“Why do you dress like you do? Why do you make your gayness such a big part of your life? You are so much more,” my mom recently questioned me. Does she not realize this is who I am? I used to live a lie. She can’t understand. If she only could see my life as I do. If she had only lived the life that I had. That question would seem but foolish.

My name is Sean Andrew Berger. Born August 11, 1989, in a close suburb to Philadelphia, PA. Brown eyes. Light brown hair. I grew up a typical happy, and sarcastically funny boy. I loved matchbox cars, creating my own worlds of traffic on the living room couch. I loved to race people to the neighborhood fence where you could look through the cracks and see semi-trucks (a personal favorite) zooming by on the turnpike. I loved playing with neighbors and swimming in our little pool with slide. I loved to collect bugs and turn any day into a backyard adventure. Life was all about enjoying every moment of it. In my family, life was also all about Jesus. I grew up in a family where Jesus Christ and religion came first in everything. Praying before dinner. Praying before bed. Weekly church. It was standard. I memorized hundreds of Bible verses for church. It was drilled into me. In any decision in my life I was to put Christ first. I had no idea that very soon my faith would be shaken to its core, by a “choice” that I never made.

When I was around the age of five, I vividly remember an experience that would forever change my life. My mom received a phone call concerning my uncle. I would never, even to this day, find out the details of the call but they became irrelevant. The call brought my mom to tears for days. She needed counseling just to cope with its details. I was, as a young son seeing his mother in pain, very concerned for her and asked her just exactly what was wrong with my uncle. Was he dead? Hurt? Surely the reaction of my mother rendered something severe. “No, Sean, there is nothing wrong with him. I will tell you when you’re older,” My mom tearfully replied. She would however never need to explain. Piece by piece I put the puzzle together myself. My uncle must be gay. Being gay was a sin. Gays were to be hated. Gays went to hell. An unspoken understanding of the religion I grew up with. No wonder my mom was upset. Her brother was destined to eternal damnation. Soon after, I quickly became homophobic. I remember not sticking up for a gay student being picked on in the locker room. I remember not wanting to be around my uncle or respond to his emails. It wouldn’t be until the summer before middle school that I would find out that I was attracted to just guys. At that moment my memory of my mom’s reaction resurfaced. Surely, if my mom had this reaction about her brother, how much more she would be devastated by having a gay son as well. I remember one time questioning my mother about my Uncle in the guest room of our house. “Mom, can Uncle Phil ever change and marry a woman?” She simply replied not knowing its consequence, “Yes he can.” Right then and there I made up my mind what I was going to do. I was going to keep my attraction to guys a secret and somehow change my sexuality. They would never need to know. I would keep it a secret. Forever.

And I did. I regret my middle and high school years entirely. They are a missing decade of my life. Gone. Never to be gotten back. I have still never fully recovered. These years were nothing but silent suffering. Quiet pain. No one knew what was going on underneath. On the surface I was doing just fine. On the outside no one ever questioned me. I merely played the part. I excelled at playing three sports. I mastered two different instruments. I was actively participating in clubs and was getting straight A’s in school. No one ever knew there was a battle on the inside that was slowly killing me. No one knew that I never ever felt any happiness at all. I was viewed as just the quiet, shy kid in school. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I was simply holding back on the real me while screaming inside. I was scared to death that someone would find out that I was gay. I constantly felt guilty. Even about things that were out of my control, I would apologize. Many nights I could be found on my knees, begging God to change me, tears running down my face. I would attempt over and over again to get myself to be stimulated by girls but I never once succeeded. I would punish myself. Something was wrong with me. I needed to change. It would. Just not the way I had ever anticipated.

Eventually during my college years, my parents one night decided to investigate my computer while I was at work. What they found shocked them. Neither one of them expected to find guy on guy footage on my computer. They were devastated. I still remember coming home that night from work. It took all of a minute to know something was wrong. “Mom how are you?” No response. She just continued to wash the dishes. “Mom? How are you?” I said much louder so that she had to respond. She muttered something inaudible as she still didn’t even look up from washing the dishes. My heart sunk. My secret was out. I knew even before it was acknowledged. I would be brought to the basement as my sister was sent to bed. I had to pray on my knees to Jesus. I agreed to get counseling, scared. I had my phone and computer taken away from me. The next three days I lost over 10 pounds doing nothing but crying, throwing up and laying in bed.  My world came crashing down. My parents suggested that I drop out of college to focus on changing. I regretfully did. I became increasingly depressed, some days not being able to get out of bed. Less than a year later, I would come so close to committing suicide and ending my life.

Since almost killing myself, I have begun to slowly rebuild my life. I stopped going to the Christian counseling for my homosexuality, realizing that I cannot change. I have moved out from living with my parents and being surrounded by their ideals. I have come out to all of my friends and the rest of my family. I live proud, unashamed. Right now I am back in college working toward my major in communications and minor in business. I am building toward the future. A future that involves a husband someday. I am currently a volunteer in five different organizations trying to give back as much as I can. I want to turn my story of pain, isolation, silence into one of giving back, rejoicing, and hopefulness for others. I live to make the world a better place for LGBT individuals of the next generations. Why? So that they don’t lose a decade of their lives in painful silence, shutting down to the outside world. So that they can live vibrant lives celebrating who they are instead of crying themselves to sleep. So that they don’t live with regrets of not coming out sooner. So that they don’t feel as though they should end their lives. In the words of Harvey Milk, “I know that you cannot live on hope alone, but without it, life is not worth living.” I want to show people the hope that I have found. Hope to someday get married. Hope to someday raise a family. Hope of being accepted. Hope of being proudly me. “You gotta give ‘em hope.” And that is in the end what my life story has become. Hope.

So why do I make homosexuality such a big part of who I am? Mom, simply because I am proud. After years of hiding. After years of pain. After years of denial. I have learned that I am not a sin. I am not a mistake. My sexuality was not a choice. I need not be ashamed of who I really am. I need to let people see that my biggest scar, is the one that I am most proud of. “Welcome to my world of truth.”

I guess I’d been programed to just fit in and try not to be seen. I was scared of drawing attention to myself or making too many waves. I always based my decisions on how others would react to me or based on what others wanted. I always had feelings for women, but I suppressed them and told myself that couldn’t be me. That what I felt wasn’t right. I was never physically attracted to men but I started dating them because they liked me and I thought that was what I was supposed to do. They treated me well so I didn’t think what I felt mattered. At one point I was in a relationship with a guy I didn’t love and I always felt weird with him but since I’d never learned to listen to my own intuition and let that guide me, I stayed. My only saving grace was school. When I studied and learned I felt in control and I felt more in charge of my future. I excelled in that arena. One day, I found out I was pregnant by this guy with whom I was in a relationship.

I didn’t love him and I couldn’t fathom a future with him. That day I did a lot of soul searching and I decided I would get an abortion. We both agreed and I got one. That was the first decision I’d ever made strictly based on my needs and wants. It was the first time in my life where I’d asked myself what was right for me and focused on my feelings. Honestly I felt so good and free. I had never felt so grounded in my life. After that abortion, I started doing more soul searching and asked myself what I would do if I didnt care what anyone else thought. The first thing that popped into my head was to stop dating men. I realized that I never was atrracted to them and I’d only been dating men to please my parents. I was single for about a year and then one day I bumped into my first love, and she was a girl. I’d dated several people but I’d never felt attraction, lust and butterflies for someone before meeting her. I finally understood what all the hype was about and at that point I knew I was a lesbian.

I came out to people one at a time and I didn’t care what they thought because I was so happy. My parents and so many people I knew told me it was a phase and that it wasn’t me, because they were used to me fitting in to their definitions of who I was, but I felt so alive that there was no turning back. It was a second birth for me and since then I’ve been on a journey of self discovery and self love. I realize now that I have a right to exist and that I matter and what I feel is important. It sounds so simple, but I had never lived like that before. I never want to go back to being invisible and being afraid of who I am. My past has informed my present and will continue to inform my future. I’m out, i’m proud, I exist and I matter.

It was not just a few students, many students, both boys and girls participated in one form or another in the name calling and those that didn’t avoided me in the hopes of not being harassed or called names themselves. I grew my hair long and walked around bent over to avoid as much attention as possible, it took me a decade to walk upright again.

There seemed to be no one to turn to, upon arrival at MHS I was given no handbook, introduced to none of the councilors, given no information on who to turn to in case of problems, harassment, depression, thoughts of suicide, abuse at home.

My junior year, in the evening waiting to be picked up by a parent I accidentally ended up outside a Future Farmers of America (FFA) meeting that was just letting out. I was spotted, attacked, punched by one student after another, beaten to the ground surrounded by more than 20 students that kicked, yelled “faggot” and hit me until I finally managed to escape. No one at the school mentioned the bruises though surely they were visible.

In no way do I feel I deserve the way I was treated in MHS but let me make a few points clear: I never said I liked men in any way, never touched anyone, in fact I would go for days without speaking to anyone at all, had no friends or even people that would associate with me. At my former school in Junior High I had taken shop classes in welding and woodworking, something I continued at home during those years in Marshfield. In the summers I had participated in sports: racquetball and swimming. I was strong, and spent much time on our family ranch feeding cattle, shoveling out barns and raking, hauling hay in the summers. Now, there was no type of shop, sports or physical activity arranged by the school that I could now participate in as those areas were dominated by students who were directly the most violent to me and faculty that had witnessed harassment and done nothing.

Sometimes, I would sit in the back of the library and stare at the word “homosexual” in the Webster’s dictionary and think that if there was a definition for it there must surely be someone else out there like me, I just had to survive this awful place.

I want to mention two more things that happened while I was at Marshfield: Two upperclassmen that were dating and had gotten rather hot and heavy one night deciding to try to use cellophane wrap as a contraceptive (a prophylactic was something you could not buy in the evening in Marshfield at the time). She had gotten pregnant and had no idea what to do.

Then in my Senior year another student had died of hepatitis. It seems from rumors that my mother repeated he was gay and had been going down to a park in the nearest medium sized city Springfield, having unprotected sex. He had been a popular student but he just disappeared from classes. The only mention of his death was at the First Baptist Church where we both attended, the preacher telling the parishioners to “pray for the family that had lost their son.” Not for the dead son mind you.

Marshfield High School participated by not mentioning his death in any way, where the year before my arrival when a student had died in a car accident students were given a day off to deal with the grief. The message was clear: he had died a shameful death and should be quickly forgotten. Yet in both of these cases a very basic health class that explained contraception and disease prevention surely would have prevented one unwanted pregnancy, and one death. I might have been able to eventually even figure out that I was not entirely alone at the school.

Given all that happened and the lack of any support or protection you surely can understand why I graduated from MHS and left Marshfield without nary a look in the rearview mirror. I went on to obtain my Bachelors of Arts as far away as my parents would let me study and then eventually my Masters degree in Belgium. For most of the last 25 years I’ve lived in Asia, Korea, Taiwan and for the last 15 in China, my Mandarin is fluent, I’m a producer of advertisements, movies, television shows and documentaries. Along with my production house I also own a coffee shop and gallery. You’ve surely seen episodes of the Amazing Race, National Geographic documentaries or print advertisements that I have produced for. Also I am constantly arranging study trips and exchanges to China for students from my own college, the Association or Colleges of the South and even for the US State Department. I’ve even won a medal for my contributions to international understanding.

I’m not ashamed of being gay in fact it’s one of the first things I mention to people now so I don’t have to worry about it later. I work not just in China but around the world including Pakistan, Malaysia, Thailand, Europe, Mongolia, India and am considered one of the best location managers in Mainland China. I only mention this to point out that in all the world I have never been treated in such a way as within the hallways at Marshfield High School, Missouri.

Goodbye, good riddance.

Yet I feel prompted to write today for several reasons:

In the international news and papers I see that in Missouri things are finally changing, for the worse. You would think that in 20, 30 years something would have improved but now the state legislature is actually voting to have any discussion, or materials that mention sexuality removed from the school. Why not wipe out the mention of Jews, Gypsies, Rightists and Tutsi at the same time? And it would seem to force the school to remove that “offensive” Webster’s Dictionary from their shelves, just about the only thing that kept me going through those years at MHS.

Another graduate of MHS, a decade later than myself has written an “I’m from Driftwood” story of his own treatment. There was suddenly proof that the same thing, ten years after my own experience, almost to the detail, had happened to another and there must be a whole string of accepted abuse at the school that had lasted for at least that decade. Turning to the school’s website I can find no proof that it is not the same place today, with no indication that abuse of diverse students is not the accepted norm.

Having done nothing myself to try to change what happened to me why had I expected it to have changed on its own accord?

“There is a church on every street corner, practically. They are not open to gay, lesbian, GLBT lifestyle. We’ve had the thrift store here for just about six years. Several people just don’t come in here due to the fact it is run by a gay couple. But we have to live with that. It’s a touch situation, but what else do we do?”

After searching for the right surrogate, he’s finally found one and wonders what life will be like as a busy dad. Continue Reading to watch Henry’s story.

My three sisters and I never really wanted anything. We had two loving parents who were good providers. Our family was on the upper side of middle class and lived in a big house right next to the Tunxis State Forest. That was my safety place, my playground. No matter how odd I felt, or how often I got picked last for this team or that, I could always go to nature and feel safe and grounded. Nobody to judge you, and nobody to judge.

My family moved to Pennsylvania when I was 14 and everything changed. It got harder. Being the new kid AND adolescent AND feeling “different” — yikes! I didn’t know where to fit in so I didn’t try. However I retreated into books, music and art. Not a bad thing, but lonely. When I discovered that my differentness was being gay, I got really scared; in the mid-80′s that was bad. Plus there was this new “gay cancer” thing going around, later known as AIDS. I couldn’t disappoint my family. I was the only son and had to carry on the family name: Smith? Seriously? Yeah, that’s what I believed. Either way, I knew I wanted to be a dad and family man so I hid deeper in the closet.

This meant living a double life; very painful and NOT recommended. Eventually I met a woman I felt safe with and was able to be sexual with her, as long as I had my outlets. Again, not healthy. We stayed together for 14 crazy years and brought three wonderful kids into the world.

When the marriage fell apart, I finally decided, “Okay. This is it. That part is over so I might as well get honest.”  My wife was the first person I told, “I’m gay.” She struggled but felt like it was all the more reason the marriage needed to end. Mom was the second and she was proud of me. Ever have one of those moments where you finally say what you needed to, feel HUGE relief, like you can breathe again, only to have an, “Oh gawd! What the heck did I just do?!” Yeah. That was one of those.

It’s been a crazy journey from there. I fell into the joys of alcohol and depression for some time. Eventually, though, by being true to myself, and staying clean it HAS gotten better!  Some people ask, “So you’re saying everyone should come out at an early age?” No. I’m saying each of us have our own journey. We take the people we love on that journey and have to consider them as well. When/if we DO finally decide to come out, remember that our loved ones will have their own process with acceptance – or lack of acceptance. My dad still struggles and refers to it as a “moral and physical error.” I have to allow him that, but it doesn’t stop me from being true to myself. I believe by staying true and showing people that I am happy and comfortable with who I am, they’ll get there someday.

One of the interesting twists is my kids. Today they are 19, 15 and a half, and 13. You know what they think about my being gay? Not much. They had a harder time with the divorce and my struggle with alcohol. As far as being gay, they accept it, make jokes about it, tell their friends – in short they have the comfortable space with it that I never had as a kid. It makes me hopeful for LGBT youth today.

Wherever you are on your journey – regardless of your age or situation – be true to yourself, be respectful of others, and love your life!

My mother is from the neighboring town, and about as rural as it gets; my step-dad was born in Dothan, AL. Any time we talked about gay people, they were called queers, or fruits. Gay people were something to laugh at. During my sophomore year of high school, I decided to come out to my friends. My parents weren’t very social, so I had no worries about them finding out. Throughout the school day I would get my friends alone and tell them, and much to my amazement, everyone was happy for me (though there were a few mortifying “I knew it!”s). In the following week, as the word spread around school, I realized no one really cared. I mean, I had a few acquaintances stop speaking to me. Some of the really religious kids tried to get me to go to church with them, so I could be “saved.” But for the most part everyone acted like it was no big deal. After such a mostly positive reaction my confidence grew, and I decided I would tell my parents soon.

After work one night (and after drinking quite a few red bulls), I finally got the courage to do it. On the drive home I called my aunt and told her. She told me it was a phase, and laughed. While that might seem mean, that’s the kind of person my aunt is. To this day she says it’s a phase, but she doesn’t think any less of me or treat me any different. Next was to call my dad (he lived 60 miles away). His answer? “That’s nice, can I go back to sleep now?” I remember thinking, that was easier than I thought it’d be. Last but not least was my mother. I was still in high school and lived with her. Seeing as how I’d just gotten off of work it was around eleven at night, she was asleep. My step-dad, was working out of town. I went into her room and shook her awake, and said simply, “Mom, I’m gay.” It took a second for her to actually wake up and register what I’d said. But when it hit, she didn’t do any of the things I was scared of. She didn’t kick me out, she didn’t cry, she didn’t get angry. What she did was say, “Okay” and then proceeded to tell me she loved me anyways, and always would. Unconditionally. I was in awe. I had just done the thing that I had been deathly afraid of for a long time, and it was NO BIG DEAL. Even when my step-dad came home and found out, it wasn’t that bad. I mean it was a little awkward, seeing as how he’s a big country boy, but he never treated me any different.

I suppose the reason I’m writing this is to let those who aren’t out yet know that coming out isn’t a bad thing. It brought me closer to my friends and family, gave me confidence to be who I am, and let me be proud of it. Take the leap, even if you have a bad reaction, you’ll be amazed at how good it feels not to have to hide.

“What Exodus preaches is that there is freedom from homosexuality through Christ. Everyone who goes in there has same-sex attractions, that’s not something that’s debated about. The president, Alan Chambers, has even said that he still is attracted somewhat to the same sex, he just chooses to live in his marriage and his heterosexual relationship with his wife.”

After being encouraged to end friendships with anyone who was gay or accepting of the “gay lifestyle,” Robbie finally found a way to reconcile his religion and sexuality. Continue Reading to watch the video.

We’re now three years into our parenting adventure and for the most part, we don’t even think about how we’re different from other families. We don’t often think about how we’re like other families either. All families are different and being in the middle of raising a child, we just don’t take in the big picture similarities and differences very often.

Last summer our day care family (pre-toddler, toddler and preschool rooms) met at a sprayground park near the center on a Friday afternoon. Crystal and I spent a couple of hours taking turns chasing our son around the park and talking to other parents. We cooled off in the shade, snacking on string cheese and juice with his friends. We took a short walk on the nearby bike trail with another family. We watched as the kids ran through the cold water, screaming on a hot day. One of his classmates was absolutely transformed by the water from a quiet, shy child to a bouncy, bubbly kid. It was an idyllic afternoon and I hope it happens again this summer.

At some point in the middle of all the chaos I stopped for a moment and thought, “we’re the only two mom family here, but right now that just doesn’t matter.” Every family was enjoying the sun, water and spending time with friends. For those two hours it didn’t matter which family had two moms, an adopted child or divorced parents. It was a moment of clarity for me that even though our family is different, there are so many other ways that we’re a family just like any other.

Then I met Brianna at the age of 16, and the first time I kissed her the whole world shattered. I could no longer deny what I knew about myself…I was a lesbian. Brianna and I were together for about a year before our parents caught on. That was an unfortunate incident in itself. Bri’s mother came home early from work and found us sleeping in her bed together. On top of the covers. Naked. Needless to say there was a lot of screaming, and she called my parents to tell them what happened. So I didn’t really have to “come out” for myself. I was threatened with a “Pray the Gay Away” camp, so I threw myself back into the hetero scene, marrying my best guy friend at the age of 21. He knew I was gay, but we really cared about each other, so we thought we could make it work. You can guess how that ended, but I did get two beautiful children out of the deal. By the time we got divorced, he had turned into a raging alcoholic and I had fallen in love with his best friend’s wife (a love that was returned, for a while), so it was just a big mess. That fell apart (how could it not?) and I moved states to return to my hometown.

Obviously, I had to come out again to my folks as an independent adult, and found that it really wasn’t any easier. They have struggled with it because of their religious beliefs, but I truly think they have made some major headway in accepting who I am and seeing it’s so not a choice. At least we’re moving in the right direction, and I am so very thankful for that.

After a few failed attempts at relationships, I met my partner, online of all places. I could not find a more devoted, sweet-souled person. We have been together ever since, raising the kids as our own, and I am finally in a place where I can be honest with myself and others around me about who I am. Now I’m working on my degree and my writing career, as well as being an LGBT activist. My life is so full and so wonderful…I would not change a thing.

You can be gay AND happy. AND successful. AND fulfilled. For everyone out there still struggling, hang in there, baby. We’re all behind you.

Okemo Ski resort was only 7 minutes away but we felt isolated from civilization, which was fine as long as we had the essentials – alcohol, WiFi, hot tub and cute boys. The guys I was with were part of Boston’s FLAG Football League which is a gay football league. These guys were athletic, jovial, boisterous, but most notable, incredibly kind. Perhaps the conscious kindness was borne out of intimate understanding of the stigma and struggles we all had dealt with. We were sensitive to each other’s feelings and strove to cultivate a sense of inclusion, things that we had lacked to an extent while growing up due to our sexuality, whether we were public about it or not.

In that cabin we could be ourselves without inhibition or encumbrance. For me, this liberation carried over from Vermont. While, I had been out for almost two years and taking part socially in Boston’s gay community for just as long, this Vermont trip was a very different gay social experience. The difference was that after that weekend, I wasn’t just comfortable with being gay, but suddenly proud of it.

Since coming out, I have felt things I had long suppressed such as a yearning attraction, excited nervousness on dates and sparks from physical contact with a crush. But after Vermont, I also felt acceptance, belonging, and all the other clichés one hears about being open about one’s true identity. Granted, my facility with being gay was very gradual and to some, having it arrive two years after coming out is an exorbitantly long time. Yet after living most of my life under the guise of being straight, two years isn’t much and good things take time.

My “gay disclosure” has been an amble rollout. Very close friends at first, then people in Boston, then close family. I would cautiously choose who could know. Perhaps this was due to “cultural guilt” or my sense of family obligations. I’m Iranian-American, meaning born into an inherently conservative value-structured culture where community perception is paramount. However, I have relatively liberal parents who didn’t impose religiosity or outdated cultural standards on their children. They let us kids discover our own spiritual path, but with adherence to strict moral standards. They made sure we knew we were greatly loved and wanted our happiness above all. So given that, why hadn’t I come out sooner? It’s exactly because my parents and siblings have always been very loving and supportive that I felt a need to protect them. The Iranian-American community is known for being extremely judgmental and that bore heavily on my being open about my sexuality. The thought of anyone imposing judgment upon my parents for my being gay was infuriating. Despite having excellent parents, I knew that due to lack of awareness and generational discrepancies in perspective, some wouldn’t understand that one’s child being gay doesn’t have a single thing to do with parental competence or proper conveyance of moral values.

But in Vermont, I was able to let go of that false sense of obligation and consideration of others’ maladaptive prejudice as a determinant of how I live. Whoever would judge these guys in poor light due to an inalienable trait, was just uneducated. These were good, no, great guys with whom I had laughed and felt more alive than I had in years. It felt good to be among them. I felt happy. Really happy. If being gay meant I would be around such people, I started feeling fortunate to be gay.

Much of that weekend was broadcast to the public thanks to Facebook. My Vermont companions were “checking me in” at locations and “tagging” me in photos, and these Facebook postings had descriptions that made it conspicuous we were a big ol’ group of gays in the mountains. I used to be hyper-vigilant and quick to remove comments such as “guuurrrl” and “sexy” made by gay friends on my Facebook profile. But this time I was viewing these postings without stringent censorship and with abandon. The images reminded me of the sheer freedom and sense of camaraderie of the weekend. I didn’t want to delete any evidence that revealed I was having a gay old time. Suddenly, I wanted all my Facebook friends and the world to know this is what my life was now. I wanted people to know who I really am.

Perhaps the “It Gets Better” videos I re-watched on YouTube before my trip had inspired my sense of pride. Perhaps it was my growing frustration that a bigot like Rick Santorum could be seen as a viable Presidential candidate. Whatever the recent influences may have been, combined with my Vermont weekend, they compelled me with fortified resolve to proclaim, and even defend if need be, that I’m gay. It was a debate I was willing to take on with the confidence of knowing I was in the right; the biological, psychological, moral, humane, civil and constitutional right. (The last by virtue of definition, and unfortunately not current federal policy – yet.) After my Vermont weekend, I realized that when you’re open about being gay, about being your true self, it doesn’t just “get better,” eventually it can get great. So for all those people out there who still don’t know…yeah I’m gay. Thankfully.