My Gay Truth and the Catholic Therapist

Outed by a stranger, rejected at home, and seen — finally — in a Catholic therapist’s office.

Steve and Ladi on a late-night boat excursion for Day of the Dead, in Mexico City

Good Luck from Bad

There are many ways in which I’ve been lucky in my life. My family is not one of those ways. As much as they would hate to know it, a decision they made changed my view of myself.

I’m nineteen. I get home from the University of Houston, and my dad is in my bedroom, sitting on my bed. He’s holding a gay pornography magazine that he found under my mattress.

While I was at school, someone called the house pretending to confirm an order for “gay literature.” My dad didn’t ask questions. He hung up and went straight to my bedroom to see if he could find any proof of this crime.

There was plenty of proof: Playgirl, Mandate, Blueboy and some other magazines with names I can no longer recall.

He told me about the call. He asked if I had ordered gay literature. I told him no. That was the truth. I hadn’t ordered anything. He asked me if I was a homosexual.

I said yes.

“We’re not going to tell Mother.”

My father and I had a healthy fear of her.

Searching for Healing

The next day my dad went to church. He sat in the pews and cried. My father didn’t even go to church on Easter Sunday.

A counselor sat with him and asked if he needed to talk to anybody. They had the conversation. The counselor reminded my dad that he is a married man, that he had a wife, and it was unfair to carry this weight alone. He needed to tell her.

He came home and told me.

I said “I need to be there when you talk to her. It’s my life. I need to be in the conversation.”

The conversation went horribly.

My mother has never been able to mask her feelings. Disgust, disappointment, were easy to read.

“Why are you doing this to us? Do you hate us?”

To her, my life was something I was doing to them. She couldn’t imagine me having my own desires. My mother’s anger bolstered my father. Together, they could be cruel.

He told me that I was a let down to all Latino people, because I was the first gay Latino in history. My mother told me to “just stop it.”

What I didn’t know was the counselor had already made a plan — family therapy at St. Jerome’s.

I agreed to go, by myself. My parents could go on their own.

Unexpected Acceptance

That’s how I met Kris. At the time she must have been in her thirties.

She told me that while she was there as a counselor for the Catholic church, she understood not every truth was true for every person.

I was a late bloomer who had only recently began to understand my own sexuality. I joined a group at college and met other gay people, and now I did not feel alone. I was able to accept myself for who I am.

I have no idea what Steve said, but he always makes me laugh

I was not willing to lie to other people to make them accept me.

I was not willing to lie to myself to fit better into someone else’s world.

I was not willing to change who I was for my family.

I saw Kris three times. She was kind and considerate. She listened to me. On our third session, which was to be our last, she said:

“When my husband and I got married, we moved into a small, rundown apartment complex. We made friends with the couple upstairs. They were a gay couple. We never discussed their relationship, but their love was evident in how they looked at each other, how they touched when they thought no one was watching. I believe two men can love each other deeply and create a meaningful, lifelong relationship.”

I didn’t expect to cry, but I did.

I had come in ready to fight — to explain that I was already good as I was. Instead, she spoke about people like me with love and respect. It surprised me in the best possible way.

She continued, “I think you’re a well-adjusted gay man. I’ve been seeing your parents, and I’m going to suggest they continue counseling so they can accept you for who you are.”

A stranger at a Catholic church, who I met through my homophobic parents, became someone who gave me hope and strength. She gave me an acceptance my parents never would.

My parents left midway through their final session. Specifically, when she suggested I was a ‘well-adjusted’ gay man. They didn’t want therapy to help them accept me. They wanted therapy to change me.

Steve and Ladi enjoying a day outside in the sun

In modern terms, they did not want conversion therapy pushed on them, they wanted it pushed on me.

My father, who was not much of a church person to begin with, didn’t go back. My mother moved to St. Ann’s. She wanted a church that would agree with her.

What I Gained

Since then, I’ve reflected on that moment, and what the moment gave me.

I wish I didn’t have this underlying fear that people don’t like me. I wish that low-burn sense of not belonging would go away. And I wish I could pass a chocolate cupcake without wanting to eat a dozen of them.

Steve, my husband, has given me the family I’ve always wanted.

I would not change being gay. I’ve been with Steve now for 14 years, married for the last four.

Being gay is not a problem. Living in the world is the problem.

But the world is not immutable. My parents never came around. But because I was unwilling to become something different for them, because I was unwilling to hide who I am, because I was unwilling to let the world dictate how I lived, I’ve met people who have made my life infinitely better than it would have been otherwise.

I finally found a place where I don’t crave safety, because with Steve, I’m safe.

I looked for Kris but have never been able to find her.

Sometimes one person, with grace and kindness, can alter the trajectory of a life.

I’m Ladislao Loera — storyteller, writer, and dog‑walker. I write about love, grief, and the everyday moments that make us who we are. You can find out more about me at: Ladi Loera — Storytelling Teacher & Story Coach in Austin, Texas | Ladi Loera

Ladi Loera on his wedding day