Moving Shadows into Light: My Journey as a Gay Male Survivor

Could it happen to me, too? 

I grew up during a time when it was believed that men could not experience rape or sexual assault. And it was not until my freshman year of college when I found an article which spoke about how men too can experience sexual coercion. I began fervent research on male survivors of child sexual abuse, specializing in understanding the physical and psychological impacts of this trauma. Many articles focused on the idea of hypermasculinity, which was defined as sexual promiscuity, aggression, substance usage, alexithymia (the inability to understand and/or express one’s emotions), and many other symptoms some males exhibit after surviving sexual trauma. However, this hypermasculine description did not fit me. I quickly started to see how my androgyny, my lack of promiscuity, my aversion to substance usage, my lack of aggression, and being very in touch with my emotions didn’t fit the script. I began to seek out other depictions of masculinity after having survived adverse childhood experiences myself.

As I continued to take in article after article, one phenomena stood out the most: men underreporting sexual abuse, sexual assault, and other sexual trauma due to the fear that they would be considered homosexual and that their masculinity would be questioned. It seemed there was no language around male survivorship at all - even when telling other gay men I was raped at the time, responses centered around how rape is another word for sex, so I must have wanted and enjoyed it. 

“One phenomena stood out the most: men underreporting sexual abuse, sexual assault, and other sexual trauma due to the fear that they would be considered homosexual and that their masculinity would be questioned.”

This same sentiment was reflected in my experience with the medical system. Sitting in front of a doctor and a student hours after an assault, I began to tell these two women about my experience. I thought maybe the doctor would do a rape kit or have me go to another location to collect evidence, but this was not the case. Before I could spill my heart out and share the details of what occurred, the doctor had already made up her mind about what happened. She seemed genuinely confused that a male could be sexually assaulted by another male. The outcome was disheartening as I watched the samples and swabs taken thrown into the wastebasket. I had gone without washing the dirty feeling off my violated body, only to be told there was nothing they could do except run STI tests the following week. My heart sank. 

When I was 15 years old, I came out about surviving sexual abuse from ages 5-7. Instead of being met with support, the resounding response rang out that surviving incest had made me gay. I was even told this by another perpetrator of incest in my teenage years.

Navigating sexual violence as a gay man has presented countless challenges. I have often asked myself “Can I be a part of Me Too? Where am I allowed?” And this web only became more complex as I reckoned with my incest abuse.

Incest does not look one specific way.

Mine included the nightly ritual of one harmer popping every pimple on my body so that I looked good for them. There were times I felt like a sexual surrogate or place holder until one of my harmers was remarried. The other spent my teen years hyper-focused on my puberty, crossed boundaries of bringing up my genitals to others, comparing my genitals to those they were involved with, and engaged in sexual humiliation. These individuals lost the title and respect of the word “parent”, and I remain estranged from my natal family. The estrangement over the years has become mutual and is a boundary to protect myself from those who harmed me. 

The irony is not lost on me that the homophobia and bigotry that led to me being ostracized and disowned also led to my freedom. It has been a journey, and I recently celebrated being out of the closet for seventeen years. 

Looking back, the “love” I received from my natal parents was transactional and conditional. No child should ever have to endure being told they are not loved, that they must do things to earn love, and that their value as a child was based on what they could do for the people meant to protect and love them. I am fortunate to have a single parent who adopted me, took me in, and showed me unconditional love, who tells me that our home is my home too, and who I do not ever have to fear abuse from. 
 

Finding family in the darkness.

My Dad started off as my photography mentor my sophomore year of high school. I was in a photography course in a town that told me loudly and proudly that I did not belong because I’m gay. In fact, I was called “the gay kid” by the principal of the high school. The school allowed students to sexually harass me in the middle of the hallways and between classrooms. I was told that I was the problem — not the homophobia. I had other male students grope me, yell from cars that I should sexually please them, was asked by a teacher “when will you be normal again?,” and saw students who threw shards of broken pens in my face given a slap on the wrist. 

I had no gay role models or people I could turn to at that time, so when a teacher asked me to research and photograph in the style of my favorite photographer, I took that opportunity to find my people. That library search for “gay photographers” led me to my now-father’s website, where being gay was not something to be ashamed of, and where his photographs gave me hope. This chance finding led to an interview and my favorite gay photographer became my mentor. 

Despite the untrue and vicious accusation that my now-father and I were engaged in a sexual relationship, he is the only parent to not sexually harm or abuse me in any way. Being the gay son of a gay father did lead to people asking if this was a father/son relationship or a Daddy/son relationship, and I’ve experienced past boyfriends asking me very awkward questions about whether I had ever had sex with my father. The gross assumptions led me to ask, “should I be asking you the same question about you and your parents?” Being a survivor of incest and rape, these were painful questions. Yes, I could have talked about my abuse and estrangement from my natal parents, but that would not have eased the curiosity. I’m grateful to say that I no longer get asked if I’ve been sexual with the man who took me in, gave me a home, legally adopted me, and has protected me ever since I met him. When I was an unhoused, gay teen my senior year of high school, he became my parental figure and I am proud to now call him my Dad. 

“If it were not for my Dad, I don’t think I would have survived being raped my senior year of high school.”

If it were not for my Dad, I don’t think I would have survived being raped my senior year of high school. One man told me I was his boyfriend, but I later learned that that was another word for ‘property’. He was a registered sex offender, and my sexual abuse and grooming history as a child made his job all the easier. I was ashamed and believed this harm was my fault. I couldn’t find the words to tell anyone. 

But I had a bracelet from my Dad that he gave me when I had been kicked out one final time [by my natal parents] for being gay. The bracelet was metal and one that he never took off, so that I would have a piece of my Dad with me no matter where I was. When I was being raped, I looked at that bracelet. I felt the words engraved on it, felt the cool metal on my wrist, and simply looked at it for the strength to hang in there and find the power to end the harm I was experiencing for months. If it wasn’t for that bracelet, that symbol that my Dad is always with me, I would have crumbled. I could have easily given up at that point. I had been sexually abused by two people, raped by a friend, and then felt imprisoned by a registered sex-offender. 

While playing with my bracelet in therapy, I finally disclosed what was happening. My therapist at that time accepted me as I am, despite all the messaging I had received that I was wrong for existing. When I told her, she helped me create a plan. I packed up everything and gave my offender a day to leave. That was the first time I stepped into my power. 

However, the pain of sexual abuse does not end just because the person is no longer in our lives. My abusers took my virginity and my innocence, and they took away my childhood, my connection to my body, and later a prestigious scholarship. Traumatized by my previous experiences, I planned to flee as far away as I possibly could - to Australia. In doing this, I left university and gave up academic opportunities that directly connected me to queer mentors. While incest did not directly take these things away, the desire to not face the pain I endured for years made me feel like I had to give up everything for what felt like freedom. Ultimately, I decided to come home after a summer studying in China. I’m grateful I chose not to run away. In coming home, I chose myself and my adoptive and chosen family over my harmers and pain.  
 

Moving past harmful stereotypes.

There is a large misconception that only gay or bi men experience child sexual abuse. Through my work with clients both as a social work intern and as a healing circle keeper, I can say firsthand that anyone can be the victim of child sexual abuse. Gender, sex, sexual orientation, gender expression, and gender identity are not defined by whether one is a survivor of incest. I am hopeful that we have moved into an era where there are more male survivors speaking out, where we have accepted that all genders and sexes are capable of being sexually violated, and where sexual orientation and gender expression are not defined by sexual abuse. At one point, I thought being overweight would protect me from further sexual assault, and I learned I was mistaken. Being thinner, focusing on muscle mass, or remaining overweight did not protect me at any of my ages. 

Rape, sexual assault, incest, and child sexual abuse are ultimately about power and dominance. They are acts that strip the victim of autonomy, remove safety in one’s body, and where the person is used as an object. They are acts that give the harmer power and control through their cruelty. They are acts of abuse, forcible and non-consensual, in which the harmer forces the harmed to submit. 

Growing up around so much homophobia, I felt hopeless. I didn’t see a world outside my window: my prison cell. My grandmother, who is someone I see as a mother to me, believed in me and my potential. She saw a version of me I did not see in myself. She was always there for me, even coming over to care for me when her divorced in-law was too drunk or high to care for me or when her own child refused to protect me from abuse by their spouse. But my grandmother saw my potential and love of school, and she believed I had a bright future ahead. Shortly after I came out, the movie Milk was playing. My grandmother took me to the theatre to learn about Harvey Milk’s life, showing me someone to look up to and teaching me that the future is what I choose to make it. 

Choosing a path to community and hope. 

I began reading Harvey Milk’s “Hope Speech” every day before school to give me hope. Between re-reading his speech and my new-found passion for photography, I saw a world outside of the daily abuse and harassment I experienced both at home and at school. I went on my journey to find hope. I joined my school’s Gay Straight Alliance (GSA), attended Boston’s Alliance of Gay and Lesbian Youth (BAGLY), volunteering with LGBTQIA+ organizations, was appointed a commissioner for The Massachusetts Commission on LGBTQ Youth, canvassed in Maine against Prop 1 to fight for marriage equality, and marched in the National Equality March on Washington D.C. to fight for LGBT rights. My activism was a big part of my teens and empowered me in claiming my identity. 

While I continue to deprogram ideas and behaviors I was taught while growing up, I’m grateful that I didn’t let others’ beliefs around homosexuality and survivorship hinder my growth. I’m not saying that healing is easy as I continue on the path, even as a survivor helping others to heal. But I want people to know that life is not over after this experience, and that there are spaces where it is safe to share your story. 

I survived and endured a great deal at the hands of my abusers during the first nineteen years of my life. It is true what they say - healing takes time. Being re-parented and choosing my adoptive parent helped me heal. It took me investing in myself and prioritizing my safety, finding my people and community, and it took hope to get where I am today. Being harmed does not mean we are helpless and hopeless. And when those around us doubt us, we can create and find our own hope. I’m an openly gay and disabled budding social worker, and I’m blessed to be holding healing space for the people I work with. 

RESOURCES THAT HELPED ME ALONG THE WAY

• Hidden Water NYC
• The Drama of the Gifted Child: The Search for the True Self by Alice Miller
• The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel van der Kolk, M.D.
• “You’ve Got To Have Hope” Speech Text by Harvey Milk, 1977
• “The Hope Speech” by Harvey Milk, 1978 (read by Sir Ian McKellen / YouTube)