Pride starts within.

Before the parades, the music, and the flags, every queer and questioning person, young or not, is faced with themself. The person in the mirror is the first and most important individual that anyone will ever come out to.

As a young person, I struggled to find the words to describe what, at the time, I could only express as feeling different. And as I grew to understand what made me different, the people in my life, at school, in the media and especially in politics offered me many words: shameful, fearful, broken. They told jokes I laughed along with, even though they hurt. They shaped the boundaries of what could be imagined, of the possible. And if you asked me what I thought my future would look like, I could produce the expected answer, but truthfully, I simply could not imagine one at all – at least not one where I could be myself.

Eventually, I began to see a brighter future and to understand myself and my place in the world. And I was only able to do that because I realized that I was not alone. I met people whose lives demonstrated what that future could be. I found stories in the library that helped me better understand my own. I knew about that parade downtown where people like me celebrated themselves and others without fear.

That’s when I started to understand that pride demands bravery.  

Amid so many negative messages, coming to love myself necessitated personal strength. And of course, it took courage to begin to navigate the world openly. But to move from the sidelines into the parade called for a more profound kind of bravery. It meant not only ignoring negativity from others but also silencing the voice of my inner critic, all to become part of something bigger and to accept that we are not alone – that we need each other.

As I grew more confident and settled into chosen family and community, I started to take those flags, that music and those parades for granted. I forgot what they meant to me when I was young and thought more about what they required of me now. Marching down a crowded and loud street on a hot day in June sounds far less appealing than being with friends and family, quietly living a life that I worked hard to be proud of. It took a lot to get to this comfortable place. It can be tempting to be complacent, but we risk pulling the ladder up behind us.

But withdrawing can mean the difference between life and death for many in our communities, particularly for queer and trans Black, Indigenous and people of color (QTBIPOC) individuals.  As the attacks on our friends and neighbors have intensified, the collective power of the entire community is needed more than ever. Those most impacted and closest to harms know best how to solve them, and we cannot and must not leave them with the burden of creating a world where we are all truly free. That takes all of us. It requires us to listen and to take their lead.

Thus, pride requires resolve. I survived because someone shared their story and replaced paralyzing fear with possibility. I grew bolder because I saw the signs and flags that neighbors displayed at their houses. I thrived because of those that had the courage to move from the sidelines to the parade lines. Not just people in my life, but also complete strangers, were there for me.

Why do we need to see a flag or have a book in the library or watch a parade? If we lived in a world where people accepted and loved each other for who they are, we might not need them. But here and now – especially here and now – when pride takes more bravery and resolve than it has for quite some time, we need them dearly.

We need them to remind us that we are worthy when it is difficult to tell ourselves.

We need them to remind us that we are not alone, and that we matter to others.

We need them so that the next time a young person is standing in front of the mirror, struggling with what to tell themself about who they truly are, and wondering what future lies before them, they know what is possible and that the future could be beautiful.

And we need much more than flags, books, and parades.

That is why pride requires commitment. Not being alone means showing up for others, particularly for those most impacted, with your actions, with your resources, with your votes, and with your presence.

As we celebrate pride, the ACLU of Washington will be showing up for communities across Washington state, attending celebrations, sponsoring events, distributing “know your rights” information, and providing speakers and educational opportunities. We hope that you will visit our resource page and join us – if not for yourselves or someone you love, then for someone you will never meet who needs you.