Photo by Crazy Cake on Unsplash
June is often seen as a month for celebration. A time where queer people gather for community, safety, and fun. There are flags, parades, music, and visibility. Pride can feel loud, colorful, and full of life.
And for many people, it is. But there is also grief there.
Grief for the parts of yourself you had to hide to avoid rejection.
Grief for the years spent trying to fit into something that never felt right.
Grief for relationships that ended because others chose to walk away.
And for some, there is the grief of not being out yet, of still needing to hide.
Because the truth is, being LGBTQIA+ is still not accepted everywhere, and safety is not just emotional — it can be physical, financial, and relational. Even now, there are places where being visible comes with risk: families, communities, and systems that make being you feel dangerous.
So, maybe you play the part. You become who they’re comfortable with so you can stay safe.
And that comes with a cost — the grief of not fully being YOU while watching others live freely.
This is where queer grief and identity meet.
Because this kind of grief isn’t tied to one moment. It builds over time. It lives in the body.
It can feel like carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.
Like your life could shift instantly if the wrong person found out.
Like you have to be on high alert, staying small so you don’t get noticed.
Like the world never quite feels safe.
Here is another truth: Queer and trans people have always existed, even when being told they had to fit into someone else’s idea of ‘man’ or ‘woman’.
As more queer people begin to live openly, it challenges societal understanding of not only identity, but also how many people were taught to suppress parts of themselves to fit in.
So when we talk about Pride as celebration, it’s important to name what it’s built on:
Resistance.
Survival.
Resilience.
Visibility.
And also,
joy.
Not surface-level happiness. Not forced positivity.
REAL joy.
The kind of joy that comes from being able to exist as yourself, even in small ways — to wear what you want, to sound like yourself, to love who you love, to stop masking.
To feel safe, even for a moment.
This is the kind of joy that comes from connection, from being seen, and from finding the language for who you are.
Two-spirit, transgender, nonbinary, asexual, bisexual, lesbian, poly, kink-positive — all the wonderful, diverse mish-mash of humanity!
And here is another truth: grief and joy can exist together. They do not cancel each other out.
So, to everyone who is not able to be out and loud and proud this year, remember…
Queer joy does not require visibility.
It does not require permission.
And it does not have to be loud to be real.
Sometimes, it might look like giving yourself a single space where you do not edit who you are — a journal, a note in your phone, or simply your own thoughts.
It might look like noticing your body — when it tightens, when it braces, when it scans the room.
And (even for a moment) when it softens, when you feel safe and at home in your skin.
It might look like finding spaces where you see yourself reflected, and letting that be enough.
It might even look like taking one full, deep breath, feeling it flow into your body.
That might seem like a small thing, but for many people, it isn’t. Because grief and fear don’t just live in your thoughts; they live in your body. And when your body has been holding tension for a long time, it doesn’t just release as soon as you acknowledge it.
That grief needs a different kind of support, and that’s part of why I do this work.
As a queer person who survived the car accident my sister died in, I now guide people through simple ways of releasing grief from the body, without the need to talk about it. Not because the story doesn’t matter but because for many people, talking isn’t always safe, accessible, or helpful.
And still, the body carries the weight.
You deserve support that works with that, not against it.
There is grief here, and there is also joy.
And you’re allowed to move at your own pace with both.
Stephen is a Richland resident who believes we all have the right to exist, to be loved, and to feel joy. You can scan the QR code to learn more or visit his website at www.EmbraceTheDarkness.org
The Breathing Into Grief community offers a different kind of grief support that doesn’t force you to talk about your pain. Get in touch: https://flow.page/theunspokenpath
