It’s a given that queer people are the rule breakers, the ones
who stand outside what is conventional and challenge social norms.
That’s why I’ve been surprised to discover, in my conversations
with gay men over the years, that sexual guilt and self-doubt are alive
and well in our community, even among many who feel completely at ease
with being gay.
I think
of a man who sex life consists mostly of internet hook-ups. He says
that, at this stage in his life, he thoroughly enjoys what he’s doing. He loves the variety, and isn’t interested
in finding a regular partner. Still, he wonders out loud “Does
this mean I’m a sex addict?” “Does it mean I’m
immature and don’t want to grow up?” “Am I afraid
of commitment?” And so on. At the other end of the spectrum is
the man who has never had casual sex in his life and is completely
satisfied with monogamy. He wonders why he’s so “out of
step” with his friends, and asks if it means that he’s
hung up or fearful about sex. “Am I hiding out in my relationship?” he
asks.
One of
the most frequent sources of sexual guilt among gay men is the power
dimension of sex. Despite the fact that s/m has been out and visible
for decades, many guys who are turned on by fantasies of submission
or domination still worry that they suffer from some deep pathology.
The man who’s turned on by acting out fantasies of
being abused wonders if this means he really hates himself. He sets
appropriate limits: the “abuse” is just role playing, and
he’s self-respecting in every aspect of his life. Still, he asks “If
I improve my self-esteem will these ‘tendencies’ go away?” (And
he admits, guiltily, that if they will, he’s not at all sure
that he wants more self-esteem.) Another man, who is a loyal and tender
partner to his lover of many years wonders why he is “unable
to really love” because he and his partner act out fantasies
in which he owns and dominates his partner. They both have a lot of
sexual fun with each other, but he still he suspects (against all the
evidence) that he must harbor some deep, unconscious hatred of his
partner.
Another
man confesses that, while he loves having sex with his boyfriend,
he always comes the same way – by privately fantasizing his favorite
porn scenes. He wonders if this is a form of “cheating.” After
all, “normal” people don’t fantasize when they’re
making love with someone they care about, do they?
The man
who is attracted to younger men wonders if he has a “Peter
Pan complex.” The man who is attracted to older men wonders if
he has a “father complex.” The man who is attracted only
to men of another race wonders if that means that he “unconsciously” hates
his own, while the man who prefers his own race wonders if that means
he’s racist. A little psychology is a dangerous thing.
It’s alarming to see how many gay people are willing to surrender
authority over their lives to “experts” who supposedly
know better than they how they should live. Periodically, a client
asks me “Am I normal/healthy/well-adjusted if I…” followed
by a description of some sexual turn-on that he’s worried about.
I’m apparently then expected to issue a ruling – either “Yes,
my son, you’re normal, go in peace,” or “No, you
have deviated from the path of normalcy, you need therapy.” In
view of the history of my profession’s treatment of sexual minorities
(which, until fairly recently, was abysmal, and even today remains
less than ideal) I’m disconcerted to talk with so many guys who
are willing to surrender their power to professional helpers.
The problem
is that all these “normalcy” questions are
inherently alienating. When people ask if their behavior is “normal” they’re
assuming that some scientific yardstick of “normal behavior” exists
which doesn’t merely reflect social norms. They’re also
assuming that being “normal” is something they should want,
although they’re rarely able to explain why. And of course, the
only ones who have the credentials to apply the normality yardstick
are a cadre of mental health experts on whom they have to pay to answer
their questions for them.
I usually
respond to “Is this normal?” questions with
questions of my own, such as, “Do you enjoy what you’re
doing? Does it bring you pleasure and fulfillment? Is it harming you
or anyone else?” When we redirect the focus of the discussion
from “normal” to a discussion of happiness versus unhappiness,
or harming versus non-harming, the client becomes the expert, because
each of us is the world’s greatest living authority on what brings
us joy and fulfillment, and what doesn’t. Competent therapists
may be able to help facilitate reflection on these kinds of questions,
but they have no corner on the answers. Sexual confusion, shame, and
guilt are the price we pay when we buy into the idea that someone else
knows better than we do how we ought to feel or what we ought to enjoy.