JOURNEY MUELLER WASN’T ready to come out. At eighteen, the Colorado Christian University freshman had only just admitted to herself that she liked women. But one autumn day in 2017, two of her roommates—women she considered her closest friends—tried to pry the secret from her. When Journey evaded their questions, they pelted her with more. When she tried to leave her dorm suite, they physically blocked the door, she later said in a sworn legal declaration. When she held her tongue, they did the talking, piecing together a narrative that was spot-on: That fall, Journey’s lesbian friend Casey had been a frequent visitor, taking Journey away from campus for hours. What were they doing? Were they dating? Was Journey gay?
Journey stood frozen before her friends, one hand touching her cross necklace. With long, chestnut hair framing her youthful face, flushed cheeks, and piercing eyes, she resembled a teenage Kristen Stewart. Journey hadn’t told anyone about the surprising turn her romantic life had taken with Casey’s arrival. (Casey is a pseudonym to protect their privacy; they now use genderneutral pronouns.) She had admired Casey since high school—how they always seemed spirited and flirtatious, comfortable in their own skin. She loved Casey’s explosive laugh and theatrical personality. Before, Journey had flirted tentatively with Casey, but the anti-LGBTQ+ beliefs of her conservative Christian community held her back. Now in college, Journey was exploring her identity and felt her attraction to Casey rekindle. The two often joked about kissing each other. And during one visit, when the subject came up, Journey wasn’t kidding.
It was nighttime. Casey pulled the car into a grocery-store parking lot and looked at Journey with glowing anticipation. They giggled and fumbled through their first kiss. The moment changed everything. Journey had never felt this before—the electricity racing through her body, every nerve ending a delicious live wire. “I’ll never forget it,” she says.
But afterward, clashing emotions spilled across Journey’s journal. Elation on one page. Shame on the next. Prayers to God—take this away. She was still processing these feelings when her roommates ambushed her with questions about her sexual orientation. Their interrogation lasted for what felt like “at least one hour,” Journey recalls. Trapped and terrified, she couldn’t muster a defense. Eventually, she gave in, murmuring the words “I’m gay” with a burning shame. The others exchanged glances and then looked back at Journey, her green eyes blazing with fear and incandescent rage.
Then, to her surprise, they spoke tenderly. “This happens,” Journey recalls one friend saying. “We’ll figure it out together.”
AT CCU, AS AT MANY CONSERVATIVE EVANGELICAL SCHOOLS, UNDERGRADU - ates must sign a “lifestyle covenant,” or honor code, that forbids certain behaviors. In the 2022–23 student handbook, tucked between bans on arson and sexual assault, was a prohibition on “Same-sex relationships: engaging in a romantic same-sex relationship, defending, or advocating for same-sex romantic relationships.” Additionally, under the school’s “knowing presences policy,” students who failed to report their rule-breaking peers could also be disciplined, facing penalties as severe as suspension or dismissal.
Journey sensed her friends were “stressing out about what they were going to do, because they didn’t want to get me in trouble,” she says. Ultimately, they followed school policy and reported her code
