Our Family's Secret
Since getting married seven years ago, John and Dena Westcott have forged a new life for themselves, coping with the daily jobs and struggles of marriage and parenthood. But can they ever escape from the past they left behind?

By Barry Yeoman

Originally published in Redbook, February 2000

IT'S ALMOST BEDTIME on Butternut Boulevard, and John and Dena Westcott's two sons are getting out the last of their nighttime energy. In the living room, 4-year-old Joseph rides his toy train across the white tile floor, chattering away about his day's adventures. "I drove my monster truck into the pool!" he brags. One-year-old Jason toddles in, pushing a white plastic carriage for support. He's been walking for less than a week, but already he struts with confidence. "He thinks he's a big guy now," his father says, beaming.

The Westcotts' large home in suburban Orlando-with its minivan out front and swimming pool in back-is the picture of clean-cut, middle-class life, and John and Dena, both 38, easily blend in. She's a real-estate appraiser, with blue eyes and light brown hair that feathers back to her shoulders. He's a financial adviser, self-confident and trim, with wild brown hair and a square jaw. Married for seven years, raising two sandy-haired boys, they have settled into a familiar routine, alternately comfortable and stressful, like many married couples. "We are no different from everybody else," Dena says, "except that we have a little secret we can joke about."

That "secret" is that before they met, Dena had been living as a lesbian and John as a gay man. John had even married his boyfriend in a backyard ceremony.

But neither John nor Dena was happy. Wracked with guilt about their lives, they sought solace in drugs, alcohol, and casual sex. John, who'd been raised as a Catholic, was never able to reconcile his sexuality with his religious beliefs. And Dena found herself in a series of violent relationships-and she was the one doing the hitting. Something had to change.

Desperate for a way out, they both landed at Eleutheros, one of more than 100 Christian ministries dedicated to helping homosexuals lead "straight" lives through counseling, prayer, and support. "I'd seen a television show about this program," recalls Dena. "And I thought, If there's really the possibility to change, I have to try this last-ditch effort. I just couldn't stand the isolation any longer."

At the meetings, John and Dena heard speakers describe the theories behind the ex-gay movement, most notably that homosexual desire occurs when children don't get their emotional needs met by their same-sex parents. To Dena the theory made sense: She thought about her abusive mother, and how she craved the love of women.

One night, Dena was playing guitar for the worship portion of an Eleutheros meeting when she caught the gaze of a dark, handsome man. Flustered, she forgot the words to her song. Two weeks later, John Westcott asked her out to dinner.

A few days after their date, John and Dena went on a ski trip for Christian singles. They lay around the lodge with the other men and women, John rubbing Dena's back. It felt so normal, being in a group of friends and not having to hide their physical affection. Within six weeks, they were engaged.

Going Public

In the past year, John and Dena have earned a bit of local celebrity. They appeared with two other ex-gay couples on a commercial that aired in the Orlando area. In the ad, he says, "We were broken and looking for love in the wrong places." She adds, "It wasn't until we found Jesus that we understood true fulfillment. The commercial-and others like it that have appeared across the country-have stirred up controversy, particularly in the wake of the 1998 murder of Matthew Shepard, a gay college student who was beaten and left to die outside Laramie, WY.

Dena says that they decided to do the commercial not to impose their choices on other lesbians and gays, but to let unhappy homosexuals know about the possibilities for change. "If I was so stinkin' brazen to lead so many women into the [lesbian] lifestyle, how much bolder should I be to let them know that there is a way out?" she asks.

John and Dena didn't know how their neighbors and co-workers would react when the commercial began running. Until then, few knew about the couple's history. "We don't five in fear that the neighbors will find out, but we don't go beating down their doors," Dena says. But after the airing, they heard mostly positive responses. "When I came into work the next day, I had people calling up from other floors," she says. "Every single person said they were proud of me." None of the couple's gay acquaintances has said anything negative to them.

The Center for Reclaiming America, a Fort Lauderdale-based Christian organization that produced the commercial, claims its purpose is personal, not political. "It's a message that I know thousands of people are dying to hear," says national director Janet Folger, a former antiabortion lobbyist. "I have a notebook-it's about four inches thick-of letters from people thanking us."

Proponents of this "ex-gay movement" say that 30 percent of the men and women who come to them successfully "convert" to heterosexuality. "This is not about the suppression, repression, or denial of one's sexuality. This is really a transformation," says psychologist Joseph Nicolosi, Ph.D., author of Reparative Therapy for Male Homosexuality. He believes gay people have a "developmental problem" that can be solved through psychotherapy that explores their relationships with their parents.

Critics counter that these conversion organizations are trying to "cure" something that doesn't need curing. Most of the psychiatric establishment now considers homosexuality to be a natural variant of human desire. The movement, critics say, takes advantage of people who have been abused by promising heterosexuality as a way out of their problems.

Gay rights advocates see another, more sinister, motivation, pointing out that the ad campaign was underwritten by political groups like the Christian Coalition and the Family Research Council. "If you can carpet-bomb the American public with the message that gays and lesbians can change their orientations," says David Elliot, a spokesman for the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, "the next step is for the religious right to pursue their public-policy agenda of denying civil rights to gays and lesbians."

In an era when homosexuals are finally enjoying the first signs of public acceptance-not to mention self-acceptance-Elliot charges that the commercials fuel people like Matthew Shepard's killers. "Did Pat Robertson, Janet Folger, Jerry Falwell commit those hate crimes? No," he says. "But they contribute to an atmosphere that empowers the lunatic fringe to act out their antigay biases."

Caught in the middle of this heated debate are people like Dena and John, who simply want to savor the ordinariness of their "straight" life-and to let go of the demons of their past.

A troubled childhood

Growing up, Dena believed her mother, Barbara, hated her. Was it because Dena was a sickly child whose asthmatic bronchitis ate up the family's savings? Was it because Barbara drank heavily on occasion and drifted from man to man, unable to maintain any lasting relationships? Dena didn't know the answers. But she knew her mother repelled her.

One night when Dena was 13, her mother stumbled home drunk with a man in tow. They were heading toward the bedroom when Dena stepped in, furious. "I don't think my mother's well," she told the man. "You need to leave."

The moment he left, Barbara flew into a rage, picking up the phone to call the police. Dena tried to grab the phone; Barbara slammed the receiver against her daughter's face and neck. Dena punched back. "You bitch!" Barbara yelled. Dena ran into her room, gathered her schoolbooks and a change of clothes, and took off on her bike.

Long before, she had pulled into a fantasy world where no one could hurt her. As early as elementary school, she would fantasize about her teacher. Dena would lie in her bedroom at night, imagining herself a man, taking her teacher on a drive, holding her hand, kissing her.

But Dena didn't act on those fantasies until eleventh grade, when a girl named Lorraine (name has been changed) moved to town. The two talked sometimes, and finally Lorraine asked her over to her house. As they sat in Lorraine's bedroom talking about music and the kids at school, Lorraine reached for Dena's hand. Dena didn't pull away then-or later, when the handholding gave way to kissing and petting.

Shortly after high school graduation, Barbara threw Dena out of the house. Lonely, homeless, trying to work and attend college at the same time, Dena found herself in a downward spiral: She relied on amphetamines to stay awake and marijuana to help her steep; she had sex with women she met in bars; she drank to excess. Toward the end of her lesbian life, she beat up her girlfriend so violently that the woman's leg turned black. "I have become a monster," she thought.

John's history paralleled Dena's. Abandoned by his father at 14, he developed fantasies about men at his church, believing they'd pay attention to him if he had sex with them. After high school, he went to work at a gay resort, used cocaine and other drugs, and once attempted suicide. Even when he settled down in his late 20s and got involved in a stable relationship, he still couldn't shake his belief that homosexuality was wrong.

Family life

John and Dena have almost fully broken with their past lives; the friendships they had with gays have faded. One of their friends, a bridesmaid at their wedding, fell out of touch after the Westcotts refused to attend her lesbian commitment ceremony. "We told her we loved her but we couldn't do that, because we'd be supporting the lifestyle," John says.

Instead, he and Dena socialize with people from their church. These new friends, who know about John and Dena's past, see them as a poster couple for the possibilities of redemption. "They're excited for us, excited about what God has done for us," says John. John and Dena have held marriage-building seminars in their home for church families and are planning to go on a group vacation soon. "We'd like to socialize more," John says. "But with two kids, it's very hard. It's very costly, too. With the babysitter, it's a $60, $70 night just to go out to dinner."

So they stay home a lot and work to keep the spark of their marriage alive. Their sex life is pretty good, they say: Even when they were in gay relationships, they both felt some attraction to the opposite sex, so when they got married, sex came naturally to them. Not that physical intimacy has been easy to sustain. "I think the sex is great, but if you ask my wife, she'll say we could have more of it," John says. "We're a typical married couple. The kids came into the marriage, and we found ourselves drifting apart. People have children, and the children become the center of their marriage." There are videos to rent, fights to break up, spinach to pick out of the casserole because Joseph won't eat it other-wise. "The big dilemma these days is, Do I have enough diapers to get through the week?" Dena says.

Being an ex-gay couple has influenced many of their life decisions, particularly the question of children. John craved being a father. When he was a young gay man, he would see families together and feel a deep, aching sense of loss. Dena was harder to convince. "I was afraid I would be like my mother," she says. "I didn't want to abuse my children with my violent temper." At one point, John secretly began adoption proceedings for a little boy from Ecuador, but Dena vetoed the plan when she found out. "You think we're going to give this kid everything," she told her husband. "You're going to go off to work, and I'm going to be saddled down with this child who speaks no English except 'Jesus loves you.'"

It took a great deal of soul-searching before Dena agreed to get pregnant. She talks about a "generational curse" in her family, where violence was passed from parent to child. "In my prayer times, I felt assured that the wrong behavior patterns had been broken," she says.

Dena and John are hyperaware of not acting like their own parents. On a recent day, Joseph took a long time making his way from his room to his morning bath. Dena was getting edgy, but John soothed her: "Remember, he's only 4 years old, and he's going to take his time, looking at everything on the way."

John, alienated from his father, worries sometimes that be goes overboard in the other direction. "He asked me one day, 'Do I hug the children too much?'" Dena recalls. "I said, 'Absolutely not.'"

They wonder, too, if their lives would be better if they could afford to have Dena stay home with the children, if buying an expensive home was the right thing to do. "We have been sacrificing our family to get better things, a bigger house," John says. But if Dena were to decide to quit her job, he says, "incomewise, God will provide for our needs. We will survive."

What will they tell the kids?

Joseph and Jason are scuffling over a crayon in the living room. Joseph gives his little brother a shove, and Jason falls and starts crying. Their dad sends Joseph to his bedroom for a time-out. When he comes back, he stands in front of his father and hangs his head. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Who do you need to apologize to?" John asks.

"I need to tell Daddy sorry and Jason sorry, and I need to tell Jesus sorry," the boy says. John cuddles his son, who then runs off to color peacefully with Jason.

Joseph and Jason are too young to understand that their parents are different. But what happens when they get older? How much will they learn about John and Dena's background?

"We'll probably tell our kids the truth," John says. "One thing we teach our kids all the time is: When people make wrong choices, it upsets God. We're going to say it's a sin, and we asked Jesus to forgive us, and he forgave us."

What if one of their sons turns out to be gay? "You know what?" says John. "I'd love the sinner but I'd hate the sin. I would never stop loving my child. We Would pray for him, and hope that God would come through for him." No matter what their sexual orientation, John hopes his sons will always be honest with him. "I hope I have such a great relationship with my kids that they always come to me," he says. "I hope they can have enough trust and faith in me that if they ever fall into homosexuality, they could take counsel from us. Not that we could ever change them. But we'd love them, that's for sure. Jesus never stops loving anybody."

Though the couple believes in the principles of the ex-gay movement, they've distanced themselves from its more fanatical members. Says Dena, "I'm sick and tired of people saying that they're Christians and then saying, 'You're going to hell, and you're going to burn, and God hates fags.' Those people are so far from being Christians. A Christ-like person would never condemn. He would love unconditionally."

Return to home page