A New Man A New Man
By Brad Sargent
For years I floated in “gender limbo,” feeling neither male norfemale. This pattern of asexuality had devastating effects on mydeveloping sexual identity.
“Neuter,” the entry read, “without sex; asexual … siding with noone; neutral.” As I closed my dictionary, I sensed the Lord wasclosing a long chapter of my life. For many years, I felt detachedfrom my gender, neither masculine or feminine. From childhood throughmy mid- 30s, I floated in “gender limbo”-absolutely terrified ofbeing male. But God had recently been making some major changes in mygender identity.
An early link to my fears of masculinity was a probable incidentof sexual abuse by a man when I was about three years old. I say”probable” because the specific details are hazy in my memory. Togain insight, I once spoke to an expert on male sexual abuse.
“Whenever I think about the situation,” I told him, “I can’t seemto connect with my body. I still see the scene as if I’m hoveringnear the ceiling of a bedroom, looking down at myself. I’m on the bedcrying, and that’s all I can remember clearly. Did something reallyhappen, or am I imagining it?”
“Brad,” he responded, “some type of abuse likely did occur. Thatkind of out-of-body experience does happen with some victims ofsexual abuse, especially if the abuse was really traumatic. Tellme-was there any kind of sexual acting out in your very early years?”
As I thought about his question, I recalled that before age five,I had pulled the clothes off two neighbor boys who were about threeyears old- the same age I would have been at the time of my ownabuse. Where would I have gotten such an idea in the first place if Ihadn’t seen or experienced it myself sometime earlier?
Another major event influencing my masculinity occurred when I wasfour or five years old. My father worked about 14 hours a day, and Iseldom saw him. He drank a lot, too, to drown his feelings.
One night Dad came home drunk. He and Mom got into another one oftheir loud arguments, which always upset me. It was my bedtime, so Iwas in my pajamas, waiting for someone to tuck me in.
This time I was more agitated than usual about their fighting. Ihate it when Dad and Mom yell! I thought. If men yell at women andmake kids feel so bad, I don’t want to be like him. I don’t even wantto be a man!
When finally Mom came to tuck me in, I looked up at her and said,”I hope you win!” In that moment, I nailed the coffin shut on myGod-given masculinity. I was alienating myself from Dad, my rolemodel. From now on, I would not be a man. And I would make it mybusiness to help women win in the world.
At age 11, another experience confirmed my dedication to detachingfrom Dad. One Friday evening, I went alone to see a new Disney movie,”Follow Me, Boys”. Fred MacMurray played a compassionate Boy Scoutleader who adopts a preteen boy when the boy’s alcoholic father dies.
Of course, the film stirred up all my longings for a perfectfather. Even though I’d distanced myself emotionally from my own dad,deep inside I still longed for his love.
I cried all the way home from the theater. After that, I stuffedmost of my painful feelings. For years, I rarely cried. I was like agenerator that had shut down.
About the time I began high school, all of my unresolved hurts andbottled-up feelings started affecting my behavior. By then, I felt sodivorced from my masculine nature that I considered myself a generic”person,” not a “male.” (I didn’t want to become a woman, though.)
My “inner vow” at age five to help women win became a means ofretaliating against my father. When I had a class assignment to givea speech, I always tried to choose a topic relating to women’srights. When I ran for student body president, I had a femaleclassmate give the required nominating speech. When I had free timeafter school, I hung out at the Past-Time Feminist Bookstore. And byage 17, I regularly attended meetings of the local chapter of theNational Organization for Women.
In terms of dress, I usually wore T-shirts and jeans in highschool. Nothing unusual about that, except that my T-shirts went asfar down my thighs as possible-covering up my genital area-and Inever tucked them in.
Eventually my fixation got to the point that I avoided everybathroom activity as much as possible-relieving myself, takingshowers, washing my hair-anything that reminded me I was a male. Ieven gave up drinking water for several years to decrease thenecessity of trips to the bathroom. That dehydration could havecaused severe internal damage.
To make matters worse, I’d realized since my early teens that Iwas struggling with a sexual attraction toward men and, less often,toward women. It’s still amazing for me to realize that I never actedon those strong sexual temptations. For one thing, I realize the Lordprotected me from falling. But I also feared that if I acted on anyof those feelings even once, I’d probably never stop.
In the middle of this turmoil over gender identity and sexualorientation, I became a Christian in my freshman year at college. Ihad grown up in a denomination where I knew all the right lingo, butdidn’t really know the Savior in a personal way. My older sister hadgone to the same college and became a Christian at a Bible-believingchurch. When I went to college, I attended the same church. Thepastor had just started a verse-by-verse exposition of Romans. By theend of Romans chapter two, I knew I wasn’t a believer and settled thematter!
Being a Christian didn’t bring immediate changes in my genderidentity, however. In my 20s, I grew a beard. For me, this was not asign of manliness, but a strategy to avoid manliness. I didn’t wantto look into a mirror and shave every morning, a daily reminder thatI was male.
Occasionally I reached out for help. But it was hard to findpeople I trusted enough to share the exact nature of my sexualitystruggles. I feared rejection-and not without reason. At age 25, Ifinally opened up and shared my burden with a pastor with whom I hada good friendship.
But over the next six months, our relationship deteriorated, dueto a series of problems on both our parts. Then one evening, heconfronted me. “I believe the friction between us is the result ofyour homosexuality.”
I was stunned. Not only had he labeled me “homosexual,” but he’dalso unfairly dumped on me one hundred percent responsibility for ourproblems. Inside, I made myself a promise: “I won’t ever share thatagain!”
Fortunately, God overruled my vow. Three years later in 1984, Ishared my struggles with a new friend, who accepted me and faithfullybegan praying for me.
A few months later, I attended a one-day seminar on “Hope forHealing the Homosexual.” What a revelation! Before that event, Inever knew people actually came out of homosexuality. Afterward Iprobably should have sought Christian counseling, but didn’t. Therewas no local ex-gay ministry in my area, so I tried to find healingalone by reading books on the subject. Although these books were somebenefit, what I really needed was the personal presence of other mento help me deal with my sexuality.
Then another milestone event happened shortly before I turned 34.I attended the 1989 Exodus conference, which opened up the avenue ofpersonal interaction and support for me in the midst of my struggles.
Soon afterward, I talked with a longtime friend and Christiancounselor. He was having a flood of male clients, and had begunnoticing the same underlying problems of confused masculinity andpassivity, whether the men were dealing with sexual addiction,homosexuality, or marriage difficulties.
So we started a support group for men to address gender andsexuality issues. This group enabled me to explore masculinity in thesafe environment of other men with similar problems.
I remember praying earnestly during one of the group meetings.”Lord, I want to thank You for making me a man. I don’t really knowexactly what that means. But I want to learn what being a man is allabout.”
For the first time in my life, I thanked God for my gender. Notbecause being a man gave me privileges or special access in societyor in the Church, but because the Lord God had intimately involvedHimself in shaping me.
Actually, I thanked Him strictly by faith, because I didn’t yetfeel masculine. My asexuality made me so insecure in my God-ordainedmasculinity that I still preferred being absolutely neuter.
But thanking God for making me a man opened up whole new vistas. Iplunged into studies on gender and sexuality issues. I spent hoursthinking deeply about what the Scriptures had to say aboutmasculinity, and what I could learn from Jesus Christ as the perfectrole model.
Since 1989, I have changed radically as the Lord has beenrestoring my masculinity. I am forging ahead, being more assertive,taking concrete steps to minister to others. Overall, I’m at peacewith my body, even though on occasion friends need to confront mybeing careless about personal hygiene and clothing styles. Oldpatterns die hard.
At long last, my feelings are falling into line with my choice toidentify myself as a man. Now it’s an adventure into new territoryfor me to explore what God says real men are and what real men do.
That’s not to say moving toward real masculinity or seekingtransformation to genuine manliness and heterosexuality isn’t painfulor hard. It is. But I can even joke about the contrast between theold days and what is happening now.
Recently, a friend and I were debating about where to eat out forlunch. Rather than a passive “I don’t really have a preference,” Isaid firmly, “Let’s go to the Mexican restaurant!” My friend seemed abit shocked at what seemed uncharacteristic assertiveness. Then Ipuffed up my chest and snorted, “Being decisive-what a gender rush!”
We laughed, but underneath there was a serious element to ourconversation. When I’m doing what God designed me to do-courageouslymove forward to impact my world-I have a sense of joy in being a man.And that’s something I could never have foreseen happening.
Just recently-and I’m 36 now-a reporter for a secular newspaperinterviewed me about my past. Her last question to me was thought-provoking: “How do you identify yourself now?”
I had never thought about it in quite those terms. I sat for amoment and contemplated an answer, then looked her in the face.Smiling, I said simply, “A man … a Christian man.”
Brad Sargent was a member of the 1992 Love In Actionleadership training program. He works as research/resource specialistfor Exodus International and is also a member of the steeringcommittee for the Christian AIDS Services Alliance. Copyright ©1992 by Brad Sargent. Distributed by Love In Action, PO Box 753307,Memphis, TN 38175-3307; 901/542-0250