Let me tell you what nobody says about being homeless and queer and desperate for spiritual answers.

I was sleeping in parks. Behind buildings. On bus stop benches. And the people who raised me with the message that I was fundamentally wrong—not that I'd done something wrong, but that I was wrong—those same people walled themselves off from me like I carried a contagion.

They were afraid that helping me would signal support for "that lifestyle."

My sexuality had nothing to do with my homelessness. But to them, the two were inseparable. Helping me meant condoning who I was. So they didn't help.

I'm not alone in this abandonment.

46% of transgender and gender nonconforming people experience religious rejection because of their identity. Of those, 40% show symptoms of elevated depression, and nearly half report suicidal ideation.

One in five LGBTQ individuals report being rejected from a faith community. Another 40% leave before rejection can happen—they see it coming.

Meanwhile, 34% of Gen Z identifies as religiously unaffiliated, and only 45% identify as Christian. About 28% of Gen Z adults identify as LGBTQ.

The pattern is clear: Traditional religious institutions are hemorrhaging the people they've told are fundamentally flawed.

When I was behind that building at 3am, I didn't need theology.

I needed to know: If there's a God, does that God hate me for being exactly how I was made?

Christianity's answer was clear. I was born flawed. My existence was a sin, a sickness, a spiritual failure. The "love" they offered came with conditions I couldn't meet without erasing myself.

So I became desperate.

I spent almost a thousand dollars I didn't have on 23 volumes of Kabbalistic texts. I emailed teachers I thought would never respond. I talked to a woman who channeled a being called Emanuel—something I didn't even believe in, but I was that hungry for answers.

I tried yoga, Buddhism, Kabbalah. I was obsessive. All-in on one tradition, then burning out and trying another.

That obsession came from my Christian upbringing too. You pick the right way. Only one path has the answers. If you're right, everyone else must be wrong.

But what if we're all figuring this out together?

Traditional Christianity and modern wellness culture sell the same fundamental lie: They have the answers, they're right, and you're wrong.

Christianity told me my sexuality was unnatural, sinful, demonic. Wellness culture tells broke people their poverty is a "limiting belief" or a "manifestation problem."

Different vocabulary. Same gaslighting.

Both systems demand you accept their framework as absolute truth. Both treat your material struggle as evidence of spiritual failure. Both require you to change who you are to access their "wisdom."

And both fail spectacularly when you're sleeping in a parking garage at 3am.

Kabbalah didn't ask me to believe anything.

It offered a manual. A practice. It said: Follow this path and you'll experience the Creator directly. You won't need faith because you'll know.

More importantly, Kabbalah taught me something radical: By design, we are the way we are.

Not flawed. Not mistakes. Not sins that need correcting.

By design.

My sexuality wasn't a test or a punishment. My homelessness wasn't evidence that God had abandoned me. The story of Adam and Eve wasn't about humans going against God's will—maybe they were doing exactly what the Creator intended, because that's how the story needed to unfold.

This wasn't spiritual bypassing. It wasn't telling me to "trust the universe" while I had nowhere to sleep.

It was giving me a different lens: This is where I am. I'm okay right now. This is not the end.

When someone comes to me now—someone sleeping in parks or parking garages, someone desperate for help—I don't give them philosophy.

I tell them: Accept where you are.

Not complacency. Not resignation. Acceptance.

You're homeless. That's the reality. You can pretend you're somewhere else, but denial won't help you survive tonight.

Acceptance means: This is where I am. I know it. I'm okay right now.

Okay doesn't mean happy. It doesn't mean this is good or noble or a gift.

It means: I'm still here. This is not the end. There's possibility in this moment.

From that acceptance comes presence. Awareness. The ability to stay conscious of your surroundings for safety. The clarity to figure out your next move, even if that move is just surviving today.

It gives you a reason to keep going.

Suffering is a fact of life. Celebrities with unimaginable wealth still struggle with self-esteem, infidelity, addiction. Royalty still faces depression.

We're all suffering in similar ways, whether we admit it or not.

But here's what traditional religion gets wrong: Suffering isn't punishment. It's not evidence of your fundamental wrongness.

And here's what wellness culture gets wrong: You can't manifest your way out of systemic poverty. You can't vibrate at a higher frequency to pay rent.

The truth sits between those lies.

Suffering is inevitable right now because we lack understanding. We haven't figured out what existence is really about. But that doesn't make your struggle evidence of personal failure.

You're not broken. The system is broken.

Your fight to survive it? That's sacred. Even when it doesn't feel like it.

I don't believe in the Judeo-Christian concept of God anymore. That God who hates queer people, who told slaves to obey their masters, who thinks women are less than men—that's not a God I can worship.

Do I have all the answers? No.

But I know this: None of us have all the answers. We're all figuring this out.

The difference is admitting it.

Admitting we don't have all the answers means letting you figure yourself out. Letting you define yourself. Not putting you in a box labeled "less than" or "fundamentally wrong."

There's nothing wrong with you.

There's nothing wrong with me.

We're just here, doing our best with what we have, trying to survive another Tuesday.

And if ancient mystical wisdom can help us do that—if Kabbalah or Buddhism or any other practice can give us tools that cost nothing and work anywhere—then maybe that's enough.

Maybe that's the whole point.

You're still here. That matters.

Let me tell you what nobody says about being homeless and queer and desperate for spiritual answers.

I was sleeping in parks. Behind buildings. On bus stop benches. And the people who raised me with the message that I was fundamentally wrong—not that I'd done something wrong, but that I was wrong—those same people walled themselves off from me like I carried a contagion.

They were afraid that helping me would signal support for "that lifestyle."

My sexuality had nothing to do with my homelessness. But to them, the two were inseparable. Helping me meant condoning who I was. So they didn't help.

I'm not alone in this abandonment.

46% of transgender and gender nonconforming people experience religious rejection because of their identity. Of those, 40% show symptoms of elevated depression, and nearly half report suicidal ideation.

One in five LGBTQ individuals report being rejected from a faith community. Another 40% leave before rejection can happen—they see it coming.

Meanwhile, 34% of Gen Z identifies as religiously unaffiliated, and only 45% identify as Christian. About 28% of Gen Z adults identify as LGBTQ.

The pattern is clear: Traditional religious institutions are hemorrhaging the people they've told are fundamentally flawed.

When I was behind that building at 3am, I didn't need theology.

I needed to know: If there's a God, does that God hate me for being exactly how I was made?

Christianity's answer was clear. I was born flawed. My existence was a sin, a sickness, a spiritual failure. The "love" they offered came with conditions I couldn't meet without erasing myself.

So I became desperate.

I spent almost a thousand dollars I didn't have on 23 volumes of Kabbalistic texts. I emailed teachers I thought would never respond. I talked to a woman who channeled a being called Emanuel—something I didn't even believe in, but I was that hungry for answers.

I tried yoga, Buddhism, Kabbalah. I was obsessive. All-in on one tradition, then burning out and trying another.

That obsession came from my Christian upbringing too. You pick the right way. Only one path has the answers. If you're right, everyone else must be wrong.

But what if we're all figuring this out together?

Traditional Christianity and modern wellness culture sell the same fundamental lie: They have the answers, they're right, and you're wrong.

Christianity told me my sexuality was unnatural, sinful, demonic. Wellness culture tells broke people their poverty is a "limiting belief" or a "manifestation problem."

Different vocabulary. Same gaslighting.

Both systems demand you accept their framework as absolute truth. Both treat your material struggle as evidence of spiritual failure. Both require you to change who you are to access their "wisdom."

And both fail spectacularly when you're sleeping in a parking garage at 3am.

Kabbalah didn't ask me to believe anything.

It offered a manual. A practice. It said: Follow this path and you'll experience the Creator directly. You won't need faith because you'll know.

More importantly, Kabbalah taught me something radical: By design, we are the way we are.

Not flawed. Not mistakes. Not sins that need correcting.

By design.

My sexuality wasn't a test or a punishment. My homelessness wasn't evidence that God had abandoned me. The story of Adam and Eve wasn't about humans going against God's will—maybe they were doing exactly what the Creator intended, because that's how the story needed to unfold.

This wasn't spiritual bypassing. It wasn't telling me to "trust the universe" while I had nowhere to sleep.

It was giving me a different lens: This is where I am. I'm okay right now. This is not the end.

When someone comes to me now—someone sleeping in parks or parking garages, someone desperate for help—I don't give them philosophy.

I tell them: Accept where you are.

Not complacency. Not resignation. Acceptance.

You're homeless. That's the reality. You can pretend you're somewhere else, but denial won't help you survive tonight.

Acceptance means: This is where I am. I know it. I'm okay right now.

Okay doesn't mean happy. It doesn't mean this is good or noble or a gift.

It means: I'm still here. This is not the end. There's possibility in this moment.

From that acceptance comes presence. Awareness. The ability to stay conscious of your surroundings for safety. The clarity to figure out your next move, even if that move is just surviving today.

It gives you a reason to keep going.

Suffering is a fact of life. Celebrities with unimaginable wealth still struggle with self-esteem, infidelity, addiction. Royalty still faces depression.

We're all suffering in similar ways, whether we admit it or not.

But here's what traditional religion gets wrong: Suffering isn't punishment. It's not evidence of your fundamental wrongness.

And here's what wellness culture gets wrong: You can't manifest your way out of systemic poverty. You can't vibrate at a higher frequency to pay rent.

The truth sits between those lies.

Suffering is inevitable right now because we lack understanding. We haven't figured out what existence is really about. But that doesn't make your struggle evidence of personal failure.

You're not broken. The system is broken.

Your fight to survive it? That's sacred. Even when it doesn't feel like it.

I don't believe in the Judeo-Christian concept of God anymore. That God who hates queer people, who told slaves to obey their masters, who thinks women are less than men—that's not a God I can worship.

Do I have all the answers? No.

But I know this: None of us have all the answers. We're all figuring this out.

The difference is admitting it.

Admitting we don't have all the answers means letting you figure yourself out. Letting you define yourself. Not putting you in a box labeled "less than" or "fundamentally wrong."

There's nothing wrong with you.

There's nothing wrong with me.

We're just here, doing our best with what we have, trying to survive another Tuesday.

And if ancient mystical wisdom can help us do that—if Kabbalah or Buddhism or any other practice can give us tools that cost nothing and work anywhere—then maybe that's enough.

Maybe that's the whole point.

You're still here. That matters.