Over the last 5 years, I have found my voice and my place within the LGBTQ+ community. I have been unfriended and blocked. I have been ridiculed. I have been fired by a Christian publishing company. I have read letter after letter in my DMs about how much I’ve disappointed people and my family. I have been invited to “break bread” and “divide the word” with those whose intent was to lead this lost lamb home.

And I did something else too.

I got married. I found a man who loves me, and I married him. He is currently making dinner without me because I told him about this burning desire to put these thoughts down for the closeted evangelical worship leaders that I know all too well.

It was me. Just five years ago. It was me. I led worship in conservative evangelical Christian churches for nearly three decades. And today, I lose sleep each time I see a young gay Christian man get engaged or marry a woman. Or a young gay christian woman marry a man or stay single for her entire life in order to be found acceptable in God’s eyes. My anxiety is a projection, most certainly. But it is also a reality because I know what comes next. I know the loneliness that awaits.

Several months ago, I saw a picture of a gay worship leader. How do I know? you might ask. Oh honey, I know. In the photo, he was holding on to his beautiful wife…seemingly for dear life. They were in an embrace—she still in her wedding dress—moments after their ceremony. In the photo, he was crying so hard that it broke my heart. I know what some see when they look at that picture. I even know what he probably sees; that he was so overcome with love for her, he couldn’t hold it in. But all I see is a mixture of terror and relief.

Terror because he’s gay. And deep down in parts of himself that he doesn’t yet have access to, he is hoping against all hope that he’ll be able to do this. That he’ll be able to be straight.

Relief because a part of him is probably thinking, I did it. I actually did it. I don’t have to worry about being gay any longer. I stood against evil and married a woman.

But that isn’t how this story plays out.

There will be late nights of lying awake in bed, thinking about what it would be like to be with a man. There will be complicated work relationships, where you care about a certain guy in your church in a way that feels romantic. You’ll try to steal time away with him—get close to him. You’ll probably even fall in love with him, calling him your “best friend.”

Your wife will know deep down that something is wrong. You might even share the whole story with her. “I have homosexual tendencies, but I have no desire to live that way. I love you. I want to be with you. We can work this out.” But you can’t. Because you’re gay. You can stay together but the full expression of who you are, which God desires for every one of his children, will never be lived out as intended.

It’s the saddest story I know. It brings tears to my eyes.

After coming out, numerous people made sure I knew that they knew I was gay. “We loved being led in worship by you, but my whole family knew you were gay.” I heard it over and over again. And every time I did, I wondered who I had been trying to protect all those years.

Recently, I went to a church service and visited a former colleague of mine. I hadn’t seen him in years but could feel the emotional range of our reunion. I don’t think he believes that God is delighted in queer people—that God accepts them as they are and sees their sexuality as a gift rather than a sin. This man always treated me with great respect, which hadn’t seemed to change since my coming out. But I could feel the tension. I think he wonders what happened to me. I think he believes that I never quite got the healing I needed.

But I did get the healing I needed. I’m not a sinner. I’m not against God or the sanctity of marriage, the church, or life. I am simply gay. I just finally told the truth about it and then took it a step further by LIVING INTO that truth.

In 2004, I laid in my bed and thought I was having a heart attack. I was 33 years old. I couldn’t breathe, even to speak, and was trying to rouse my ex-wife because I thought I might be dying. After this repeated several times, I went to a doctor to receive the news that I was having panic attacks. He asked what was wrong in my life. I told him nothing, to which he responded, “Okay…well, something’s wrong. These things don’t happen for no reason.” Thankfully, my work at that time was a bit complicated, so I pinned the panic attacks on job stress. I needed for it all to mean something else. Something other than, “You’re gay. And these attacks are your body living in full out rebellion of your choice to live as a straight man.”

If you are still reading and are a closeted gay evangelical worship leader, I want you to know that I would never presume to tell anyone what to do. Mostly, I just want you to know that I get it. And I am praying for you. And I lay in bed at night and think of you and hope you’ll be okay.

I want to tell you that if you come out, you’ll be alright. The truth is, it’s hard. But in my estimation, not so hard as living a lie.

I had a friend in ministry who was out, but not living that way. He was gay, while still serving in conservative evangelical Christian circles. I met him and heard his story. He was married to a woman and living what he believed the bible demanded of us—to engage only in a heteronormative marital experience. He had built a ministry to gay men who wanted the same. He was very open about his sexuality, while evangelicals applauded his efforts to “deny his flesh” and live as a straight man.

Two days ago, I “liked” several of his photos on Facebook. In them, his arms were wrapped lovingly around his boyfriend of two years. He didn’t last and neither did I. It was too much for both of us. After coming out, he told me of his struggle with suicidal ideation while desperately trying to live inside a heterosexual marriage. He loved his wife very much. But in the end, he couldn’t hold it together. Me either.

How about you?

I know what it’s like to stand in front of large crowds of people each week, tell them how much God loves them, while hoping you can hold your personal life together so they won’t think God’s love is a joke. That kind of pressure…it never belonged to us. I know what it’s like to serve alongside beautiful women and know they’ll always be safe with you—that the chances of falling into a sexual affair with them are exactly nil. I know what it’s like to keep coming across the same dude in every church that hires you. I know what it’s like to think, “I can’t go out to lunch with him alone. I need to set strict parameters around this friendship because I don’t want to hurt my family.”

And outside of church, I know what it’s like to walk down the street and see only the men in every couple that passes by. What it’s like to make eye contact with other gay men in the grocery store, gym, movie theatre…and if that gaze is held long enough for them to recognize you, to feel fear, and then shame. I know what it’s like to have the entirety of your worth (to yourself, the church, and God) rest upon the promise that though you might be gay, you’ll always choose to live a straight life.

God. Aren’t you exhausted? I know. Me too. I could hardly breathe.

It’s okay that you chose poorly when you thought you were choosing between gay and straight. The truth is, your pastors, parents, and teachers made it clear that you were actually choosing between straight and hell, which was no choice at all. I won’t go into the theology of it here because I think you already know we’re reading the bible wrong when we believe that fidelity and love and honor and faith between two people isn’t okay unless they are male and female.

If you decide to step into who you truly are, for many of you, hurting your spouse will be the hardest part. It was for me. I still carry echos of that pain and perhaps I always will. But I promise you; you aren’t holding things together by denying yourself the right to live authentically. And the church? Conservative evangelical christianity? They’ll be fine. Who you are cannot ruin a damn thing. We’re just not that powerful.

It’s okay to be gay. And it’s okay to live that way.

You can’t do this anymore, can you? Neither could I.

It’s okay.

*Matt’s book, Leather & Lace: A Gay Man, Lost Love, and a Road Trip With His Dead Sister captures the story of his journey out of evangelicalism and into his new life as a gay man. It is available in paperback, on AUDIBLE, and on e-reader.

Matt is a writer, speaker, and life coach with a passion for calling people out of their hiding places. He joins the ranks of writers such as Anne Lamott and Glennon Doyle in offering readers honest, raw, funny, and insightful compassion for the journey of life. He and his husband Chris live in Cincinnati, Ohio.