When Jesus Names You: Identity, Gender, and Hope for the Sexually Broken

Identity is at the heart of every sexual struggle I’ve ever encountered—in my own story* and in the stories of countless men and women we’ve walked with at Be Broken. When identity is confused or distorted, sexual brokenness grows in that soil like weeds. When identity is rooted in Christ and in God’s design, genuine hope and transformation become possible.​

Click the image above to watch the podcast episode with Anne Edward.

In a recent conversation with my friend Anne Edward, executive director of Restored Hope Network, her story put flesh and blood on this reality of identity and sexual brokenness. I want to draw from her journey to talk about why identity matters so deeply, why our culture’s view of “sexual identity” is so devastating, and how real hope is found in the One who names us and knows us.​

When early wounds rewrite identity

Anne shared that as a little girl, she was happily playing with dolls and enjoying life as the youngest daughter in her family. Then, in the same season when her beloved grandfather died, she was sexually violated at age three going on four—a trauma that shattered her sense of safety and self.​

Overnight, she “turned into a tomboy.” She rejected femininity because, in her experience, being a girl had become dangerous. She wanted to play the boy roles in games, not because she was “born in the wrong body,” but because it felt like the only way to have some control and feel safe.​

That’s a pattern I’ve seen again and again:

• A deep wound disrupts a child’s sense of self.

• Lies attach to that wound (“You’re not safe as a girl,” “You don’t belong,” “You’re broken beyond repair”).

• Over time, those lies harden into identity statements.

In Anne’s case, later experiences compounded that confusion. At six, another girl made a sexualized “kiss pass” at her, and it felt good. Compared to the feeling of violation from earlier abuse, this encounter felt safe and in her control. That experience became part of the “logic” that led her into homosexual desire: “This feels safe, this feels good—this must be who I am.”​

Notice: none of this started with a clean, neutral slate. It started with trauma, misinterpretation, and a desperate attempt to make sense of pain.

Life without a purpose-giver

For years, Anne lived without a clear understanding of the gospel. She had some exposure to church but never really remembers hearing that Jesus came to die for our sins, cleanse us, and bring us from darkness to light. So she did what many of us do in the absence of a clear purpose: she experimented.​

In college at UC Santa Barbara, she pursued same‑sex relationships, dabbled in drugs, and embraced a worldview that said, essentially, “If we’re just the result of macroevolution from slime, why say no to anything?” She described how that philosophy led her not to freedom but to depression and a sense that life had very little value.​

This is what happens when we attempt to create identity without a Creator:

• There are no meaningful boundaries.

• There is no compelling reason to say “no” to destructive desires.

• The darkness around us (violence, abuse, evil) feels both offensive and inexplicable.

If there is no Designer, there’s no design. If there’s no design, our bodies, our desires, and our relationships become a field of experimentation—until the emptiness and chaos catch up with us.

Meeting the One who names us

In the midst of that chaos, God began pursuing Anne. She started having dreams about Jesus and found herself oddly defensive when someone made a crack about Him, even though she didn’t yet know Him. That inner tension led her to a Christian group on campus—an evangelism training class of all things—where she encountered both rational answers about truth and evil and the living presence of God.​

At 19, she told the pastor, “I’m a lesbian. My hope is to find the right woman, settle down, white picket fence, dog, cars, the whole thing.” The pastor gently but clearly showed her what Scripture calls sin, explained the gospel, and then said, “I don’t think you’re ready to pray this yet—but when you are, here’s what you can pray.”​

A couple of hours later, she couldn’t hold back. She surrendered to Jesus—“all of it, including that”—and experienced profound cleansing, joy, and a new internal motivation to please her Heavenly Father. Attraction patterns did not vanish overnight, but the foundation shifted. She was no longer trying to define herself by herself. She was receiving a new identity from the God who made her and loved her.​

That’s crucial: conversion didn’t instantly erase all struggle, but it did reframe her story. Now she belonged to Someone who truly loved her. Now her life had a purpose and a direction. Now there was a trustworthy voice to tell her who she really was.

Identity: fixed gift, not fluid project

When we talked about identity, Anne made a simple but powerful point: identity goes down to value, purpose, and foundation—and someone sets that identity. Biblically, that “someone” is our Creator.​

From Genesis 1–3, we see that God made us male and female, with intention, to represent Him. He designed us to reflect His image through things like creativity, relationship, and even the ability to participate in bringing forth new life. Our identity at the most basic level is a God‑given reality, not a self‑constructed project.​

Anne put it this way: identity is agreeing with God on the things He has given as concrete, including the biological realities of our bodies. When we refuse that and insist, “I can create my own identity,” several things happen:​

• We declare that what God has given us is not valuable.

• We enter into inner warfare with our own body and design.

• We live at odds with the One who made us.

For Anne, her freshman‑year depression was the fruit of a life with “no real boundaries,” where every door was theoretically open but none of them led to meaning. When she surrendered to Jesus, she wasn’t just asking for forgiveness; she was receiving a new center of gravity for who she was.​

The trap of “sexual identity”

Since the 1960s sexual revolution—and especially in the last couple of decades—it has become common to build identity around sexual attractions, behaviors, and labels. We hear language like “gay Christian,” “lesbian Christian,” or “this is who I am because of my desires.” Anne and I both see this as a tragic over‑narrowing of the human person.​

When someone builds their entire identity on sexuality or sexual desires:

• They begin to see everything through that lens.

• The label gets “set in concrete,” yet is incredibly fragile.

• Any challenge to the label feels like a threat to their very existence.​

That fragility often shows up in how easily offended someone becomes if you question their self‑description or ask gentle questions about their story. Anne noted that the level of defensiveness often reveals just how vulnerable that identity really is. If I’m secure in Christ, I don’t have to rage when someone mislabels me; I know who I am, even if others don’t. But if my deepest sense of self hangs on a sexual label, then any challenge can feel catastrophic.​

At the same time, we have to be careful not to caricature people who identify as LGBTQ+. Many are kind, generous, and appear more “put together” than many Christians. Anne has had pastors tell her, “My gay friends have more integrity than some believers I know—so it must not be sin.” Her response is straightforward: that’s not how sin is defined. The question is not “Are they nice?” but “What does the God who designed sexuality say about how it’s meant to function for the good of individuals, families, and societies?”​

Walking with people in truth and love

So how do we walk with people who are wrestling with identity—especially those who say, “I’m a Christian, and I’m a gay Christian”?

Anne’s counsel is to start with questions, not declarations. Ask, “What do you mean by ‘gay Christian’?” “Why do you feel the need to meld those two identity statements?” Then listen to their story. Often you’ll hear about attempts to change, disappointment, pain, and confusion. You’ll also have the opportunity to share both the truth of Scripture and the hope of growth.​

She encourages us to adopt the posture God used with her: “I love you so much. I’m here with you. You’re not set in stone. There are places in your heart I want to heal. Let’s walk together and see what happens.” That’s very different from either affirming everything or hammering people with truth devoid of relationship.​

Two things are essential:

• Patience – Jesus didn’t reveal all the hardest teaching to His disciples on day one. He began with “Come, follow Me,” and over years led them into increasingly costly obedience.​

• Courage – Love isn’t sentimental. It tells the truth, but in a way that is clearly for the other person’s good, not as a way of discharging our own fear or anger.​

When we meet someone in a coffee shop or a church lobby, we’re seeing a snapshot, not their whole story. We don’t know where they’ve come from or what God may yet do in their life. Our role is to embody the heart of Jesus: full of grace and full of truth, ready to walk with them over time as the Spirit does His deep work.​

Hope for those confused and hurting

Maybe you see yourself in parts of Anne’s story: early abuse, confusion, same‑sex attraction, addiction, or just a deep sense that you don’t know who you are. Maybe the idea of surrendering your sexuality or identity to Jesus feels terrifying.

Here’s the word of hope Anne offered, and I want to echo it:

God meets you right where you are—and then moves you step by step. He does not demand that you leap an ocean in a day. He invites you to trust Him for the next step.​

Jesus describes Himself as gentle and humble in heart, offering rest to the weary and burdened. Anne pointed to Matthew 11 and emphasized that He is our “yoke‑fellow,” carrying the load with us. He went to the cross to rescue us not only from the penalty of sin but also from sin’s power and the dominion of darkness. In love, He then calls us to take up our cross—to surrender our selfish, willful, rebellious selves to Him and trust that His way leads to life.​

If you’re in that place of confusion, here are some simple next steps:

• Tell Jesus honestly where you are, what you fear, and what you desire.

• Ask Him to begin defining your identity—not your attractions, not your history, not your shame.

• Reach out to a trusted, mature believer or a ministry that understands sexual brokenness and identity, and invite them into your story.

At Be Broken, we often say, “Your job is not to fix yourself; your job is to bring yourself.” Bring your confusion, your wounds, your desires, and your questions to the One who made you, who loves you, and who alone has the authority—and the compassion—to tell you who you really are.

Contact us to take your next best step to wholeness in Christ.

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