Mastering Whack-a-Mole

The Dutiful Task of Compartmentalization

In my previous post, I shared that I am gay. I also invited you to walk with me through the story of my coming out. This journey will not be neat or linear. It isn’t a chronological history lesson on the life of Jason Wellman. Instead, it’s a window into the inner wrestlings, choices, and moments that slowly led me to embrace who I am. So, let’s begin where the wrestling truly started—with the question of whether I would ever come out at all.

For most of my life, I fully intended to take this secret to my grave. Never in a million years did I imagine myself coming out. I had become highly skilled at compartmentalizing my life. My sexuality was locked in a dark cage, wrapped in chains, and secured with multiple padlocks. I threw away the key and shoved that cage as far into my subconscious as possible.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t know I was gay, or as it was often referred to, experiencing “same-sex attraction.” I knew I was different since the 5th grade. But I also thought if I did all the right things, prayed hard enough, and read reparative therapy resources and implemented its practices, my sexuality could change. I desperately wanted it to change!

So anytime the thought of actually living into the truth of who I am surfaced, I reacted like a seasoned whack-a-mole champion—quick, decisive, and relentless.

A gay thought appeared? WHACK.
A “lustful” thought? WHACK.
A deep sense of disconnection from myself? WHACK.
The feeling that I was living a lie? WHACK.
Seeing two men show affection in public and wondering what that kind of freedom might feel like? WHACK.
A desire to live as a more integrated, whole person? WHACK.
A longing to tell someone—anyone—the truth about myself? WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

I’ll share more in later posts about how and why I learned this kind of compartmentalization during my childhood and teenage years. I’ll also share how the theological tradition I was raised in encouraged this behavior. They just called it the “renewing of the mind,” “taking every thought captive,” or “spiritual warfare.”

For decades, it worked. Or at least, it seemed to. Up until about 10 years ago, my hammer was always within reach, ready to silence anything that threatened the carefully constructed version of myself I presented to the world.

So how did I go from a whack-a-mole champion to finally coming out?

I got a degree.

In 2016, I began a doctoral program in leadership and spiritual formation. Leadership has always come fairly naturally to me. I was a manager at McDonald’s as a teenager for Christ’s sake! So when I found a program that blended leadership with spiritual formation, I was intrigued.

Spiritual formation is a little more ambiguous term. Theologically, it’s about being formed in the image of Christ. It’s an invitation to engage in deep inner work—to become more integrated, more whole. It asks us to peer under the hood of our lives, to explore why we do what we do, and to name the places that need re-formation, connection, healing, and care.

From the very first semester, my inner world began screaming for attention.

I entered the program spiritually dry. Externally, I was functioning well as a leader. Internally, as a human being, I was dying. I had suffocated parts of myself—not just my sexuality—to the point that they were barely recognizable. Vast regions of my inner life had become deserts. Had I not begun tending to them, I honestly don’t know what would have become of me.

One of the first books we read was The Holy Longing by Catholic priest Ronald Rolheiser. In it, he describes a healthy soul this way:

“A healthy soul, therefore, must do two things for us. First, it must put some fire in our veins, keep us energized, vibrant, living with zest, and full of hope as we sense that life is, ultimately, beautiful and worth living. Second, a healthy soul has to keep us fixed together. It has to continually give us a sense of who we are, where we came from, where we are going, and what sense there is in all of this.”

At that point in my life, my soul was doing neither. I felt no vibrancy or hope. I lacked grounding in my identity and purpose. I had come to believe that caring for the soul meant believing the “right” things and doing the “right” things. I learned to be a successful pastor by developing competencies and honing leadership skills. I masked my insecurities by becoming an expert. Meanwhile, my soul—the most sacred, tender part of me—was on life support.

Over the next three years, I was encouraged to explore my inner world. I invited the Spirit to accompany me on what felt like a rescue mission—to find my core self, unlock the chains, and come face-to-face with the parts of me I had shamed, hidden, and abandoned.

This wasn’t only about my sexuality. I had locked away many parts of who I am. But my sexuality was a significant piece of that story. It would take several more years before I fully embraced it, but this slow work of unlayering—inviting every part of myself to the table—eventually led me there.

During my doctoral program, I returned to therapy to process my shame and some childhood trauma. I began meeting with a spiritual director to deepen my relationship with God. My doctoral mentor became a spiritual mother for me, providing love, wisdom, and compassion. I developed deep friendships with three men who would forever change my life, each offering me courage, safety, and truth when I needed it most.

This is where it truly began.

I entered a doctoral program hoping it would give me credentials and credibility—a Doctor of the Church! Instead, I became the patient. The Spirit led me on a journey of self-discovery, compassion, and healing.

And in the end, I came face-to-face with my fifth-grade self—an insecure kid who knew he was different from the other boys. I met the boy I had spent more than thirty years locking in a cage of shame and fear.

Eventually, I laid down the whack-a-mole hammer. I opened the cage. I embraced that boy.

And I welcomed him home

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