Dr. Tyler Lefevor has learned how to transform his pain into results. His trauma into a way to reframe and evaluate. His research into a love letter to his former self. After completing his doctorate in psychology from the University of Miami and a post-doctoral fellowship at Stanford, Tyler now conducts his research from a lab at Utah State University, where he works as a professor, while also operating a small private practice. Four years deep in a ten year research study on the longitudinal happiness and religious affiliation trends of LGBTQ+ people raised in the LDS faith, some of Tyler’s findings thus far are surprising, and some on par with common presuppositions:
LDS, LGBTQ+ people who stay in the church are not necessarily less happy than those who leave. (While this finding “gobsmacked” Tyler, he finds it empowering that people find ways to happiness regardless of their status.)
Four years after coming out, queer and trans LDS members are overwhelmingly less religious than they were prior, and every three years, most queer LDS members reevaluate and step away in some form.
Younger members of the church leave much faster than those in their 50s-60s+ who often were raised with different dogma and as a result are more likely to be in mixed orientation marriages with children, and to have built a life around the church.
People who religiously de-identify typically suffer psychologically for it during the process as they seek to find their personal coherence and community, though they are not worse off at the end of the day.
Parents who prioritize openness, communication, and love during their children’s coming out process rather than overemphasizing their political and ideological identities enjoy stronger relationships and more connectivity with their children.
While it is typical for queer kids to leave, and leaving proves to be a hard process, most in the study who left the church find ways to create meaningful, beautiful lives that “just look differently.”
Finding a diverse survey pool was of course a challenge for Dr. Lefevor’s study. He had to work much harder to recruit more conservative LGBTQ+ folks to participate. Not surprisingly, of the 1,000 LDS bishops his team cold called to request participation, they found it was bishops who had more personal proximity to an LGBTQ+ loved one who were more open to participating.
Proximity to Tyler grants a peek into a life that finds him waking up religiously at 5am every day, a dedicated pattern not surprising of PhD level scholar types. Tyler loves the gym and working out and has run four marathons and one Spartan race. He and his husband Brock frequently hike together, and love to spend time in the kitchen cooking. They have a fun, robust group of friends who recently joined them for Brock’s drag-themed birthday party where each of their friends dressed up as one of the drag names Brock has playfully created for himself.
In his current private practice, Tyler mostly treats patients identifying as queer, trans and nonbinary, and their families. As Tyler identifies as a cis-het queer man and has stepped away from the institutional LDS church, the recent clarification in the handbook regarding LDS trans members didn’t personally affect his day to day. Yet in his office and beyond, he sees a vast community who is hurting.
Recently interviewed by CNN about the policy shifts, Tyler said the updated policies are “really unfortunate” as they reduce the liberties local church leaders take in their interpretation of church policies.
“This is kind of the church’s way of saying, ‘No, this is how we want you all to do it’,” said Tyler. “The greatest harm is in the implication for trans members of the church just saying, ‘We really don’t want you here, please leave, (and) if you’re going to be here, you have to conform to these really high level of expectations on how you present yourself. I think that’s the damaging part of these new (updates).”
That being said, Tyler has taken concerted steps in his own life to not be defined by other’s actions. “I don’t want to see myself as a victim of how people treat me. I’d rather draw appropriate boundaries and work toward being who I want to be.” Tyler has learned to exude patience in his dealings with others and give those close to him space when they need more time to wrap their heads around new information. This has meant anticipating and accepting the fear and confusion some in his family of origin showcase every time he takes a new step away from the “anticipated LDS path,” which for Tyler has included not attending church anymore and marrying his husband, Brock, three years ago. “‘These steps have brought on moments of pause, reflection, and ultimately an attempt by all for understanding and growth.”
Working to create change that will make the world better for future generations, Tyler posits it’s “the systems of power in an institution perpetuating the cis-het normative” that direct him where to point his rage. “It’s not my family. If I can channel it at the right source, I can try to bring love to my family rather than forcibly changing their way of thinking.” He recognizes his own desire to have married likely stemmed from his family-centric upbringing. In reference to the LDS faith’s lack of support for marriages like Tyler’s and Brock’s, he says, “On the other side, I hold the power systems of it all accountable. It’s not fair and shouldn’t be like this. We shouldn’t have to experience such a burden to come out; we have to accept people’s experiences as their own. How can we make a world where this can happen?”
After months of scribbling, “I’m going to tell him tonight” in his journal, 15-year-old Tyler stood outside his dad’s office door when he first told him he liked men’s bodies. His dad asked if he wanted to work out more. Tyler replied, “Yes, that’s it. I want to work out more.” Tyler continues, “And then we left it there for a decade.” Soon after, he told a bishop, who asked, “Are you acting on these feelings?” Tyler replied no. The bishop said, “Good.” Tyler says, “It was awkward, shameful. No one outwardly threatened rejection; they were just people upholding the heteronormative world view. And they collectively whisked away my queer identity for a decade.”
After being born in Salt Lake City, Tyler says he experienced joy growing up between Los Angeles County, Colorado Springs, and West Jordan, Utah. He was raised in the LDS faith with four siblings, and “grew up the perfect golden child who loved my family and the church environment.” He went to BYU, had a great time on his mission, served as Elders’ Quorum president for three years, and for a year-and-a-half, dated a woman (who remains one of his best friends and who performed the marriage for Tyler and his husband). She was the first individual in Tyler’s life to whom he confessed he had “same-sex attraction,” later figuring and assuring his family he would just handle it the way much talked about LDS gay men like Josh Weed and Ty Mansfield did in mixed orientation marriages. There were times in their relationship that Tyler’s girlfriend would ask why Tyler didn’t cuddle with her during a movie. Tyler’s reply: “I didn’t know you wanted that.”
He continues, “It took me a couple years to see attraction is supposed to provide the glue between people wanting to build a relationship and connection.” Fraught with his lack of physical feelings, the two ended up breaking up, and it took some time for Tyler to vocalize what he was experiencing. As he became more open and filmed a “Voices of Hope” video, the ripples complicated his parents’ lives as more of their friends started to know.
Tyler now deeply appreciates the core level of his family dynamic, which he credits the LDS church for instilling. “My family’s commitment to our connection has kept me from rejecting the church entirely.” He’s clear to state that for him, “Mormonism is a cultural connection, not my religion. I’ve reclaimed the word in a sense regarding my identity because my family has stayed engaged in this interpersonally—a process that’s made it impossible for me to fully say the church or Mormons are bad because the church has worked so deeply well for my family and their spouses. I had to reconcile that it can work so well for others while not working so well for me.” While he’s observed the fear-driven thought train that guides many, Tyler concludes, “Who am I to say you need to dissemble your whole world view when your world views give so much? Maybe it’s better to say, how can you adjust your world view?”
When he was trying to figure out his own life, Tyler sensed immense purpose and meaning in studying how LDS-raised LGBTQ+ understood their orientation and faith, thus launching his study. He found there was no comparable research out there to the decade-long study he has now since begun, filled with questions and data “26-year-old Tyler was dying to know.”
With the many queer and trans LDS clients Tyler works with, he’s seen it also takes them time to address their entire world view and make changes. “It’s the same for cis-het individuals meaningfully trying to grapple with this. To completely confirm and accept someone—some aren’t ready for it; it’s too much. Too devastating. It’s a more realistic and better way to hope they might sit with you and hear you and spend time in discomfort in a way that in the long run leads to change.” A wise and patient answer from a man who is accustomed to waiting for results.
