“It has been said: ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.’ This phrase aims to portray the insignificance of words, and the importance of actions, however, I believe that this phrase creates a false dichotomy. It puts more emphasis on actions and less on words. When in reality, words can hurt just as much as a punch to the face. The things which were done to me and said to me led me to feel ashamed of and hate myself and wish I was never born. If I was a canvas, my experiences were colour and life was the painter, I would be a masterpiece displaying the horrors of what happens to an individual when they aren’t loved unconditionally.”

As a black man born in a white-majority country, Britain, with a vast past of colonialism and slavery, I struggled to feel as if I was actually a member of this society. I can remember watching the news or listening to family and friends and feeling this weird emotion of rejection. My family and friends loved me, but my country didn’t. They said they did, but how black people were portrayed in media and treated proved Britain valued black lives less.

Homophobia was rampant throughout my family. Jamaican music was the preferred music in my house. I can remember creating dance routines with my cousin which we would perform to make our family happy. Looking back, we did some embarrassing things to put a smile on their faces; however, occasionally homophobic Jamaican music would be played which advocated for the suppression of gay people. When I heard these songs fear would shoot straight through me. I would think to myself: ‘What if they found out about me? What if they found out that I was gay?’ As a child I always knew I was gay, but I existed in a culture which disapproved of homosexuality.

Can you see through my past experiences, why I would hate my existence? Feeling rejected by my country, but also feeling rejected by my family. Britain never told me directly that they didn’t like me. Neither did my family, because of my sexuality, but their actions and words demonstrated that they didn’t like me. The actual me. They would only like me if I was the false version of myself they approved of. But Jesus! Not the Jesus my old church taught me; the one who hates the LGBT+ community. But the true Messiah, the lover of the world. I type these words with love overflowing in my heart. Jesus SET ME FREE. He loved me; not the false me or the preferred me, but the REAL me. If it wasn’t for Jesus I would still hate myself and feel ashamed because of my race and sexuality, but Jesus has taught me to love myself, not just the parts which my country accepts (my talents) or what my family accepts (my humour), but all of me, including my race and sexuality. My Christian faith has been the integral component in the restoration of my personhood. It has pieced back together what actions and words smashed and made life worth living again. Sticks and stones broke my bones. Words did hurt me, but Jesus, the Messiah and Great Physician, restored me. I can happily say: I am a born again black gay Christian man.