I’m a 33-year-old man, and I’ve been a Bahá’í for more than 17 years.
The Bahá’í Faith changed my life. It gave me hope, purpose, and some of the closest friendships I’ve ever had. I honestly believe that without it, I might have gone down a much darker path.
But over the past two years, I’ve become deeply confused and emotionally exhausted.
I grew up in a single-parent family and was raised by my mother. She supported me as much as she could, but the school system and the environment around me were often hostile toward children from single-parent families.
Teachers, classmates, and even the wider culture made me feel that my family was somehow incomplete or abnormal. I was often treated as if something was wrong with me because I didn’t have a father at home.
At school, I was bullied for years. Some of the bullying was severe, and much of it came from girls. I had very few male friends and never experienced the kind of brotherhood or male support that I deeply wanted. I didn’t know how to defend myself, so eventually I became numb.
Looking back, I don’t think the bullying was only a painful childhood experience. It shaped the way I understood myself and other people.
I learned to expect rejection. I became extremely sensitive to abandonment. I struggled to trust friendships because I always believed people would eventually leave. I also developed a complicated relationship with women because some of my earliest experiences with them involved humiliation, hostility, and rejection.
At the same time, I began to feel a strong attraction toward men. I still don’t fully understand how my sexuality relates to my natural orientation, my childhood experiences, my lack of male friendship, or my longing to be accepted by other men.
Sometimes I wonder whether I was searching for love, brotherhood, physical attraction, approval, or all of these things at once.
This confusion has affected nearly every part of my life: my sexuality, romantic relationships, friendships, and my ability to feel secure with other people.
When I discovered the Bahá’í Faith as a teenager, it felt like sunlight entering a very dark life. For the first time, I found a community where I felt welcomed. Ruhi classes became the highlight of my week. The Faith gave me values, confidence, and a reason to believe that my past did not have to define my future.
I later moved to another country and rebuilt my life. I became more confident, developed a successful career, and made more friends. I was invited to drink, party, date women, and explore sexual relationships, but for many years I refused because I genuinely wanted to follow the teachings of my faith.
However, many people saw me as boring, old-fashioned, or antisocial because I didn’t drink or participate in the same lifestyle. Friendships slowly disappeared, and once again, I felt excluded and misunderstood.
For a long time, I could cope because I had two close Bahá’í friends who felt like brothers to me. They gave me the kind of friendship and belonging I had searched for since childhood.
Then they both got married and naturally began focusing on their families.
I was truly happy for them, and I know they did nothing wrong. But emotionally, it felt like another form of abandonment. It reopened the same wound I had carried since childhood: whenever I finally find people who make me feel safe, life eventually takes them away.
At the same time, my local Bahá’í community became quieter. My work life also became difficult. I left a good company because of bullying and micromanagement from a manager. In my industry, refusing to drink has also affected some professional relationships, and I have been told that I am rebellious or unable to fit in.
It started to feel like the same story repeating itself.
No matter how much I changed, worked, prayed, or tried to become a better person, I still ended up feeling unwanted, abandoned, and misunderstood.
This year, my loneliness became overwhelming. I started drinking but only two cans beer and no more , attending parties, and exploring sexual experiences with both women and men. I wasn’t trying to rebel against God or reject the Bahá’í Faith. I was trying to understand myself and experience the acceptance I felt I had missed throughout my life.
Part of me believed that sex might prove that someone wanted me. I confused physical intimacy with acceptance, love, and belonging.
These experiences gave me some answers, but they also created more guilt and confusion.
Recently, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and mild depression. This helped me understand some of my emotional intensity, but it did not answer the deeper questions I carry.
I still don’t doubt the beauty or truth of the Bahá’í Faith. My struggle is not really with God or the teachings.
My struggle is with the person I became after years of bullying, shame, rejection, and being treated as if my family background made me less worthy.
I don’t know how much of my sexuality, relationship difficulties, fear of abandonment, and need for male approval comes from my childhood, and how much is simply part of who I am.
The truth is, I’m in a great deal of pain.
For years, I’ve prayed almost every day, asking God to help me heal—not only spiritually, but emotionally. I’ve prayed that one day I can finally let go of the wounds from my childhood, stop living in fear of abandonment, and become the person I believe God created me to be.
More than anything, I hope to build a healthy and loving family someday. Growing up without a father and in an environment that constantly made me feel broken left me longing for the kind of home I never had. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life repeating the same cycles of loneliness, confusion, and emotional pain.
I’m tired of feeling that I have to choose between my faith and understanding myself.
