Introduction
Religion and sexuality are intricately linked, profoundly influencing people’s views and attitudes regarding gender, sexuality, and intimacy (Burke & Woodell, 2020; Page & Shipley, 2020; Schnabel et al., 2022). Lofton (2016, 19) emphasizes this connection, noting that “Sexual decision making is often connected to religious ideas or practices; religious life is often regulating sexual life”. This intricate relationship extends into the lives of people with developmental and intellectual disabilities, affecting their choices in intimate relationships and how these choices are perceived and supported by their communities (Drummond, 2006; Feely, 2016; Santinele Martino, 2022; Santinele Martino & Perreault-Laird, 2019). Research has indicated that religious beliefs can significantly shape the preferences of disabled people in selecting intimate partners, often leading them to seek partners who share similar religious values (Santinele Martino, 2022). This alignment can foster a deeper sense of community and belonging, guiding their values and priorities within intimate relationships (Santinele Martino, 2022). Moreover, the religious beliefs of other influential figures, such as family members, caregivers, and service providers, can either facilitate or discourage forms of romantic and sexual exploration and expression (Feely, 2016; Santinele Martino, 2022).
Participants’ Demographics*
| Age | Gender | Sexuality | Pronoun | Religion | |
| Ariel | 45 | Cisgender woman | Lesbian | she/her | None |
| Benjamin | 27 | Two-spirit, non-binary | Pansexual | he/she/they | None |
| Charmaine | 30 | Cisgender woman | Lesbian | she/her | None |
| Gabriel | 34 | Transgender man | Gay | he/him | Buddhist |
| Jill | 22 | Cisgender woman | Bisexual | she/her | None |
| Juno | 21 | Non-binary | Bisexual | they/them | None |
| Kyle | 31 | Cisgender man | Bisexual | he/him | None |
| Lyndon | 23 | Cisgender man | Gay | he/him | None |
| Maddison | 32 | Cisgender woman | Bisexual | she/her | None |
| Michele | 33 | Cisgender woman | Lesbian | she/her and they/them | None |
| Morgan | 26 | Cisgender woman | Bisexual | she/they | None |
| Nico | 37 | Transgender man | Queer | he/him | None |
| Rylee | 39 | Non-binary | Bisexual | she/they | None |
Based on participants’ self-identification. Due to the ethics process, we were unable to ask each participant for their disability diagnosis.
Despite a growing body of literature exploring these dynamics, there remains a substantial gap in our understanding, particularly regarding the experiences of 2SLGBTQ+ (two-spirit, lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, and queer) individuals with disabilities (Drummond, 2006; Feely, 2016; Santinele Martino, 2022; Santinele Martino & Perreault-Laird, 2019). This intersection is especially compelling given the contentious history between queer politics and activism and the influence of dominant religious groups (Fetner, 2008; Mott, 2022). Despite studies showing growth and acceptance toward gays and lesbians in countries like the United States (Fetner, 2016; Keleher & Smith, 2012), this acceptance tends to be lower among certain religious groups, such as Christians and Catholics (Wedow et al., 2017).
Building upon the existing research highlighting the varying degrees of acceptance of the 2SLGBTQ+ community among different religious groups, it is essential to recognize the multifaceted nature of 2SLGBTQ+ experiences. 2SLGBTQ+ individuals with disabilities often navigate unique challenges when it comes to their religious beliefs and affiliations. While some religious communities have become more inclusive and welcoming, these shifts in attitudes may not always extend seamlessly to the intersection of disability and sexual orientation or gender identity.
This paper seeks to build upon existing research by highlighting the nuanced experiences of 2SLGBTQ+ individuals with disabilities. While some find acceptance and support within their religious communities, which can offer both solace and spiritual comfort, others face significant challenges, including exclusion and condemnation, exacerbated by their disability. These experiences underline the necessity of exploring how religious, sexual, and disabled identities intersect and influence one another, shaping the lives and well-being of 2SLGBTQ+ individuals with disabilities. This exploration aims to contribute to a more comprehensive understanding of these intersections, advocating for more inclusive and accommodating religious and social environments.
Context
For some context, according to a 2019 survey from the Pew Research Center, 85.0 percent of Canadians believe that homosexuality should be accepted by society (Poushter & Ken, 2019). Sex education in Canada falls under provincial jurisdiction, with most provinces delegating significant decision-making power to local school boards and individual teachers (Kumar et al., 2013). While formal sex education is a compulsory part of the high school curriculum in most provinces, Action Canada for Sexual Health and Rights (2020) identified considerable variability and gaps in the content covered across different provinces. Key topics like gender identity, abortion, and sexual pleasure are often omitted, as highlighted by the province-by-province checklists. Although some Canadian students might encounter lessons on consent, gender fluidity, or sexual orientation, these subjects are not consistently mandated and their coverage varies extensively (for a comparison of different provinces, see The Walrus Staff, 2022). Additionally, many educators often feel ill-equipped to confidently discuss issues related to sexual orientation and gender identity (Balter et al., 2018).
This study focuses on Alberta, a province often perceived as closely aligned with conservative religious values, frequently described as part of Canada’s “Bible belt” (Patton, 2020, 198). In Alberta, nearly half of the population identifies with a Christian denomination (Statistics Canada, 2021). Religion also penetrates the school system within the province (Santinele Martino et al., 2024). Alberta is one of three Canadian provinces that has a separate Roman Catholic school system that is funded by taxpayers (Action Canada for Sexual Health and Rights, 2020). The number of students attending Roman Catholic schools increased from 21.8 to 23.5 percent from 2000 to 2015 (Fraser Institute, 2017). In Calgary, the largest city in Alberta, there are currently 177 publicly funded Catholic schools and 251 public schools (CBE, n.d.; CCSD; n.d.). There are about 60,000 students attending Catholic schools, and 130,000 attending public schools, meaning that about three in every ten students attend Catholic school in Calgary (CBE, n.d.; CCSD, n.d.). Notably, many Catholic schools, including those in Alberta, do not provide information nor discuss certain topics within their sex education curriculum, including gender identity and sexual orientation (Action Canada for Sexual Health and Rights, 2020; Santinele Martino et al., 2024). In Canada, 53.0 percent of queer youth report feeling unsafe in school, in comparison to 3.0 percent of heterosexual students (Taylor et al., 2011). Among transgender youth in Alberta, 67.0 percent have contemplated suicide at some point in their lives (Wells et al., 2017). The same survey found that 35.0 percent of younger transgender youth reported that they had been physically threatened or injured within the past year. Many reported experiencing forms of discrimination due to their gender identity and sexual orientation. Thus, even though Canada may seem more broadly accepting toward 2SLGBTQ+ people, provincial context still matters. These figures underscore the pervasive discrimination faced due to gender identity and sexual orientation.
Despite Canada’s broader acceptance of 2SLGBTQ+ individuals, the experiences of 2SLGBTQ+ disabled people remain largely overlooked and marginalized within both disability and queer communities (Löfgren-Mårtenson, 2009; Santinele Martino, 2017; Santinele Martino et al., 2023). Sometimes referred to as a “minority within a minority” (Abbott & Howarth, 2005; Elderton et al., 2014; Stoffelen et al., 2013), this social group must often navigate different, intersecting systems of inequality, such as homophobia, transphobia, and ableism, with little to no support from family members, caregivers, and service providers (Bennett & Coyle, 2001; Dinwoodie et al., 2016; Santinele Martino, 2017). This is partly due to the myth that people with developmental and intellectual disabilities simply cannot be queer or the notion that discussing sexualities is going “too far” (Stoffelen et al., 2013, 265; Santinele Martino, 2017). The sexualities of 2SLGBTQ+ disabled people, especially those labeled with intellectual disabilities, are not typically “taken seriously, as their queerness is seen as being just part of their development toward heterosexuality, or merely an expression of friendship” (Santinele Martino, 2017, 3; Löfgren-Mårtenson, 2008; Noonan & Gomez, 2011). These systemic challenges highlight the need for a more inclusive and supportive framework that recognizes and respects the complex identities of 2SLGBTQ+ disabled individuals.
Study Aim
The primary objective of this study is to investigate the influence of religion and religious beliefs on the lived experiences of individuals within the 2SLGBTQ+ and disabled community, specifically focusing on people with developmental or intellectual disabilities. This research seeks to achieve two main goals:
Examine the impact of religious values within individuals’ close social circles, including family, friends, and peers, on their intimate lives and community integration among disabled individuals.
Analyze how participants’ personal relationship with religion, within the context of a predominantly Christian-dominated province, shapes their identity and position as 2SLGBTQ+ disabled individuals.
Method
Recruitment and Sample
Our recruitment strategy included calls for participation shared on social media or by service providers and self-advocacy groups. We also relied on snowball sampling to find additional participants. Participant eligibility involved: (a) self-identifying as having a developmental or intellectual disability, (b) being 2SLGBTQ+, (c) being at least 18 years old, (d) being their own legal guardian, and (e) living in Alberta. This article draws on a larger study with 31 2SLGBTQ+ people with developmental and intellectual disabilities. The larger study intended to address a multitude of aspects regarding the intimate lives of disabled individuals in the 2SLGBTQ+ community. A sub-section of questions asked about the individual’s religious values, which will be addressed in the current paper. Information was obtained through hour-long interviews. Specifically, participants were asked about their religious backgrounds and whether and how religion had played a role in shaping their intimate lives. In total, 13 participants talked about the impact of religion on their intimate lives. The participants who did not have religious values impacting their life were not asked further questions about the topic and therefore these perspectives were not included within the current paper. Interviews were conducted with transgender men (2), non-binary people (2), cisgender women (6), a non-binary two-spirit individual (1), and cisgender men (2). Participants self-identified as lesbian (3), gay (2), bisexual (6), queer (1), and pansexual (1). Regarding religious affiliation, in this sub-set of participants, one participant self-identified as being Buddhist, while the other participants (12) had no religious affiliation. Though the participants were often not religious, the context of religion often impacted their life, which will be discussed in the current paper. The following table provides a detailed demographic overview of the 13 participants included in this paper, highlighting aspects such as gender identity, sexual orientation, and religious affiliation, which contextualize their perspectives on the impact of religion on their intimate lives.
Ethical Considerations
This study received ethics approval from the Conjoint Health Research Ethics Board at the University of Calgary. Consent was obtained from participants either in written form or verbally. In recognition of their time, participants received a C$20 gift card to a merchant of their choice. Participants were provided with both a standard and an oral consent form to use depending on which format was best for them to understand the project. All participants were reminded that it was their choice to participate in the study and no parent or outside individual could coerce or pressure them to complete the interview. The research team consisted of a professor and two research assistant students. As the current study draws on a sub-section of the larger project, it is necessary to describe how the data was collected in an ethical way. All 31 participants were asked about the role of religion in their current life. Within this larger study, only a select number of participants (13) felt religion had an impact on their intimate life. The current study reviews those 13 interviews to dissect the multifaceted idea of religion in relation to 2SLGBTQ+ and disabled communities.
In the context of this research project, it is essential to acknowledge the positionality of the research team. The first author is a queer scholar of color living with invisible disabilities. He is an Assistant Professor teaching in a critical disability studies program. The second author is an undergraduate student who is a white Canadian settler residing on Treaty 7 territory, a cisgender female who is an ally of the 2SLGBTQ+ community. She has done extensive research throughout her degree on the disability community and the discrimination they often experience. The third author is an undergraduate student who is a white Canadian settler residing on Treaty 7 territory, a cisgender female, pansexual, disabled, and chronically ill. These aspects inform her identity and have prompted her to engage in research related to these intersections. Additionally, community partners of both the 2SLGBTQ+ and disability community have vocalized to our research team how relevant the topic of religion is for individuals in their organizations.
Data Collection and Analysis
This research is grounded in a critical constructionist framework, which posits that “truth” is diverse, inherently partial, and contextually based, constantly evolving (Bloomberg & Volpe, 2012; Guba & Lincoln, 1994). According to this framework, “reality” is described as multifaceted, elusive, derived from experience, and context-specific (Guba & Lincoln, 1994). Essentially, participants conveyed their insights and viewpoints as they perceived them during the interviews. Furthermore, the critical constructionist framework recognizes that these “truths” are entwined with imbalanced power dynamics, emphasizing the need to consider the historical marginalization and dismissal of the knowledge and perspectives expressed by disabled individuals. In this study, we conducted interviews between January and March 2022. Due to the pandemic and our commitment to participant safety, all interviews were carried out via telephone or video calls, and only audio recordings were made. Undergraduate research assistants transcribed the interviews verbatim, and the first author subsequently verified their accuracy. We used NVivo, a qualitative analysis software, to manage and code the data. The initial review of the interviews involved open coding by the research assistant and the first author (Corbin & Strauss, 2008), resulting in the identification of preliminary themes such as religion, fear of stigma, coming out, and school-based sex education. Subsequent thematic coding (Aurini et al., 2016) was performed by two members of the research team, including the first author and an undergraduate student who was trained prior to beginning the coding process. All names mentioned in this paper are pseudonyms.
Findings
In our analysis of the broader study’s interviews, we found religion to be a pertinent topic. We identified four main themes: 1) the influential role in the sexual identities of participants; 2) a lack of attention to gender and sexual identities within the school-based sex education curriculum, especially in faith-based schools; 3) a fear of losing ties with family members when coming out; and 4) a desire for more inclusive religious communities.
Interestingly, participants did not explicitly address the intersection of religion and sexuality while considering the aspect of disability. This omission is notable, as it suggests that the complexities of navigating religious spaces as a disabled individual who is also part of the 2SLGBTQ+ community may not be fully recognized or understood even among those directly experiencing these intersections. Expanding on this, it is important to consider why the intersection of disability with religion and sexuality might be overlooked. It could indicate a gap in the awareness or services provided by religious institutions for disabled members, particularly those who are also 2SLGBTQ+. This oversight might also reflect broader societal tendencies to compartmentalize issues rather than addressing them in their interconnected forms. Moreover, the lack of discussion on this topic highlights the need for more comprehensive approaches in both research and community support that consider the unique challenges faced by individuals who navigate multiple marginalized identities. Addressing this gap is crucial for developing more inclusive religious environments and support networks that affirm and support the full identities of all their members. Additionally, it invites scholars to delve deeper into the intersections of these identities to better understand and address the needs of their communities.
Religion as an Influential Aspect for Participants and their 2SLGBTQ+ Identities
Various participants recognized the significant impact of religious beliefs from their communities and family members on their views regarding gender identity and sexual orientation. For instance, some spoke about growing up engulfed by guilt, internalizing the idea that their feelings were sinful. For example, Rylee (39 years old), a non-binary bisexual person, recounted using religious language to frame her experiences, believing she was being tempted by the devil. As she stated, “Looking back, it’s, yeah, so growing up in the kind of environment that I did. The language that I had to understand my experiences was that I was being tempted by the devil.”
Similarly, Kyle (31 years old), a cisgender bisexual man who was raised as a Jehovah’s Witness, shared a poignant memory from childhood where his expression of a same-sex crush led to severe parental punishment, reflecting the harsh rejection of his emerging identity by his religious community:
I grew up [in] a Jehovah Witness cult. So, I was in there my entire life. I was born into it ‘til I was 17. I was in it. So, no, that was very frowned upon. That was a very, that was, that was a Satan thing. That was, it was horrible. We were told to hate “those people”. I remember once actually, I was eight, nine, or ten years old. And I had a little journal. And I was writing in my journal. And one day, I wrote that I had a crush on this boy from school, and that I might be gay. And my mom found it and burned it and beat the crap out of me and chastised me and all that.
These stories point to the significant impact of religious condemnation, where feelings of shame and sin are instilled from a young age. Other studies have shown how mainstream religious traditions, and their condemnation, can cause significant psychological and emotional harms to sexual and gender minorities (Beagan & Hattie, 2015; Ganzevoort et al., 2011). In reproducing feelings of shame, some individuals tried to deny their sexual orientation and attempted to convince themselves that they had a “choice” regarding their sexuality. Michele (33 years old), a cisgender lesbian woman, spoke about her struggle with denial, convincing herself that being gay was a sinful choice she could reject, highlighting how deeply religious beliefs can influence self-perception and lead to self-denial. As she asserted, “For a really long time, I was able to just kind of deny that I’m gay […] My religious perspective, I decided it was a choice, and it was sinful, so I chose not to be gay.” As shown in prior studies, as a way to resolve their conflict between their sexual orientation and their religious background, some 2SLGBTQ+ people opt to reject their sexual identity (Beagan & Hattie, 2015; Rodriguez & Oullette, 2000).
However, as some participants aged, they began to question and ultimately reject these oppressive beliefs. Maddison (32 years old) shared how her critical reassessment of religious doctrines led her to distance herself from the faith community:
The older I got, the more it was like, I don’t agree with this, necessarily. These rules seem to be hurting a lot of people. And so I’ve stepped away from that. But it does mean that there are quite a few people who are Christian in my life that it’s like, I guess we’re not friends anymore.
Kyle’s narrative also evolves from self-rejection to acceptance, crediting his partner’s support and openness about his own sexuality as instrumental in his journey toward self-acceptance and public acknowledgment of his identity:
So, no, it took me until 2020, to finally accept myself and to be open with myself. And I have my wife to thank for that, because she’s been open forever. She’s been, you know, open about her sexuality forever. And it took that long for me to finally be comfortable and accept myself and actually say it publicly.
This evolution from internal conflict to self-acceptance illustrates a broader trend among participants who navigate complex paths through their intersecting religious and 2SLGBTQ+ identities. Participants’ accounts not only highlight the initial struggles but also the transformative processes individuals undergo as they work to reconcile or move away from their religious upbringings altogether.
Experiences with School-Based Sex Education
Most participants discussed having attended faith-based schools, particularly Roman Catholic schools. Aligned with other Canadian studies (Action Canada for Sexual Health and Rights, 2020; Santinele Martino et al., 2024), many participants noted that the topics of gender identity and sexuality were not covered in the curriculum. Rylee recounted a minimal approach focused on basic hygiene rather than comprehensive sex education:
[Sex education in] school was very minimal, because I grew up going to Catholic school. And so very minimal, like I have a very brief memory of like, Grade 5, learning what, like hygiene. And like, I just remember the teacher basically telling us that we were stinky, and that we needed to brush our teeth and put on deodorant before coming to school.
Gabriel (34 years old), a transgender gay man, noted a distinct difference in the curriculum at his Catholic school, where sex education was infused with religious teachings rather than practical discussions on topics such as condom use:
I went to a Catholic school, and our sexual education might look a bit different than other people’s education, non-religious schools. So, there was a big focus on not much discussion about certain topics, such as [the] use of condoms. Um… there was a lot of religious elements too, talking about God and like, the creationist perspective. So that’s what I remember.
Nico (37 years old) described the sex education in his school as “abysmal”, noting it was not only inadequate but also uncomfortable and treated as a joke among students:
In terms of school, it was, you know, Grade 10, probably, and so very, very, very inadequate. You know, it was awkward. It was, you know, it was mostly a big joke to the students. The teachers wouldn’t talk about anything. It was like, here’s a video to watch. Never mind that it was completely heteronormative. And cisnormative as well. So, it was… looking back, it was pretty abysmal.
The influence of religious beliefs was profoundly evident in how sex education was framed around the concepts of abstinence and purity. Rylee shared a particularly damaging experience of being excluded from presentations on queer identities due to the purity culture promoted by her religious upbringing:
Because my family was very religious, I didn’t get all of it [sex education]. And what’s most notable, the education around queer identities was – I was not allowed to participate in that. And because of the church upbringing that I grew up in, its purity culture. That was where a lot of the sex education came from. And that was very damaging […] Several other students and I had to leave the school while the presentations happened.
Similarly, Jill (22 years old), a bisexual cisgender woman, described receiving messages that equated a woman’s worth with her sexual purity and explicitly discouraged homosexuality:
I don’t know if this counts as sex ed but I also received the whole, very like, “purity culture”. Um you know, the more that you, the more that you have sex, the less you are worth. And you know, the more you have sex, the less your future husband will want you. […] I think the only message we ever received was that “you shouldn’t be gay”. And that was it. That was it.
Conversations about birth control were often influenced by the religious values of the school and denoted to students as a sin. In Jill’s case, she shared, “I didn’t receive any education about birth control, except that it was a sin and that you shouldn’t use birth control. Um… and I, other than that, I received basically no sex ed.”
Juno (21 years old), a non-binary bisexual person, highlighted another aspect of the curriculum that demonized birth control, portraying it as something only “Godless harlots” would need to know about. Yet, instead of providing practical sexual health information, the education they received focused on preparing for a hypothetical teen pregnancy:
We learned like some things about like birth control, but it was like this is for like Godless harlots, you’re not going to actually like need to know this. And actually, in, in ninth grade, we, ah, we were taught about like teen pregnancy and we’re taught about pregnancy. And spent a month creating a budget and a plan for it, if we were to have a teen pregnancy.
Overall, the narratives reveal a stark disconnect between the needs of the students and the education provided. The sex education in these faith-based settings was not only insufficient but also deeply influenced by religious doctrines that often hindered open discussion and learning about sexuality, particularly that which falls outside traditional heterosexual and cisgender norms.
Fear of Losing Connections with Family
There was a common concern among participants that “coming out” and being open about their sexual orientation could potentially lead to conflicts and rejection from their families. This was expressed, for example, by Rylee, who suppressed her identity to maintain family ties:
I didn’t want to lose those family ties. And I repressed it for a long time. Because you know, growing up in a cult, and growing up with many disabilities, all those fun cocktail. I hadn’t really, I didn’t really have strong support networks outside of the religious group.
Rylee felt she lacked supportive networks outside her religious community, amplifying her fear of isolation. Ariel (45 years old) shared her struggle with the conditional acceptance predicated on the idea of “hate the sin, love the sinner”. This approach, though seemingly benign, often failed in practice, leading to strained familial relationships and, in Ariel’s case, the difficult decision to sever ties with certain family members:
All of my dad’s side of [the] family here. And that, that didn’t go like too well. […] There’s a group of them that are like pretty religious, so like a sort of, like a Christian church-y kind of a thing. And they tried to – they tried to do the, you know, like, “Love the person, hate the sinner, or hate the sin.” But like, like it doesn’t, it doesn’t really play out that way. In, like, in, in practice. And so, I, I’ve lost some family in the sense that I’ve had to, like cut them off and how I’m like, I don’t have contact with them. But that was a fear I, I was afraid that my coming out was going to affect my dad’s relationship with his family and my mom’s relationship with her side of the family.
Ariel’s fear was not just personal but extended to concerns about impacting her parents’ relationships with their relatives.
For others, like Jill, staying “in the closet” emerged as a safer option to avoid confronting pervasive homophobia within their family:
They’re pretty homophobic, um… to be completely honest, like, they just like, my grandmother, my – my cousin, she came out and she’s married to a woman now. And my grandmother was just like, “I don’t understand why they have to do – do that or live that way. Like, it’s against my religion.” And I’m like, “No, it’s not but okay.” Um and just yeah, there’s a lot of, there’s a lot of homophobia. (Jill, 22 years old)
Kyle describes a similar pattern of concealing his identity due to fears of repercussions from his religious community and family:
I was always scared of it getting back to my family or higher ups in the religion. So no, I buried that as deep as possible. Until I left [his religious group], really. And even then, I still buried a lot of that. It wasn’t until a few years after being with my wife that I started being more open and, and stuff like that. […] Well, I don’t have much to do with [parents] anyways, because of the whole religion thing. And, you know, my mom hasn’t seen her grandkids in a few years. Like, there’s just no, there’s nothing left there, really. So, they, if I told them, they’d be upset, but it wouldn’t change anything. (Kyle, 31 years old)
Kyle’s journey reflects a long period of hiding his true self, only gradually becoming more open after significant life changes, including leaving his religious group and starting a family.
For participants who experienced rejection and a lack of understanding from family members regarding their sexual orientation, this rejection took a toll on their lives, including their mental health. Lyndon (23 years old), a cisgender gay man, details the severe mental health consequences of familial rejection and misunderstanding. His experience highlights how lack of acceptance and support can lead to serious emotional distress, including depression:
Worship really messed me up because everyone was against how I was feeling. Also, having someone who is gay and family to a Christian, is something that parents sometimes don’t really understand. So, they really pulled me aside. It got me into depression.
Conversely, some participants found unexpected acceptance within their families. Juno contemplates coming out to their conservative grandmother, encouraged by the positive reception another family member received. This reflects a nuanced understanding of familial dynamics, where personal connections may sometimes transcend entrenched prejudices:
Now, my grandmother on my dad’s side is a tiny little, like, tiny little Christian woman. And she, she hates gay people. But my cousin, my cousin is a trans girl. And she just came out, like she’s been out to me for a number of years, but she came out to our family at Christmas two years ago. And my nana was so pumped. So, I have kind of been thinking about, like telling her because she’s just like, she’s so, she’s so like, frail, and like very isolated. And I think any amount of like connection that she experiences between us grandchildren, she really treasures so I’m starting to like care a little bit less about that.
On a few rare occasions, parents and family members reacted to this disclosure in a positive manner. Michele experienced a mixed but evolving response from her family. Initially met with denial, her family, particularly her mother – a doctor and a Christian – has moved toward a complicated acceptance:
Um, so first, they denied it for a long time. And then mostly by the time [laugh] I think I told them, I think, yeah, they knew. [laugh] So, yeah, mostly it was like from my mom, my mom was kind of a supportive, not supportive response [laugh], like a… kind of accepting it. She’s a doctor. So, she was like, from a medical perspective, I get it. And she’s a Christian. So, she was like, for her religious perspective, she can’t, you know, well, fully accept it, but she’s been okay.
Parental and familial acceptance is a common concern for 2SLGBTQ+ people when they are considering coming out (Ghosh, 2020). Recent studies suggest that parents generally accept their lesbian and gay children, though this acceptance is not always immediate following their coming out (Ghosh, 2020). Overall, the decision to come out to family members involves navigating complex emotional landscapes marked by fear of loss, the need for acceptance, and the desire for authenticity (Carastathis et al., 2017). While some narratives reflect painful rejections and ongoing challenges, others offer glimpses of hope and gradual understanding, underscoring the diverse outcomes of revealing one’s sexual orientation within family contexts.
A Desire for More Inclusive Religious Communities
Some participants mentioned their wish for religious environments that are more accepting and supportive of 2SLGBTQ+ identities. This sentiment reflects a broader desire to reconcile their faith with their sexual and gender identities. Rylee provided a poignant observation on the selective acceptance within some religious communities, noting a paradox where atheism might be more tolerable than being queer:
It’s weird to find out that this so-called religious group has more acceptance for atheists than it does for queer people. And it really shows who their God is and what they value as a religious group, but they hide behind it.
Charmaine (30 years old) shared a more hopeful perspective, reflecting on positive changes within her own church:
We both go to, to a church, as I mentioned to a Christian church. But it’s, I like the way that it’s turning into a more progressive church, they are trying to become welcoming and affirming for LGBTQ peoples.
Juno brought a unique angle by discussing the unintended outcomes of traditional religious activities like Bible camps, which, despite their often homophobic stances, became spaces of queer expression and exploration:
I went to Bible camp for most of my childhood, which was very, um, in retrospect, it was like, it was… for how like, homophobic it was, it was so gay, there is like… it was like, very homoerotic [laughter] going to Bible camp.
This observation reveals the complex dynamics in religious spaces where, paradoxically, environments intended to reinforce heteronormative values sometimes foster queer relationships and identities. Further elaborating on this, Juno reflected on the potential of such camps to support queer youth if they shifted focus toward inclusivity:
Summer camps can be a good experience for young individuals to express themselves. There were many children in my overnight summer camps in the queer community and they found it very liberating though I went to a very inclusive camp. If Bible camp was more focused on the community aspect this could support a lot of youth struggling. Bible camp, however, still reproduced heteronormative and cisnormative understandings.
These narratives underscore a critical gap between the inclusive potential of religious communities and the often restrictive realities they impose. While some participants noted shifts toward more accepting practices, others highlighted the ongoing challenges posed by entrenched conservative values. This section illustrates a significant tension within religious communities regarding the acceptance of 2SLGBTQ+ individuals and points to the possibility for transformative change that more fully embraces diversity. It is important to note that religious communities and individuals differ in their views on homosexuality, ranging from seeing it as deviant or sinful to normal, and in their level of acceptance and support for 2SLGBTQ+ individuals (Halkitis et al., 2009). Participants in this study primarily discussed their experiences within Catholic and Christian traditions and communities. These churches have historically held homophobic attitudes and excluded openly 2SLGBTQ+ individuals from their spaces (Fahs & Swank, 2021).
Discussion
The Catholic Pope announced an apology to the 2SLGBTQ+ community (Gallagher & Burke, 2016). Later on, the same Pope shared his belief that “[Homosexuality] is not a crime. Yes, but it is a sin” (Winfield, 2023). These religious views are engrained within the teachings of the faith-based schools that most participants attended. While U.S.-based survey data suggests that members of almost all Christian groups have become more accepting of homosexuality (Pew Research Center, 2015), many Christians still see the political and social gains from 2SLGBTQ+ people as hurting Christians (Wilkins et al., 2022). Historically, the queer and disabled communities have both been pathologized, pressured into “normalcy” through “cure” and “assimilation” (McRuer, 2006; Santinele Martino & Fudge Schormans, 2022). In many ways, the concerns and experiences of our participants are similar to those of non-disabled 2SLGBTQ+ people. Examples include the lack of relevant sex education, the fear of losing connections with family members, and the concern for acceptance within their community. At the same time, by considering disability in this context, further barriers are added to this equation. For instance, some disabled people may fear losing connections and support systems that are important in their everyday lives. It is also worth noting that, in some contexts, disability has been perceived as a form of “sin” itself, a consequence or perhaps punishment for parents who committed sins (Creamer, 2012). Being disabled is seen as a sin, while 2SLGBTQ+ is another layer of sin and potential stigma experienced by disabled people and their families. Experiences with religion, especially when dealing with the values of family members, caregivers, service providers, and direct care workers, can become daunting. Therefore, the relevant literature aligns with the findings of the study. In particular, the idea of being “minority within a minority” is relevant here (Abbott & Howarth, 2005; Elderton et al., 2014; Stoffelen et al., 2013).
Through accepting one’s sexuality and growing as a sexual being, people with disabilities who decide to come out may find they lack acceptance and understanding from close individuals in their care team and family. Many participants in the current study discussed how this religious perspective against the queer community impacted their family relations and mental health. For this reason, we want to highlight how impactful religious bias can be when supporting a person with a disability as a member of their care team or family. The current literature makes a call to needing more research regarding the role of religion in people with disabilities’ lives (Drummond, 2006; Feely, 2016; Santinele Martino, 2022; Santinele Martino & Perreault-Laird, 2019). The current study contributes and furthers our current knowledge about disabled individuals’ views on religion. All of these social actors and their values can sometimes trump the importance of disabled people themselves and isolate the individual. These additional considerations add further barriers and concerns for people with disabilities when discussing their sexuality. Disabled people’s voices are often silenced in conversations regarding sexuality. This is amplified through a religious context, as discussed by many participants. Shaming further marginalizes this population, forcing these taboo topics to become more distressing to speak about.
The relevant literature highlights how people with disabilities in the 2SLGBTQ+ community find it difficult to participate in queer spaces (Löfgren-Mårtenson, 2009; Santinele Martino, 2017). The current study adds to the literature, as participants often find it difficult to join queer communities due to an internal or familial commitment to traditional religious practices. Lack of access to queer spaces where people can learn and build communities further marginalizes the disability community. Dating, sexuality, intimacy, and sex are complex, multifaceted experiences. Disabled people often miss an almost hidden curriculum underlying these everyday situations. Non-disabled individuals may take these experiences and this knowledge for granted. Scripts in dating and sexuality can be more complex for people with disabilities, as there can be underlying meaning in one’s body language, tone, and methods of communication. Queer spaces can provide critical experiences in everyday situations that can grant knowledge in fostering an environment of understanding everyone’s sexuality without shame. The current study had one participant self-identify as Buddhist, while the other 11 participants reported having no religious affiliation. This demographic information displays how the oppression rooted in religious affiliation in Alberta has driven away individuals who feel discriminated against. In the participants’ adult life, they found the community aspect of religion did not outweigh the inclusivity that the queer disabled community could provide.
Limitations
While this study provides some important preliminary insights regarding the influence of religion on the lives of people with developmental and intellectual disabilities, it has some limitations. Firstly, we understand that our study relies on non-representative, small sampling, as this was meant to be an exploratory study. Secondly, due to the pandemic, interviews were conducted via telephone and video calls. This may have limited access for potential participants to partake in the study, considering how some disabled people lack access to communication technologies. Despite these limitations, this research not only offers a modest contribution to the literature on disability and sexuality, but also sets the stage for future exploration on the experiences of sexual expression and practices of individuals with developmental and intellectual disabilities across other geographical contexts.
Implications for Practice
With the increasing politicization of religion in many geographical contexts, religion and politics have been more difficult to disentangle (Schnabel et al., 2022). This can be seen, for instance, in contentious and often heated conversations regarding gender, sexuality, and political rights in countries like the United States (Schnabel, 2016). In Alberta, the provincial government has rolled back certain privacy protections of students in Gay-Straight Alliances (GSAs) in schools. In July 2019, Alberta passed Bill 8: The Education Amendment Act. This allows schools to contact the student’s guardian to inform them if their student has joined a GSA (Tran, 2022). Additionally, the Bill does not force the school to create a GSA in a timely manner, as the previous School Act had in place (Tran, 2022). Therefore, the school has no urgency in completing this form of support and may delay the process. The authority to disclose this information can become a deterrent from joining these groups, to ensure one’s family does not know about the child’s sexuality.
While participants consistently noted a need for better sex education curricula that cover the topics of gender and sexual identities (Campbell et al., 2020), the challenge is that people with developmental and intellectual disabilities may be removed from sex education classes due to the assumption that they do not need this type of information. Therefore, they are less likely to receive sex education compared to non-disabled people (Hole et al., 2022). In the case of some of our participants, their family’s religious beliefs also justified their exclusion from sex education. Service provision in the disability sector also tends to neglect the particular needs, experiences, and challenges of 2SLGBTQ+ disabled people (Santinele Martino, 2017). Some disability service providers are faith-based, which affects their service delivery to disabled people (Santinele Martino, 2022; Santinele Martino & Perreault-Laird, 2019). In his prior research conducted in Alberta, the first author learned about instances of direct care workers telling disabled people that they would “burn in Hell” for having queer friends or being queer themselves. The attitudes and beliefs of direct care staff and service providers need to be considered alongside their responsibility to support 2SLGBTQ+ disabled people, regardless of organizations and their religious beliefs. Finally, at least in Canada, service providers in the disability and 2SLGBTQ+ sectors are not talking to each other enough, and thus, disabled people are left searching for services in separate spaces.
Advocating for better sex education across Canada involves a multifaceted approach due to the provincial control over education. Public awareness campaigns are crucial; they can inform and mobilize support using social media to highlight the benefits of comprehensive sex education. Direct engagement with policymakers and government officials can influence curriculum changes by presenting research that underscores the positive impacts of comprehensive sex education. Community involvement plays a key role; organizing forums and building coalitions with other organizations can amplify the call for reform. Petitions and lobbying efforts can persuade policymakers by showing widespread public demand for improved curricula. Providing educational resources and training for teachers can help fill gaps in current programs, while legal advocacy may be necessary to ensure policies meet standards of inclusivity. Supporting research to document the effectiveness of various approaches can guide policy changes. Lastly, advocating for national standards for sex education could help unify the curriculum across provinces, setting a benchmark that promotes consistency and comprehensiveness. By integrating these strategies, advocates can work toward a more unified and effective approach to sex education across the country.
Conclusion
This exploratory study makes space for the often-silenced perspectives of 2SLGBTQ+ people with intellectual and developmental disabilities regarding the role of religion in shaping their gender identities and sexualities. This highlights how many people with intellectual and developmental disabilities in the queer community feel worried about losing ties with their care team, families, and communities. Religious spaces can provide a sense of community and, for some participants, it is crucial to create more inclusive religious spaces. 2SLGBTQ+ disabled individuals often lack access to relevant sex education and knowledge about their gender and sexual identities. More research is needed to better understand the role of religion in the sexualities and identities of people with developmental and intellectual disabilities.