Growing up, I never saw healthy portraits of my sexuality, never caught glimpses of what life could be: not in movies, not at church, not with friends. Whenever homosexuality was mentioned, it was usually hushed or laughed or worse — ignored.

“Homosexuality is a perversion and only leads to immorality,” I remember one pastor explaining. “There is no healthy expression.” When who you are is lampooned and demonized, dreaming becomes difficult.

My cartoon sticker screamed otherwise. It said, “Look! They’re like you, and they’re happy.” It said I might get to laugh at my daughter one day when she takes my clothes. It said my husband might sleep later than I do, and that we might have nice furniture. It said the pornographic picture of my future that had been painted by people I trusted was wrong.