Editor’s note • This companion piece on dating is part of a continuing series on Utah’s religious divide. Part 1 examined its impact on neighborhoods, including the effect on children, block parties, even snow shoveling, along with how the pressure to proselytize can impact relationships, why some Utahns simply pack up and leave, and tips for easing the divide.
For LGBTQ+ Latter-day Saints, dating raises all the typical questions: Am I interested in the other person? Where will we go? What will we do? Could we be compatible?
They also run into a less-typical question: Am I even allowed to date?
After all, their religion, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, maintains that marriage is between a man and a woman and that physical intimacy between individuals of the same sex is sinful — seemingly straightforward positions.
Yet ambiguity remains in the minds of many LGBTQ+ members. While Brigham Young University forbids any type of same-sex relationships, the lines seem less clear for members not attending a church school. Local lay leaders have cautioned their congregants against “homosexual behavior” by emphasizing the law of chastity. So does that mean no hugging, holding hands or kissing — common characteristics in heterosexual dating?
Dating in Utah as an LGBTQ+ person, Tenille Taggart explained, is “very difficult.”
[See how Utah’s religious divide complicates dating, sex and the quest for lasting love.]
“You never know if you’re going to meet someone who hates your guts for who you are, versus someone who’s closeted and interested, versus someone who’s gay,” she said. “It makes anything very tricky as a gay person out here.”
Originally from Las Vegas, Taggart, who grew up in Centerville, discovered an entirely “different ballgame” when she moved to West Hollywood, California, in 2007.
Taggart, now 39, grew up as a Latter-day Saint and didn’t realize she was gay until later in her life.
(Tenille Taggart) Tenille Taggart, 39, speaks about the struggles of dating within the religious divide as a lesbian. Taggart, who grew up in Utah, moved to California in 2007, where she found belonging.
“[I was] totally in denial because of the church teachings, unaware of just any kind of sexuality or what that looks like,” she said. “I did not feel safe enough at all [in Utah] to explore that, [to] even attempt dating or anything like that. … It was just so incredibly difficult for me to even consider that I could like women or be a lesbian.”
If a gay Latter-day Saint desires to remain in good standing with the church, that puts limits on physical intimacy and rules out a same-sex marriage. If LGBTQ+ church members are not out, they may be wary of being seen dating in public for fear of being seen by fellow congregants or their ecclesiastical leaders.
A ‘little taboo’
Matt Fuller, a gay former Latter-day Saint, dates outside the Beehive State because he kept bumping into issues of “secrecy and lack of openness.”
“I was exhausted trying to make it work here,” Fuller said. “He met his current boyfriend, who lives in Washington, on [the social media platform] Threads in February. “That was a much, much, much healthier stance for me to adopt than trying to play a dating game in Utah.”
(Matt Fuller) Matt Fuller is 35 years old, a former Latter-day Saint and divorced. Fuller speaks about the struggles of dating within the religious divide as a gay man.
Fuller, who is 35 and lives in North Salt Lake, was married to a woman for 12 years with whom he shares four kids.
“I told her on our second date that I was gay,” he said, “and we went forward anyway.”
Fuller said he felt compelled to conform to the church’s teachings, especially when it comes to eternal families.
“I almost broke free,” he said, “but then family pressure led me to get back on the path that Mormons want you to be on and that wound up in me marrying my ex-wife.”
Some of the dating behaviors that result from religious influence in Utah, Fuller said, include “ghosting, anti-social types of interactions, and internalized forms of homophobia.”
“In terms of people who are still practicing Mormons trying to keep up appearances within extended Mormon family, you’ll see things like, instead of saying, ‘I’m going out on a date’ or ‘I’m seeing somebody,’ it’s ‘I’m hanging out with my friend,’” Fuller said. “There’s a shame, and there’s a hiding to it. So the relationship is a little taboo.”
A ‘false choice’
Pursuing a same-sex relationship doesn’t always mean breaking up with the church, however.
Jennifer West was 29 when she realized she didn’t hate dating — she just hated dating men. Upon coming out, West said she suddenly faced what she has since come to view as a “false choice”: stay single or marry a man and remain faithful, or cut ties with her faith.
None of those sat well with West. So she went her own way, going out on dates with women on Saturdays and taking her place in the pews on Sundays.
It wasn’t easy finding someone who was on board with her untraditional approach, particularly in Utah. Women she met while on work trips to Boston or Wyoming tended to view her church membership as no big deal — a quirk, perhaps, but not a deal-breaker.
Not so in the Beehive State.
Speaking to gay women in Utah, West said she heard “lots of stories about how terrible the church was and all these horrible things that had been done to them.”
The Cottonwood Heights resident said she listened empathetically.
“Those are real, hard, horrible experiences,” West said. “But it didn’t feel like most of the time anyone wanted to hear what I thought or where I was coming from.”
Equally frustrating was trying to find someone in Utah interested in a monogamous relationship. It seemed like anyone who was part of the LGBTQ+ community was participating in “ethical nonmonogamy” or other variations on nonmonogamy. She also found herself swiping past couple after couple looking for a third party to help spice up their sex lives.
The process grew so frustrating that she gave up on dating entirely.
That’s when she found current partner, Becca Shumway. The two met in North Star, a support group for LGBTQ+ Latter-day Saints. West normally wouldn’t have joined one of their meetings since the organization looks down on same-sex relationships, but fellow church members kept suggesting it.
(Jennifer West) Jennifer West, left, and partner Becca Shumway have chosen to remain active in their Latter-day Saint faith while pursuing a romantic relationship.
She’s glad she listened. West and her partner have been together for more than two years now. They share a house, a trust and a full life together, West said, one that includes church but, crucially, not sex or plans of marriage.
Either would require them to forfeit their standing in the church, where West teaches lessons to her congregation’s women’s group. Her partner, meanwhile, is a volunteer temple worker.
It’s a difficult sacrifice, she conceded, but one that feels worth it for her. Meanwhile, their life together is “actually pretty great.”
The ‘Mormon stuff’
For Zach Alba and his partner, Paul Christian, who met on a dating app called Scruff, learning from each other has become central to their relationship.
Alba and Christian live in Centerville, where Alba grew up “very Mormon” with a bishop as a father. Christian was raised in Alaska in a household that “wasn’t religious at all.”
Christian has adapted to Alba’s active family life — practices as simple as going to family dinner every Sunday.
“Coming from the family that I came from, which was secular and honestly fell apart when I was still very young,” Christian said, “dating Zach and being asked to come to family events a couple times a month, if not, like every week, was definitely a big adjustment for me.”
(Zach Alba) Zach Alba and Paul Christian are a couple based in Centerville. Alba grew up "very Mormon" while Christian grew up in a nonreligious home. The couple speak about learning from each other as their relationship grows.
Alba and Christian are persons of color, which has also impacted their dating experiences in Utah.
Christian, whose mother is South Korean and father is white, said he’s been treated like “an exotic item” and “an object.” His first boyfriend in college in Utah was white and often compared Christian to characters from a series of Japanese porn comics.
Alba remembers growing up as the “only brown kid around.”
“I dated a few ex-Mormon white people, but there was never anything I could really relate to with them about growing up that way,” Alba said. He ideally wanted to find a partner who understood his lifestyle — the “Mormon stuff and the brown stuff.”
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