldn’t say a word to any of my pastors or teachers because I knew that they all had the same opinion. I was afraid of being hit over the head with a Bible.
I met my breaking point when I practically fell in love with one of my girl best friends at school. I realized there was more to my sexuality than just sexual feelings. By denying my sexuality, I wasn’t just denying myself sex, I was denying myself the chance at finding love, a partner, a companion.
Right before graduation, I told my guy best friend that I didn’t like boys. All he could say was, “Well, we all have to have that one friend.” I was so scared about what he would think of me, but he loved me no matter what. After I graduated, I was incredibly depressed. I felt immense shame for who I was, and had no idea if God would ever love me for being gay or trans or whatever I was.
I cut my hair, came out to my parents (who accepted me) and started seeing a therapist. I eventually came to terms with my gender identity, as well as volunteering for and attending a new church. Even though I knew who I was, I was still hiding, as I was only out to a handful of people.
For Ash Wednesday of last year, our pastor asked us to write down a burden we had to give up during lent and bury it in a bucket of dirt placed at the end of the stage. I decided to write down “shame” for my burden because shame for who I am was something I could not bear any longer. It was holding me back from having a Zoe (as my pastor would say) type of life.
On my 22nd birthday, I decided that I would start coming out to my college friends. I did, and they all said, “Oh, that’s cool!” Seeing as that went well, I decided that I would come out to everyone that year, and that I would transition, even if that meant I had to leave my church I love.
Nevertheless, on March 31st, 2017, shortly after my guy best friend (the one previously mentioned) passed away, I came out with my sexuality and gender identity to everyone on Facebook. Even though he was not alive to see me come out, I knew that is what he always wanted for me. Surprisingly, some of the nicest, most loving and accepting comments and messages I received came from people from my church and peers from my high school. I guess people can surprise you.
I forgive those who hurt me
Today, I am still in the process of coming out to my church. I play guitar and bass in the praise band most Sundays at my church, which puts me in a public position. Fortunately, the more I come out, the more acceptance I receive. I even found out that there’s another trans guy at my church!
It is very hard for me to trust Christians because of the lies I was taught growing up. Teachers’ opinions disguised themselves as God’s truth. I suffer from a lot of self-esteem issues and other psychological problems because of the lesson I was taught.
But even if those teachers and pastors never apologize, I still forgive them. They ultimately thought what they were teaching was right. I hope that they will eventually realize that what they are teaching is harmful and inconsistent with the abundant and fulfilling life that Jesus talks about continually in the Gospels (not to mention mounds of scientific evidence).
I am incredibly thankful for my friends, family, and church I have now. I pray that every LGBT+ person of faith will know that they are not alone. And I pray that they will find that faith community where they can truly…
Come as they are.
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