Arriving in Utah: Learning a Culture Through Relationships
When I moved to Utah, I became curious almost immediately. Not just about the landscape or the pace of life, but about how people connect, how relationships form, and how identity develops inside a strong cultural system. As a therapist—and also as someone who did not grow up here—I pay close attention to these patterns. My understanding comes through listening, clinical work, and ongoing curiosity about relationships in Utah.
In my experience, it is difficult to fully understand relationships in Utah without some awareness of how Mormon culture shapes relational expectations. It is not just a belief system—it is also social, relational, and woven into how many people think about dating, commitment, family, and what it means to build a good life in Utah.
In Salt Lake City especially, you can feel both that presence and its transformation. The city holds a particular tension: the visibility of the LDS Temple at its center, alongside a growing population of people who are non-religious, questioning, or redefining their relationship to faith. People may be inside that system, alongside it, or moving away from it—but very few are untouched by its influence on relationships and identity.
I found myself wanting to understand this more deeply. I started reading, asking questions, and listening closely to the people I work with. What became clear over time is that these cultural influences can shape not only external behavior, but also internal expectations—about what love should look like, how quickly it should develop, and what it means to build a good relationship.
The Strength of Mormon Culture—and Where It Gets Complex
There is a great deal I genuinely respect in Mormon culture. In the people I work with, I often see a strong orientation toward commitment, family, and long-term partnership. Relationships are often treated seriously—they are intentional, structured, and connected to a larger sense of purpose. There is also often a meaningful sense of community. People show up for each other. Belonging is not abstract; it is lived and reinforced.
From a couples therapy perspective, these are real strengths. Many clients come into relationships with a willingness to invest, to stay, and to work through difficulty rather than walk away. That kind of relational commitment matters.
At the same time, when a cultural or religious system offers a very clear path, it can become harder to navigate experiences that fall outside of that path. What gives structure can also create pressure—especially when there is limited room for difference.
This is where many LGBTQ individuals raised in Mormon culture—or in other high-demand, non-affirming environments—can encounter a very specific kind of tension. Because when your identity doesn’t align with the structure you grew up in, the question becomes not just “Who am I?”—but “Where do I belong if I am fully myself?”
LGBTQ Identity in Structured Religious Environments: Adapting Instead of Exploring
For many LGBTQ individuals raised in structured or non-affirming environments—whether religious or cultural—identity development does not happen through open exploration. It often happens through adaptation.
There is usually an early awareness—sometimes quiet, sometimes more defined—that something inside does not quite match what is expected. But without a clear or safe space to explore that, people learn to adjust around it. They question themselves, reinterpret their feelings, or try to align with what feels acceptable in order to stay connected to family and community.
This is something I also understand personally. I was born in the Soviet Union, in Estonia, in a Russian-speaking environment where LGBTQ identity was not openly discussed and where homophobia was common. Being gay was often framed as something wrong or unacceptable, and there was very little space to understand it in any other way. I remember sensing early on that something about me did not fit—and without language, visibility, or support, it was easy to interpret that as something being wrong with me.
It was not a religious system, but it was still a structured environment where certain identities did not have space to exist openly. And that creates a similar kind of adaptation—not because something is wrong internally, but because the environment does not allow for exploration.
Over time, this can create a kind of internal distance. Many people describe reaching adulthood and realizing they do not fully know who they are outside of what they were taught—not because they were not paying attention, but because the space to explore that question was not available.
Even in loving families, the experience can be complex. Support may be expressed, but not fully embodied. People often sense when acceptance is conditional or when something about them is tolerated rather than truly welcomed. That emotional nuance matters, because identity develops in relationship—in how we are seen, responded to, and reflected back.
In LGBTQ-affirming therapy, this is often where the work begins—not by creating identity from scratch, but by gently untangling the adaptations that once helped preserve belonging, and making space for something more authentic to emerge.
The Development That Gets Paused—and Then Returns
In many people’s lives, adolescence includes relational exploration—dating, attraction, curiosity, heartbreak. These experiences are part of learning how to be with another person.
But for many LGBTQ individuals in structured or non-affirming environments, that phase doesn’t unfold in the same way. Relationships can feel unsafe, unavailable, or something that has to remain hidden. I often hear people say they didn’t date—not because they didn’t want to, but because it didn’t feel safe to want that.
So development adapts.
From the outside, it can look like nothing is happening. But internally, something important is being held.
Not lost.
Not broken.
Paused.
And when people begin to live more fully in their identity—whether that means leaving Mormon culture, redefining their relationship to it, or simply allowing themselves to be seen—that developmental phase returns.
But it doesn’t return in adolescence.
It returns in adulthood—often inside real relationships that carry real emotional weight.
Why Relationships Can Feel So Intense After Leaving High-Demand or Non-Affirming Religious Environments
This is one of the most important patterns I see in LGBTQ relationship counseling in Utah.
While it often shows up in the context of Mormon culture, I also see similar dynamics in other high-demand or non-affirming religious environments—especially where LGBTQ identity is not fully accepted or integrated.
When relational development begins later, it doesn’t unfold gradually—it often comes all at once. One person described it as something that had been held back for years, and once it started moving, everything came through at once.
Attraction can feel immediate. Emotional connection can deepen quickly. Attachment can form fast, and the fear of losing the relationship can feel overwhelming—even early on.
From the outside, this can be misunderstood as moving too quickly.
But from the inside, it makes sense.
Because the relationship is not just about the present moment. It is holding years of not having had that experience—years of watching others date, explore, and form connections while feeling unable to participate—and often a profound sense of relief at finally being seen, chosen, and accepted.
Couples Work: When Development Happens Inside the Relationship
In my work with LGBTQ couples, relationships often become the place where development is actively happening.
People are learning in real time how to communicate needs, navigate conflict, tolerate uncertainty, and stay connected without losing themselves. These are foundational relationship skills—but when they haven’t had space to develop over time, they can feel overwhelming at first.
I often see couples where the connection is real, but the pacing feels off. Where there is genuine care, but also underlying fear. Where conflict quickly becomes destabilizing—not because the relationship is wrong, but because there isn’t yet enough experience of repair.
And this is where couples therapy becomes important—not as a place to fix something broken, but as a space to build capacity.
To slow things down.
To understand patterns.
To create structure around communication and conflict.
Because connection is not just a feeling—it’s a skill. And most people were never taught how to do it.
The Relational Imprint That Stays After Leaving High-Demand Religion
Even after leaving a high-demand religious or cultural system, many people carry an internal blueprint of how relationships are supposed to work.
I often hear: “Even when I started dating, I noticed I was already thinking long-term—like, is this the person? Where is this going?”
There can be a strong pull toward clarity, commitment, and defining the relationship early. And while this can be a strength, it can also make it harder to stay in exploration—the space where relationships are still unfolding and identity is still being discovered.
Part of the work is shifting from outcome to experience. From needing to know, to being able to stay present.
Loss, Belonging, and the Fear of Losing Again
Leaving a high-demand religion or non-affirming environment often involves loss—not just of belief, but of community, shared meaning, and sometimes alignment with family.
So when new relationships form, they don’t exist in isolation.
They carry weight.
I often hear an underlying fear: I can’t lose this too.
And that fear can shape how people show up. It can make boundaries feel risky, conflict feel threatening, and endings feel devastating. Not because the person is fragile, but because the relationship is connected to something deeper—belonging itself.
This is something we work through carefully in LGBTQ affirmative therapy—helping people build internal stability so that connection doesn’t feel like something that can disappear at any moment.
You Are Not Behind—You Are Beginning
This is something I say often, and I mean it.
This is something I say often, and I mean it.
You are not behind.
You developed within a system that required adaptation—and that adaptation made sense. It helped you stay connected, stay safe, and belong in the ways that were available to you.
And there is something here that deserves not just understanding, but respect.
Because it takes awareness to begin questioning what you were taught.
It takes courage to choose something different.
And it takes strength to build a life and identity that are truly your own.
What is happening now is not catching up.
It is beginning.
Beginning to explore.
Beginning to connect.
Beginning to understand yourself in relationship—not through expectation, but through experience.
And that process takes time.
Not because something is wrong,
but because something real is finally being built.
And there can be pride in that.
You are not late.
You are becoming.
