Linda Robertson

In 2001, when her 12-year-old son Ryan confided that he was gay, Linda Robertson felt two things: complete shock and overwhelming terror. As a devoted Christian mother, everything she'd been taught screamed that she had to protect her boy from what she'd been told was a dangerous "gay lifestyle."

What followed were six years of heartbreak that would forever change this family, ending in a tragedy that Linda says could have been prevented if she'd known then what she knows now.

Snapshot of This True Story:

• Linda Robertson's 12-year-old son Ryan came out to her in 2001. Terrified and with no one to turn to, she found Focus on the Family and NARTH, organizations that promised to "eradicate the threat" to Ryan.

• Following the advice of conversion therapy proponents like Dr. Joseph Nicolosi, Linda withdrew from Ryan while her husband engaged him in "manly activities." Ryan spent six years memorizing scripture, attending youth groups, and begging God to change him.

• The therapy didn't change Ryan's sexuality. Instead, it taught him he couldn't be accepted by God as he was, and it destroyed his bond with Linda, the person he'd always trusted most.

• After six years of trying everything conversion therapy demanded, Ryan told Linda that God hadn't kept up "his side of the bargain." In despair, he turned to drugs to cope with his internal agony.

• Ryan died on July 16, 2009. Linda has spent the last 16 years telling their story to warn other Christian parents: the practices that promised to save her son actually cost him his life.

  
  

Linda Robertson will never forget the day her 12-year-old son Ryan came to her with a secret he'd never told anyone.

"He told me that he knew he was gay in the same way that we both knew I was his mom and that I was straight," Linda recalls. "I felt two things at that moment: complete and utter shock and overwhelming terror."

When Faith Community Becomes Everything

The Robertson family was deeply rooted in their Christian faith. Linda didn't know any other Christian families with a gay child. She had no one to talk to who could help her understand the debilitating fear she was experiencing.

"All my life I had heard grave warnings about the gay lifestyle," Linda explains. "It was full of promiscuity, abuse, addiction, and AIDS, and worst of all, it stole LGBTQ people away from their families and away from their faith. Everything in me screamed that I had to protect my boy."

In that moment of fear and isolation, Linda did what felt like the only responsible thing: she searched for help. And she found it, or so she thought.

"Right away, I found Focus on the Family as well as NARTH," she says. "Their experts promised to eradicate the threat to Ryan."

The Promise of Protection

Linda began ordering books and sharing resources with Ryan. The first book they read together was called "You Don't Have to Be Gay." Much of the content came from Dr. Joseph Nicolosi's theories about homosexuality.

"Here's the most important thing to know," Linda says now. "All of it echoed and exacerbated my fear, claiming that the danger was even worse than I could imagine, and that they alone knew exactly how to keep my child safe."

It might be hard to imagine how intelligent, caring parents could think conversion therapy was the answer. But for Linda and her family, their faith community was everything.

"Every pastor and spiritual leader I knew trusted Focus on the Family, and Focus on the Family recommended and trusted NARTH," Linda explains. "In the years before Ryan came out, the culture was full of ominous, sinister warnings about the LGBTQ community. Not all that different from what is happening today, actually. And when fear is in the water, parents are more vulnerable to those who claim to have the only sure and righteous way to respond."

What the "Therapy" Actually Did

As Linda dove deeper into conversion therapy approaches, her own desperation intensified. She was told that she'd be "giving in to Satan" if she accepted Ryan's sexuality.

The conversion therapy materials taught that homosexuality was largely caused by overbearing mothers who were too connected to their sons. The solution? Linda had to withdraw from Ryan while her husband was supposed to engage him in "manly activities."

"Understandably, Ryan was no longer confiding in me," Linda says. "He felt betrayed and abandoned. But each time I worried that we were no longer close, I'd reassure myself with Dr. Nicolosi's words that for Ryan to see results, I had to withdraw from him."

At 13, Ryan became determined to check every box the therapists provided: long hours memorizing scripture, involvement in multiple church youth groups, obsessive confession of sin. Each time he thought about other boys romantically, he prayed, pleading with God to help him feel attracted to girls.

"Here's the thing," Linda says. "The conversion therapy folks make the promises, but the work to make the change happen was all on Ryan. If he wasn't becoming straight, he was surely doing something wrong. If he still dreamed of a boyfriend, he was 'giving in to sin.' I'm not talking about sex, Ryan had never even kissed another boy. The very feelings inside of Ryan condemned him. He couldn't trust his own emotions, his own body, his own thoughts."

Ryan wanted so badly to please God and his mother that he threw himself into the work. The family even attended an Exodus International conference in Indiana, a week filled with keynotes from respected "ex-gay" therapists, pastors, and experts of the conversion therapy movement.

"We were hanging on to their promises that, given enough earnest dedication, Ryan would be freed from his torment," Linda says.

But Ryan spent those years immersed in a personal battle that was destroying him from the inside. When he was outside their home, he was charming and charismatic. But inside, his behavior became worrisome. He retreated to his room, not opening his door for days. He dipped in and out of suicidality as his parents desperately tried to keep him from harming himself.

"He continued to assume, as we did, that the cause of his turmoil was this unwanted homosexuality, a sin inside of himself that seemed impossible to eradicate," Linda says.

The Day Everything Broke

Linda will never forget the day, after six years of buying into the claims of conversion therapy, when Ryan came to her beside himself with anguish.

He had done every single thing asked of him, he told her. But nothing had changed.

"He hurled his Bible down the hall and told me that he was done," Linda recalls, her voice breaking. "It was only a couple of weeks later when he came to me to say that he was in such internal agony that he had begun researching psychedelics. He found people who said that psychedelics had helped them feel close to God again."

Ryan had just turned 18. He knew he couldn't use drugs in their home, so he told Linda he planned to move out and start trying something new. Conversion therapy had failed him.

What Linda understands now, with heartbreaking clarity, is this: "We had unintentionally taught Ryan to hate his sexuality. And since sexuality cannot be separated from the self, we had taught Ryan to hate himself. So as he began to use drugs, he did so with a recklessness and a lack of caution for his own safety that was alarming to everyone who loved him."

On July 16, 2009, Ryan died what Linda calls "a death of despair."

"We had not wanted a gay son," Linda says quietly. "And all of a sudden we no longer had one."

The Outcome the Therapists Never Mentioned

"This was one outcome the conversion therapists somehow didn't mention in any of their materials," Linda says.

Since Ryan's death, Linda has been told countless times what a horrible mother she was to her child. But she has a different perspective now.

"Christian parents like me aren't bad parents," she says firmly. "They're scared parents."

What Conversion Therapy Really Does

Looking back, Linda can see clearly what conversion therapy actually accomplished, and it was the opposite of everything it promised.

"Conversion therapy did nothing to change Ryan's sexuality," she says. "Instead, it taught Ryan that he couldn't be accepted or loved by God as he was, and it destroyed his bond with me, the person that he had always trusted the most."

The therapy taught Ryan that his very feelings were sinful. That dreaming about a boyfriend meant he was "getting into sin." That if he wasn't becoming straight, he was doing something wrong. He had to choose between God and being a sexual person, which practically meant accepting a lifetime alone.

"We forced him to make a choice between his faith and being himself," Linda says. "Choosing God meant living a lifetime condemned to being alone. As a teenager, he had to accept that he would never have the chance to fall in love, hold hands, have his first kiss, or share the intimacy and companionship that we, as his parents, enjoyed. We had always told our kids that marriage was God's greatest earthly gift, but Ryan had to accept that he alone would not be offered that present."

The practitioners said homosexuality was caused by family dysfunction, specifically by overbearing mothers. So Linda withdrew from her son at precisely the moment he needed her most.

"Ryan tried everything asked of him for six years," Linda says. "He prayed, he confessed, he memorized scripture. He did all the work. And nothing changed except that he learned to hate himself."

A Message to Other Parents

Linda has spent the last 16 years telling her story, not because it's easy, but because she doesn't want other parents to make the same choice she did.

"I thought I was protecting Ryan, but I was wrong," she says. "I made a terrible mistake as a parent. I take full responsibility for the choices I made, the role I played in the circumstances that led to my son's death. Sharing his story and the lessons I've come to learn is how I'm coping. No parent should have to learn what I learned, that love means accepting your child."

When Ryan told Linda he was gay, she was terrified. She later realized she was grieving the future she had hoped would be ahead for him and their family, but would no longer look the way she had always pictured.

"I panicked," she says simply. "Fear, panic, and shame made me vulnerable to promises that turned out to be empty and dangerous."

Christian Parents Aren't Bad Parents, They're Scared Parents

Linda wants other Christian parents to understand something critical: the vulnerability that comes when your child comes out to you.

"Since Ryan's death in 2009, I've been told countless times what a horrible mom I was to my child," she says. "But I want people to understand how incredibly vulnerable, but loving and devoted, parents of faith can be when their children come out to them."

She didn't know any other Christian families who had a gay child. She had nobody to talk to who could help her understand what she was feeling. In the years before Ryan came out, Christian culture was full of warnings about the LGBTQ community.

"When fear is in the water, parents are more vulnerable to those who claim to have the only sure and righteous way to respond," Linda explains.

The organizations she turned to seemed credible. They were recommended by trusted pastors and spiritual leaders. They used medical-sounding language and claimed to be based on research. They promised to keep her son safe.

"It might be hard to imagine how intelligent, caring parents could think that conversion therapy was the answer," Linda says. "But for me, like so many people, our faith community was everything, and every pastor and spiritual leader I knew trusted Focus on the Family."

The Truth That Conversion Therapy Conceals

What the conversion therapy practitioners didn't tell Linda, what they carefully avoided mentioning in their materials, was that these approaches don't work and they cause profound harm.

They didn't tell her that young people who undergo these "change efforts" show dramatically higher rates of depression, anxiety, PTSD, and suicide attempts compared to their peers.

They didn't tell her that the very practices they recommended, withdrawing from her son, teaching him to view his natural feelings as sinful, forcing him to choose between his faith and himself, would destroy the bond between mother and son.

They didn't tell her that after six years of Ryan doing everything asked of him, he would end up so broken, so convinced that he couldn't be loved by God, that he would turn to drugs in a desperate attempt to cope with his internal agony.

And they certainly didn't tell her that Ryan could die.

"The therapy didn't fail because Ryan failed," Linda says now. "It failed because it was based on a lie."

What Linda Learned Too Late

In the months between Ryan throwing his Bible down the hall and his death, Linda and her family finally learned to truly love their son. Period. No buts. No conditions. Just because he breathed.

"We learned to love whoever our son loved," Linda says. "And it was easy. What I had been so afraid of became a blessing."

But it came too late. The damage from those six years of conversion therapy had already been done. Ryan had already learned to hate himself. He had already lost his faith. He had already turned to drugs as the only way to cope with the internal agony that conversion therapy had created.

The Pain That Never Ends

Linda and her family mark time now by the days BC (before coma) and AD (after death), because they are different people now. Their life was irrevocably changed by Ryan's death.

"I can't bring Ryan back," Linda says. "But I can stand here and tell other parents: don't make the choice I made. The pain my family lives with every day is preventable. That's why I'm here, so no other family has to bury their child."

Key Lessons From Linda and Ryan's Story for Parents

Fear makes parents vulnerable to false promises

When Ryan came out, Linda felt "overwhelming terror." She didn't know any other Christian families with gay children. She'd been taught her whole life that being gay meant promiscuity, addiction, AIDS, and being stolen from family and faith. In that moment of fear and isolation, the organizations that promised to "eradicate the threat" to Ryan seemed like an answer to prayer. They weren't.

Trusted sources can steer you wrong

Linda didn't find conversion therapy on some fringe website. She found it through Focus on the Family, an organization that every pastor and spiritual leader she knew trusted. The practitioners used medical-sounding language and claimed to be based on research. The books had official-sounding titles. But credibility and credentials don't make harmful practices safe.

The rebranding doesn't change the harm

The organizations Linda turned to in 2001 don't use the same names today. Many have rebranded as "exploratory therapy," "therapy first," or "values-aligned counseling." They avoid the words "conversion therapy" because those words have become toxic. But the underlying promise is the same: that sexuality can and should be changed. The techniques may be softer, the language more therapeutic, but if the goal is to eliminate or change your child's sexual orientation or gender identity, it's still conversion therapy, no matter what it's called. And it still causes the same harm Ryan experienced.

The "work" falls on the child, not the therapist

The conversion therapy practitioners made promises, but Ryan did all the work. He memorized scripture, attended multiple youth groups, met weekly with his youth pastor, confessed obsessively, prayed constantly. For six years, he tried with everything he had. When it didn't work, the implicit message was clear: Ryan wasn't trying hard enough, wasn't faithful enough, wasn't doing it right. The failure was his, not theirs.

These practices destroy the parent-child bond

The conversion therapy materials taught Linda that homosexuality was caused by "overbearing mothers" who were too connected to their sons. The solution? Withdraw from Ryan at precisely the moment he needed her most. "Ryan was no longer confiding in me," Linda says. "He felt betrayed and abandoned." Conversion therapy didn't just fail to change Ryan, it actively destroyed his relationship with the person he'd always trusted most.

Children will sacrifice themselves to please their parents

Ryan spent six years trying desperately to change, not because he wanted to, but because he wanted to please God and his mother. He retreated to his room for days. He dipped in and out of suicidality. He threw himself into church activities and scripture memorization. Children raised in faith communities will put themselves through extraordinary suffering to win back their parents' full acceptance.

The harm is both immediate and lasting

Ryan spent years retreating to his room, struggling with suicidal thoughts, losing the ability to trust his own emotions or thoughts. But the lasting damage was even worse. Conversion therapy taught Ryan that he couldn't be loved by God as he was. It taught him to hate his sexuality, which meant teaching him to hate himself. That self-hatred led directly to the recklessness with drugs that cost him his life.

"Therapy" that demands you choose between faith and self is not therapy

Linda's family forced Ryan to choose between God and his sexuality. Choosing God meant accepting a lifetime alone, no love, no intimacy, no companionship. They told him that marriage was God's greatest earthly gift, but that he alone wouldn't be offered it. That's not therapy. That's spiritual and emotional abuse dressed up in therapeutic language.

You can't separate parts of yourself

"We had unintentionally taught Ryan to hate his sexuality," Linda says. "And since sexuality cannot be separated from the self, we had taught Ryan to hate himself." When you teach a child that their natural feelings are sinful, that their very thoughts condemn them, that who they are attracted to is fundamentally wrong, you teach them that they themselves are fundamentally wrong.

The outcome therapists don't mention

Conversion therapy materials promised healing, restoration, and freedom. They talked about success stories and transformation. What they didn't mention was that young people subjected to these practices show dramatically higher rates of depression, anxiety, PTSD, and suicide attempts. They didn't mention families destroyed. They didn't mention children who don't survive. Ryan's death was "one outcome the conversion therapists somehow didn't mention in any of their materials."

Christian parents aren't bad, they're scared

Linda wants other Christian parents to know this: "Christian parents like me aren't bad parents. They're scared parents." When your child comes out and you've been taught your whole life that being gay is dangerous, when you don't know any other families facing this, when everyone you trust is telling you that conversion therapy is the answer, it's not surprising that loving parents make this choice. Understanding that is critical to helping other parents avoid the same mistake.

Linda Robertson's story is a tragedy that she says could have been prevented. If she'd known then what she knows now, if someone had told her the truth about conversion therapy instead of selling her false promises, if she'd been given support instead of fear-based solutions, Ryan might still be alive.

"I thought I was protecting Ryan, but I was wrong," Linda says. For 16 years, she's been telling their story to make sure other parents know what she didn't: conversion therapy doesn't protect children. It destroys them.

If you're a Christian parent facing pressure to pursue conversion therapy for your child, remember Linda's words: "When fear is in the water, parents are more vulnerable to those who claim to have the only sure and righteous way to respond." That fear is real and valid. But the solution isn't conversion therapy. It never was.

DISCLAIMER: All testimonials are sourced from independent third parties verified by CT4F