A Gay Christian with an Autistic Brother Who Voted for Trump (and RFK Jr.)

Help this man's story go viral!

Wednesday, Mat 21st, 2025

When people look "at" Christians and make endless assumptions about them, it's like a white person in "the south" telling you what black folk are like...it's bigotry, through and through.

Christians are human beings from every walk of life. They can be gay, and love God. They can have abortions, and love God. They can vote Republican (or Democrat), and love God.

Why does this "love for God" matter?

Because what it really means is that you love your fellow men and women, because God loves all of us. Christians are, by far, the most "loving" of people, in spite of their other many human faults, because above all, they love a God who loves every single human who has ever existed.

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A story from a Gay Christian with an autistic brother who voted for Trump:

I don’t talk about this much. Honestly, I don’t even know how to. But lately, autism has been everywhere — headlines, arguments, debates about RFK Jr.’s comments, Trump’s involvement, and whether or not autism “destroys families.” And I’ve sat with it quietly, watching people who’ve never lived this life give their opinions.

I’ve heard the argument — that autism is a gift, that these kids are just socially different, that it’s offensive to suggest we should ever want a cure. But that’s not the world I grew up in. That’s not my reality.

My little brother Bryson was diagnosed with severe autism when he was 2. I don’t remember the day it happened. I remember what came after. The silence. The confusion. The way our lives slowly started to orbit around him. I was 10 — just old enough to know things weren’t “normal” anymore, and just young enough to not know what to do about it.

I also remember how fast the world began to turn its back on us. Schools didn’t know how to handle Bryson. People stared in public. We got left out. Friends stopped coming over. My parents were treated like they’d done something wrong. And I felt it, deeply — that quiet rejection that seeps in when you realize you’re the family people pity or avoid.

Later came the behaviors. Bryson didn’t talk. He stimmed constantly — spinning, pacing, making loud noises. He’d wander off if you looked away for even a second. At first, we thought it was just his personality. But eventually, we knew. This was going to change everything.

And it did.

I watched my parents slowly become different people. The stress of constant doctor visits, school meetings, and unknowns wore them down. I watched my mom cry after appointments where nothing improved. I watched my dad work endlessly to keep us afloat. We sold our home and moved to a different city — not for a fresh start, but for a better school system. That’s the kind of choice families like mine have to make.

And while I’m grateful for everything we were able to do — the truth is, everything came with sacrifice. Especially for us siblings.
My parents always made sure we had what we needed. We had clothes, we had food, we had a home. I asked for things like any other kid — and most of the time, I got them. But when it came to sacrificing for Bryson — changing plans, giving things up, putting him first — I didn’t complain. I knew what was happening. I could feel the pressure my parents were under, and even as a kid, I understood that some things just had to be different for our family. It wasn’t that we went without — it was that everything we had came with a cost.

When my parents told me we were moving right before my senior year — right before I’d graduate with the people I’d grown up with — I didn’t fight it. I knew we were doing it for Bryson. I lost a year of memories most people cherish. But I trusted that it was the right thing. And I do believe God honored that. Romans 8:28 — “In all things, God works for the good of those who love Him.” I’ve seen that verse show up in my life, even when it didn’t feel like it.
But this isn’t just about the past. It’s about what I carry now.

I’m 21, and I’m the oldest sibling, so right now I’m the executor of our estate. Eventually, my younger brother Logan will take over full responsibility for Bryson — Bryson will live with him. But that doesn’t mean the weight disappears. My other brother Ethan and I will always be involved in every way possible. This isn’t something that ends when we grow up. It becomes a lifelong commitment — one we accepted young, whether we were ready or not.

And it affects more than just logistics. I once told a guy I was dating that I’d one day share legal responsibility for my brother and that I’d be involved in his care for the rest of my life. The guy ended things not long after. That was the moment I realized — this is going to shape every part of my future.

And through it all, the judgment hasn’t just come from strangers in public or parents at school. It’s come from people in my own community.

Being a gay Christian who voted for Trump has put me in a category no one knows what to do with. I’ve been called selfish. Traitor. Heartless. But the truth is — I didn’t vote for Trump because I agreed with everything he said. I didn’t vote based on his morals, his personality, or even his politics. I voted for him because he was the only person who said the word “autism” in the White House in a way that felt real. And when RFK Jr. said that autism has destroyed families, it was the first time I felt like someone saw mine.

I’ve had to defend that decision over and over — to my friends, my peers, and to people who will never understand what it’s like to live with a sibling who can’t fully communicate, who can’t care for himself, and may never be able to.

I didn’t vote against people’s rights. I voted for my brother. And I’d do it again.

I grew up in the church, but I was hurt by it. I was told being gay was wrong. I saw people treat my brother like he was broken beyond God’s help. For years, I ran from faith. But when everything in my life started to fall apart, I found myself praying again — not because someone told me to, but because I had nothing left. Psalm 34:18 — “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.” That verse felt like it was written for me.

My faith looks different now. It’s real. Personal. Honest. I believe God sees me. I believe He gave me this story for a reason — even if I don’t understand all of it yet.

You don’t have to agree with our politics. You don’t have to like Trump — I don’t either.

But when he said the word “autism” in the White House, it mattered. When RFK Jr. said autism has destroyed families, people got offended. I didn’t. I exhaled.

Because someone finally said what we’ve lived. Autism didn’t take our love, but it tested everything else. It pushed our routines, our relationships, our sense of normal. We’ve known families who didn’t make it — parents who split up, siblings who walked away, homes that were filled with heartbreak instead of hope. Our story still has love in it, but I don’t take that for granted. It didn’t break us — but only by the grace of God.

And that’s what people don’t see.

They don’t see the nights we barely made it, or the prayers we whispered when we didn’t know what else to do. We don’t vote out of hate or ignorance. We vote because we’re fighting to hold our families together. And I believe God is still in it — still showing up, still carrying us, and still making purpose out of pain. This is something my family has prayed for, begged for, and hoped for.

And it matters.

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