(RNS) — The Supreme Court on Tuesday (March 31) struck down Colorado’s conversion therapy ban, siding with a therapist who argued her First Amendment rights were violated by a state law prohibiting her from working with clients to attempt to change their sexual orientations. While conservative Christians and pro-conversion therapy groups like the Changed Movement are celebrating the decision as a victory, many queer Christians who have survived so-called conversion practices, like myself, see this as a moment of lament.

Kaley Chiles, the therapist at the center of the case, argued bans in Colorado prevented her from exercising her free speech to offer counseling aligned with her Christian religious beliefs, which include assisting clients who wish to live in accordance with their religious convictions. In an 8-1 majority, the court agreed.

What the court may not fully understand is what that kind of speech actually does to a person.

Today, conversion therapy is often framed as talk therapy and marketed as a compassionate response for people questioning their sexuality. But the reality is that in every organization or ministry that promotes these practices, there’s no rulebook and no formal certification process. It’s all based on a mix of pseudoscientific theories adopted from the McCarthy era, dressed up with spiritual undertones.

I know this because I lived it for eight years. The guidance I was given ranged from the practical — “Don’t watch gay porn” — to the outlandish — “By developing platonic relationships with other men, my sexual desires for them would disappear.” But what it truly does is try to disintegrate a person’s body, mind and spirit.

Through these “therapies,” I was taught to bring my body into submission, to hate my flesh and to do all I could externally to be more like a man. I was told the sound of my voice, my mannerisms and expressions needed to be policed and moderated. I was made to believe that my first thought was the wrong thought and to never trust my instincts, which led to a state of hypervigilance and anxiety. In therapy sessions, I was repeatedly told I was broken because of trauma I had endured, and that if I healed my wounds from the past, my sexual attractions would change. When, after eight years, they hadn’t, I was told I hadn’t tried hard enough.

And worse, all of this was presented to me as my only means of salvation. If I wanted to honor God and walk in integrity, my only choice was to pray and believe for God to change me. And when God didn’t answer my prayers, I thought it meant divine rejection.

Throughout my time in conversion therapy, I met hundreds of people who were on the same path as I was. None of us received the miracle we’d been promised. For the few that stuck with the program and got married to a spouse of the opposite gender, all would admit their attractions never changed; they’ve just willingly suppressed their desires. Or, they’ve since divorced and are now living openly gay lives. 

And it isn’t just anecdotal. Conversion therapy has been discredited by every major medical and mental health organization as ineffective and harmful. Youth subjected to it report higher rates of suicidal thoughts and attempts, especially within the first year after exposure to these pseudoscientific practices. And a recent report by The Trevor Project suggests an uptick in the number of LGBTQ+ youth exposed to conversion practices, which rose to 15% last year among its survey participants. And based on this week’s ruling, that number will only continue to grow as challenges to conversion therapy bans in other states are likely.

Many who leave conversion therapy report ongoing anxiety, depression and the inability to form lasting relationships. Others have difficulty trusting licensed clinical therapists and miss out on the opportunity to get sound psychological support. Others struggle with substance abuse and addiction. And people who have experienced it in religious environments deal with long-term spiritual trauma, many abandoning their faith altogether and believing they had been abandoned or rejected by God for failing to “change.” Others have found a way to reconcile their faith and sexuality in LGBTQ-affirming churches or through the work of Q Christian Fellowship or The Reformation Project.

Meanwhile, back in 2014, nine former leaders of the so-called ex-gay movement, including a co-founder of Exodus International, one the largest organization in the world promoting conversion therapy, signed a statement denouncing the practice. “We know first-hand the terrible emotional and spiritual damage it can cause, especially for LGBT youth,” they wrote, urging parents to love and accept their LGBT children as they are, and challenging churches to embrace and affirm LGBT persons with full equality and inclusion. 

But their voices were ignored, and others took up their mantle. Today’s practitioners would be quick to distance themselves from the conversion therapy ministries of the past, discrediting the former leaders as having been deceived and survivors like me as not having tried hard enough or not being true believers. But the truth is, today my relationship with God is the strongest it’s ever been. And I believe I am loved by God, just as I am, as a gay man.

When I walked out of my therapist’s office for the final time in January 2010, that didn’t mean I was suddenly free. It would take me more than a decade to feel like I’d truly started to break free from the shame and trauma I carried with me.

As much as I would have hoped the court would have done everything within its power to protect another generation of LGBTQ+ youth from this soul-crushing and potentially life-ending practice, it didn’t. But those of us who have walked this path will do all we can to protect them. We will share our stories and experiences to bring a human face and voice to the harm these practices cause. We will try to educate parents and faith leaders. And we will do all we can to ensure people seeking help in therapeutic settings are protected from any practices that seek to diminish them in body, mind or spirit.

(Timothy Schraeder Rodriguez is a writer and LGBTQ+ advocate whose work explores the intersection of faith, sexuality and belonging. His forthcoming memoir, “Conversion Therapy Dropout: A Queer Story of Faith and Belonging,” tells the story of his eight years in conversion therapy and his journey to healing. The views expressed in this commentary do not necessarily reflect those of Religion News Service.)