A devout born-again evangelical Christian for, at the time, my entire twenty-five years of life, the divorce would declare publicly, for my faith community from the Midwest to the East Coast to see, that God was not enough for me—that my belief had faltered. Even if trying to suppress my queerness had felt like a kind of death and had driven me to consider taking my own life, I knew these struggles would not matter to my husband, my family, and to fellow evangelicals, to whom it would appear that I was purposefully, belligerently straying from the straight and narrow.
