People still talk about it. Even years after the cameras stopped rolling and the initial Twitter firestorm died down, the phrase "my husbands not gay" brings back a very specific, very awkward memory of 2015 reality television. It was a one-hour TLC special that felt like a fever dream.
It wasn't just another show about unconventional lifestyles. It was a lightning rod.
The premise was simple, yet incredibly loaded: a group of men in Salt Lake City who identified as having "same-sex attraction" (SSA) but chose to marry women. They were Mormon. They were devout. And they were insistent that their orientation didn't define their domestic lives.
When it aired, the backlash was instantaneous. GLAAD called it "dangerous." Petitions circulated to cancel it before the first commercial break even hit. But if you actually sit down and look at what happened, the story is more about the friction between religious identity and modern sexual politics than it is about a simple "gotcha" moment.
The Men Behind the Headlines
At the center of the storm were Jeff, Pret, and Curtis. They weren't characters in a scripted drama; they were real guys trying to navigate a very narrow path. Jeff Bennion, arguably the face of the special, was incredibly open about his struggles. He didn't claim to be "cured." That’s a common misconception people have about the show—that it was a commercial for conversion therapy.
It wasn't. Not exactly.
Instead, the men described a life of "management." They spoke about their wives with genuine affection, but the tension was palpable. You could see it in the way they looked at each other during the group dates. It felt like watching people try to build a house on a foundation they knew was shifting. The show highlighted a subculture within the LDS church that many outsiders didn't even know existed: the "mixed-orientation marriage."
Basically, these couples were trying to prove that a marriage could survive on shared values and spiritual goals even if the "spark" was pointing in a different direction. It was a massive gamble.
Why the Backlash Was So Intense
The timing couldn't have been more volatile. 2015 was the year of the Obergefell v. Hodges Supreme Court decision. The cultural momentum was swinging heavily toward the validation of LGBTQ+ identities. Then, along comes TLC with a special that seemingly suggests you can just... decide not to be gay.
Critics argued that by giving these men a platform, TLC was validating the idea that being gay is a choice or a "struggle" to be overcome. Groups like the Human Rights Campaign were worried. They feared that young people in religious households would see this and think they had to force themselves into straight marriages to be "worthy."
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It's a valid concern. Research has shown that trying to suppress sexual orientation often leads to higher rates of depression and anxiety. According to a study by San Francisco State University, highly rejected LGBTQ young people were eight times more likely to have attempted suicide. The "my husbands not gay" narrative felt, to many, like a form of soft rejection.
The Mormon Context
You can't talk about this special without talking about Salt Lake City. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has a complicated history with this topic. At the time the special aired, the church's stance was essentially: "It's okay to have the feelings, but don't act on them."
For Jeff and the others, marrying a woman was the ultimate act of faith. They were following the "Plan of Salvation" as they understood it. To them, they weren't being dishonest. They were being disciplined.
But the nuances were lost on a national audience. Most viewers saw men who were clearly attracted to other men trying to convince themselves—and the world—that they were happy in traditional marriages. It felt performative.
The social media reaction was brutal. People pointed out the "chemistry" between the husbands during a scene where they played a game of "Zorb" football. It became a meme before memes were even the primary way we communicated. The internet didn't see a religious struggle; it saw a tragedy wrapped in a reality TV bow.
What Happened After the Cameras Stopped?
TLC never turned the special into a full series. The outcry was just too much.
But the lives of the participants didn't just end when the credits rolled. Interestingly, some of the people involved in these types of marriages eventually changed their minds. While Jeff Bennion has remained relatively quiet in recent years, the broader community of men in mixed-orientation marriages has seen a lot of turnover.
Josh Weed, a prominent Mormon blogger who wasn't in the special but was the "poster child" for this lifestyle around the same time, eventually came out and divorced his wife in 2018. His "coming out" post was a massive moment in the LDS community. He admitted that while he loved his wife, the lack of sexual attraction was a hole that couldn't be filled by piety alone.
It makes you wonder about the guys from the special. If you look at the statistics for these types of marriages, the long-term success rate is statistically lower than average. A study published in the Journal of Marital and Family Therapy suggests that while some couples find a way to make it work through "companionate love," the internal pressure often becomes unsustainable over decades.
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The Ethics of "Cringe" TV
There's a darker side to the "my husbands not gay" phenomenon. Reality TV thrives on the "freak show" aspect. TLC—formerly "The Learning Channel"—has a long history of pivoting from educational content to "The 600-lb Life" or "90 Day Fiancé."
Was the special an honest look at a religious subculture? Or was it just exploitation?
Probably a bit of both. The men seemed to genuinely want to share their stories. They felt they were offering hope to others in their position. But the editors knew exactly what they were doing. They lingered on the awkward pauses. They emphasized the "gayest" things the men did while insisting they were straight. It was designed to make the viewer feel a mix of pity and disbelief.
Understanding the "Same-Sex Attraction" Label
One of the most distinct things about the show was the language. They didn't use the word "gay" as an identity. They used "SSA" (Same-Sex Attraction) as a symptom.
This is a key distinction in certain religious circles. By turning an identity into a feeling, you make it something that can be managed, like a temper or a sweet tooth. Honestly, it’s a linguistic trick. If you are gay, that’s who you are. If you have SSA, that’s just something you’re dealing with.
The men in the special were very careful with their words. They wanted to maintain their standing in their church and their community. But that linguistic shield didn't protect them from the reality of their situation. The tension in the special came from the gap between the words they used and the lives they were clearly living.
The Impact on the Wives
We often focus on the men, but the wives in "my husbands not gay" were in a fascinating, if difficult, position. They were portrayed as supportive, even heroic, for "standing by their men."
But what does that do to a person's self-esteem? To know that your partner is fundamentally not attracted to your gender?
In the special, the wives downplayed the importance of sexual chemistry. They talked about "spiritual connection" and "friendship." It’s a noble sentiment, but in the context of a lifelong marriage, it’s a heavy lift. Some viewers found the wives to be the most tragic figures in the whole production. They were essentially signing up for a life of being "enough" without ever being "it."
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Lessons from the Controversy
Looking back, the special was a time capsule. It caught a moment where old-world religious expectations were crashing head-first into a new world of radical authenticity.
It taught us that "visibility" isn't always a good thing. For the men in the special, visibility brought ridicule. For the LGBTQ+ community, visibility of this specific lifestyle felt like a step backward.
It also highlighted the absolute necessity of nuance. You can't just look at these men and say they're "lying." They were living their truth—it just happened to be a truth that was incredibly complicated and, to many, contradictory.
What to take away from the saga:
- Orientation vs. Behavior: The special proved that while you can control your behavior, you can't necessarily control your orientation. The men were successful in staying married, but they weren't "straight."
- The Power of Community Standards: The LDS influence was the primary driver here. Without that specific religious pressure, it's unlikely any of these men would have chosen this path.
- Media Responsibility: TLC's decision to air the special remains a case study in media ethics. Is it "representation" if the representation is widely considered harmful by the group being depicted?
- The Evolution of Identity: Since 2015, the way we talk about fluid identities has changed. Today, some of these men might identify as "queer" or "bisexual" while staying in their marriages, rather than trying to fit into a "straight" box.
How to Navigate Similar Situations Today
If you find yourself or someone you love in a situation where religious identity and sexual orientation are at odds, the landscape has changed since 2015.
First, seek out "neutral" therapy. The problem with the men in the special was that their support systems were all biased toward one outcome: staying in the marriage. A therapist who doesn't have an agenda can help you figure out what you actually want, rather than what your community expects.
Second, look at the long-term data. Mixed-orientation marriages can work, but they require an extreme amount of transparency and, often, a redefining of what "monogamy" or "marriage" looks like. The "hush-hush" approach seen in the special is rarely sustainable.
Finally, remember that your identity isn't a "problem" to be solved. Whether you choose to stay in a traditional marriage or pursue a different path, the goal should be internal peace, not just external compliance.
The "my husbands not gay" era of television was a wild, uncomfortable blip in the history of reality TV. It didn't solve any debates, and it didn't change many minds. But it did provide a stark, unvarnished look at the lengths people will go to to reconcile their hearts with their heavens. It’s a reminder that human relationships are rarely as simple as a TV title makes them out to be.
If you’re researching this topic for personal reasons, start by looking into organizations like Encircle or Affirmation. They provide resources for people navigating the intersection of faith and orientation without the "sensationalism" of a reality TV lens. Understanding the psychological toll of suppression is the first step toward making an informed choice about your own life.
Stop looking for "cures" and start looking for clarity. The men on the screen were looking for a way to belong; just make sure your version of belonging doesn't require you to disappear.