Channeling my inner #TrevorLawrence

Thirty seconds left. First and goal. The Jacksonville Jaguars are just three yards from victory, and quarterback Trevor Lawrence is on the brink of one of the biggest wins of his career. The stadium is electric. The snap comes—Trevor takes the ball—and then chaos. His own teammate accidentally steps on his foot. He crashes to the turf.

But here’s the thing: he doesn’t panic. He knows he still has time. Three more downs. Twenty-five seconds. He tries to get up—falls again. And then, in a moment that feels ripped from a movie script, he rises. He dodges defenders, scrambles toward the end zone, and dives in for the touchdown. It’s raw grit. It’s heart. It’s the kind of play that makes you believe in something bigger.

If you haven’t seen it, stop what you’re doing and watch it here. Trust me—it’s worth it.

🌈 The Wake-Up Call I Didn’t Expect

Over the past few months, I’ve found myself in situations that feel eerily similar to Trevor’s scramble. Life has thrown me off balance more than once lately, and each time I’ve hit the ground, I’ve had to decide: do I stay down and regroup, or do I get up and run?

As a gay dad, I’ve watched our rights slowly erode. It’s not just the legal battles—it’s the quiet fear that creeps in when I walk down the street, wondering if I’m safe. That sense of needing to look over my shoulder? It’s exhausting. And it’s infuriating.

In the past, I’ve responded to setbacks with strategy—resetting, planning, waiting for the right moment. But now? That moment is here. It’s time to channel my inner Trevor Lawrence. No more waiting. No more playing it safe.

🏳️‍🌈 Time to Run Toward the End Zone

We’re being knocked down by bans on rainbow sidewalks. By laws that strip rights from our transgender family. By threats to marriage equality. By policies that deport immigrants without due process. These aren’t just political issues—they’re personal. They’re human.

So here’s my call to action: Get up. Run. Dodge every tackle. Push through every barrier. We don’t need perfect plans—we need relentless courage. We need to fight for the rights of every person who’s been told they don’t belong.

💥 Final Thoughts: The Game Isn’t Over

Trevor’s touchdown wasn’t just a sports moment—it was a metaphor. For resilience. For urgency. For refusing to let setbacks define the outcome. And right now, in this moment, we are all Trevor Lawrence. We’ve been knocked down. But we’re not out.

So let’s rise. Let’s run. Let’s fight like hell for the win—not just for ourselves, but for every person who deserves to live with dignity, safety, and love. The clock is ticking. The end zone is in sight. Game on.

Breaking the Silence: Grief, Identity, and the Journey to Self-Acceptance

A few weeks ago marked the 29th anniversary of my son’s death. He was just an infant when he passed, but the impact of that loss has echoed through every chapter of my life. For years, I carried a weight that no parent should bear—the belief that I was responsible for his death.

On the day he died, I tried to perform CPR. I wasn’t successful. That moment haunted me for the next 17 years. I convinced myself that his death was a punishment from God for being gay—a truth I hadn’t yet shared with anyone. The guilt was relentless, and the shame unbearable.

One of the most painful triggers came unexpectedly. A year ago, I was helping set up a CPR class at work. Everything was fine until I saw the baby mannequins. In an instant, I was transported back to that traumatic day. The grief surged, raw and unfiltered.

It wasn’t until I came out in 2012 that I began to confront the layers of pain I had buried. I started seeing a therapist—something that was stigmatized in the community I grew up in, especially if the therapist wasn’t affiliated with a church. But I knew I needed help, and I was fortunate to have insurance that made therapy accessible. Those sessions became a lifeline.

Through therapy, I learned that I did not cause my son’s death. I began to unravel the guilt, the shame, and the internalized fear that had kept me closeted for so long. I had spent years imagining a devil and an angel on my shoulders, each whispering conflicting messages. After my son died, people told me he might have lived if I had prayed more. Those words cut deep and forced me to reevaluate the role religion played in my life.

The grief was overwhelming. I would visit his grave and sob uncontrollably. Sometimes, I found myself in very dark places. Before coming out, I struggled with how to reconcile my identity with the expectations of my family, friends, and community. I even contemplated ending my life to avoid the shame I feared would come with being honest about who I was.

But eventually, I chose to live authentically. Some called it selfish—that I prioritized myself over my marriage and daughter. But I knew that hiding any longer would destroy me. Coming out was not just about claiming my identity—it was about reclaiming my life.

Therapy helped me understand that God loves me as I am—not as someone molded to fit a congregation’s idea of a man. I learned to process my anger, to embrace self-care, and to forgive myself. The phrase “self care is health care” became more than a slogan—it became a truth I lived by.

I share this story now because I know I’m not alone. If you’re carrying guilt, shame, or fear—please know it’s okay to put yourself first. It’s okay to seek help. It’s okay to be true to who you are. Don’t wait 17 years like I did. You are worthy of love, healing, and peace.

I haven’t shared this story widely before. But today, I choose to be part of the movement to break the stigma. I choose to be #exposingdad—not for attention, but to encourage others to speak their truth and seek healing.

Thank you for letting me share mine.

Exposing Dad: Life after the Closet

There are many things in life to experience – some good and some bad. This blog was created to chronicle my experiences as a 45 year old father of two coming out of the closet. While many I have spoken to have had nothing but positive experiences, mine has been full of joys and extreme heart-break. My purpose is to tell my story and, at the same time, support those men who have taken that same step but found the other side of the closet to be full of storms before you can see the ultimate rainbow. Join me — maybe you’ll learn something – or maybe you’ll teach me something. I’m game.