Why I’m the Worst Version of Me in Pocatello

Why I’m the Worst Version of Me in Pocatello

I want to start by saying clearly: Pocatello isn’t a bad place. It has its rhythms, its communities, and its charm. But for me, it feels limiting—particularly in ways that touch the core of who I am: spiritually, socially, and queerly.

Outside of my marriage, my social circle here is overwhelmingly dominated by heterosexual women. That’s not inherently a problem—many of these women are wonderful, and I value my friendships deeply—but it leaves little room for me to exist fully as a gay man, especially among other men. Even in social settings like bars or queer events, the spaces I gravitate toward tend to be female-dominated. And within the queer circles I’ve been part of here, the groups are heavily lesbian-heavy. I’m not saying any of this is “bad,” but it creates a stifling dynamic: there isn’t a space where I can simply inhabit myself among people who share my identity, energy, and orientation.

Reflecting back to my life before marriage and before I met my husband, the communities I inhabited were markedly different. I existed almost exclusively within two spheres: a largely queer pagan community and the broader queer community. Smaller interactions with the heterosexual world existed, but those spaces often felt stifling, cumbersome, and at times alien. Heterosexual culture—particularly in a predominantly white, Christian female social circle—is radically different from queer culture or pagan spaces. The values, the rhythms, the ways people interact—it all felt misaligned with who I am.

When I married, my husband became the bridge to a male-centered and queer-centered social world that I could inhabit fully. Through him, I found grounding, connection, and a sense of belonging in circles where I could be fully myself. Those were friendships, spiritual connections, and social currents that flowed deeply, providing stability and a sense of home. Without him, and without those spaces present, I’ve felt increasingly cut off and isolated.

The period I thrived most in Pocatello was during the very beginning of the Genesis Project. I was immersed in a queer space, surrounded by queer spirituality, and supported by a queer male social circle. That combination—the spiritual, the queer, and the male-centered community—gave me grounding. It was the environment I needed to feel fully alive. Outside of that time, without a relationship to bridge me into these spaces, I’ve struggled profoundly.

Gay men understand this dynamic: our resting place, our core social home, tends to be other queer men. These aren’t necessarily sexual or romantic connections—they are friendships, circles of support, and spaces of mutual understanding where we feel safe, seen, and fully ourselves. That foundation has been missing in Pocatello. Instead, I am surrounded by friends who are wonderful, but the energy, identity, and connection I need aren’t fully present. It’s a space of sameness, but not of complete unfolding or resonance.

This absence has had a profound impact on my wellbeing. Without spaces where I feel fully seen and supported, my stress and anxiety rise. I’ve found myself drinking heavier, experimenting with substances, and struggling with frustration, anger, or depression in ways I never experienced elsewhere. Depression here is deeper because the foundations that sustain me—spiritual community, queer male social circles, friendships where I can be fully myself—aren’t available. These missing pieces create a pressure and isolation that amplifies the challenges of daily life.

Even in my everyday social interactions, this dynamic is palpable. In heterosexual circles dominated by women, I can be friendly and engaging, but I can’t fully relax into the aspects of myself that thrive in queer and male-centered environments. I can’t inhabit the playful, grounded, and deeply connected version of myself. I’m constantly aware of the absence of spaces where I can feel fully at home with others who share my identity, orientation, and spiritual energy.

This absence also provides insight into some of the difficulties I faced in my marriage. The foundation I had in other cities—Boise, Seattle, San Francisco—was missing here. I didn’t have immersive queer male-centered or spiritual communities. That lack of grounding left me more vulnerable, more isolated, and more frustrated. It’s not about blame, but about context: without these spaces, my social and emotional ecosystem is incomplete.

Pocatello isn’t a bad place. But for me, it’s a place where the spaces that allow my full self to flourish—spiritual, queer, male-centered communities—aren’t available. And acknowledging that isn’t a critique of the people here—it’s an honest recognition of my own needs, the spaces that allow me to thrive, and the environments where my full self can be fully expressed and sustained.