Coexistence
Written by Avelyse - Massachusetts, USA
For much of my life, I thought that my beliefs and my bisexuality could never coexist. Raised in a Christian faith that emphasized strict lines of right and wrong, the idea of reconciling my queerness with my love for God seemed impossible. Ever since I became aware of my attraction to girls, I felt a deep rooted shame in my stomach at the thought of being a living example of sin. As I listened to the adults around me talk about the innate heresy of people like me, I began to feel like I didn’t belong in the Christian Church The notion of being both authentically myself and a beloved child of God was a paradox I couldn’t navigate—it came to a climax the final day of a church retreat in seventh grade. I was there with a youth leader, someone I trusted, and as I finally spoke the truth of my heart, the words felt like a confession of guilt. I came out to her, trembling, terrified that God would reject me. My tears flowed as I whispered "I think God hates me." Back then, I was convinced that my identity, which had only recently blossomed within me, could not be accepted by the Creator I had always been taught to revere.
But as time went on, I am endlessly proud to say that I learned to embrace both my queerness and my faith. I am a bisexual Christian, not as a contradiction, but as a wonderfully integrated whole. I realized that love itself is divine in all it’s forms, and that the God I believe is one of unconditional kindness and understanding—who would never turn away from me simply because I am different. Instead of feeling rejected, I began to experience the profound peace of knowing that my two identities were not opposites, but parts of a greater truth.
One of the practices that brought me back, closer to my faith, was my continued presence in the church. I have been attending since I was a child, and while my views evolved, my connection to this community remained. I found joy in returning to a space where, despite the occasional tension of my inner struggles, I could still feel the pulse of God's love. From the rituals of worship, to the soft hum of a prayer in the stillness of a service, to the sense of togetherness in communal song, the threads of comfort, slowly wove me back into the fabric of the spiritual life I had known since childhood.
Yet the most profound revelation came when I began helping out in the kids' church downstairs. In the little ones, I saw unbridled faith, joy, and curiosity—the purity and wonder of a relationship with God that I had once known. They hadn’t yet been told the limits of what love could be or who could be worthy of it. To them, God was simply love, and love was God. It was a reminder of what the church should be striving for—not rigid rules and divisions, but the boundless, innocent faith that lives in every heart since birth.
In moments of the children’s joyful faith, I found my own healing. I could hear the whispers of God once again—not the angry voice I feared when I was younger, but a loving, affirming presence that encouraged me to embrace all that I am. Through prayer, I started to reconnect with the divine in a deeper way. In the quiet moments of solitude, I found peace in knowing that God sees me as whole, as a beautiful reflection of love.
