Pride 2024 Reflections

These past two years, Pride took on a very different meaning for me. It became a time to experience joy in safety and also to grieve all the times I’ve felt unsafe - all the times we (members of the LGBTQIA2s+) feel unsafe, every single day.

The moments where I used to laugh and observe care-free, have a deeper anchor now that draws through my heart into my core.

For every moment of freedom I feel, there is equally a feeling of captivity; A dread of going back into “every day life” where I make the constant choice to wear a mask and feel accepted, or stand up proudly as my whole self and risk being ostracized, accosted, or just disregarded. Because every time I share a piece of myself and someone chooses not to see it - my identity, my pronouns, my requests of how to be referred to or complimented - a piece of me disappears.

I’ve been so fortunate in my personal life to have so many humxns who want to see my whole self, who ask the questions, never make assumptions, and make adjustments to ensure language aligns with experience.

I’ve also had to make the decision to step away from relationships where this wasn’t the case; To end long term friendships and family relationships where I knew my whole self would never truly be seen and loved in the way I deserve.

This year, with my partner and friends by my side, I participated in the Kelowna Pride March. Hundreds - maybe even thousands - of us met together and walked as a community. We stood by each other as the loan red pick-up truck covered in Canadian flags circled the block trying to intimidate us. We weren’t intimidated. We stood strong, together. We honoured the land on which we stood, and honoured each other by being present, open, and honest.

In other cities I’ve lived in, the march becomes a parade, a spectacle. It’s a wonderful celebration, and, I also feel it is much too far removed from the true meaning of Pride and the roots of this protest. Because it is a protest.

It’s a protest against that person circling the block trying to intimidate us; A protest against every person who ever disregarded our existence; To every family tie we’ve had to sever because we realized we deserved to be our true selves and it could not happen in that relationship; To every law that chooses not to observe our existence; To every intake form that mandates a selection of sex assigned at birth or title without giving non-gendered options . . .

It’s a protest to say our existence matters.

It’s a protest to show each other the love we can’t always receive elsewhere.

It’s a protest to demand the safety we all deserve.

And it is a protest of healing.

For every individual who is oppressed, is left to feel they must heal alone; And Pride shows us that is not the case.

It shows me that I have thousands of people who are willing to be vulnerable, to show-up, and to carry me through.

It’s a chance for me to show the next person that that community exists for them too, whenever they’re ready.

It’s a chance for allies to learn why their role is so incredibly important; and for them to show us they care.

To have my partner stand beside me and march this year meant more than I think they’ll ever know.

To have them wear the same trans-coloured wristband that I received at Pride, even more so.

To then see them continue to wear it every day in spaces where people like me do not feel safe existing . . . There are not words.

To have someone commit to doing the learning (and unlearning) to see me wholly and love me in all the ways I deserve is something I think I’d truly thought I would never have. And now that I do, I remind myself of it every day as a way to reaffirm that I should be here and my existence does matter.

And just in case you were second-guessing it, I want you to know, yours does too.