Finding My ‘Ohana: A Pride Month Story

June is here, which means it’s officially Pride Month – a time for celebration, visibility, and the annual ritual of every brand incorporating a rainbow on their logo for 30 days. For myself and many others, Pride isn’t about rainbow feather boas, glitter, or Instagrammable moments. Sure, the photos show a time of celebration for many people, but Pride is a celebration about the survival and resilience of the LGBTQ+ community in the face of intolerance and hate, both past and present.  It’s a personal reminder of the journeys we have and are taking – from hiding to acceptance, from hurt to healing, and from silence to song.  

I grew up in rural America – like, actual rural. Cornfields, forests, coal mines, shooting ranges, and livestock.  A place where you can go to the local bakery every afternoon and see familiar faces and hear the latest town gossip.  Where sermons on Sunday mornings could be as equally loving as they were hateful, and the world was ending if/when same sex marriage was legalized or a Democrat got into office.  While you could see the fields and rolling hills stretch for miles, seeing any sign of queerness was much more difficult (**acknowledging this was a time before the prevalence of cell phones and the internet is what it is today). However, when there was the hint of anything, the loud whispers and discussions behind closed doors could still be heard months later, dimming my hope to escape to a place where I could feel safe.

My family and most of my friends were religious, and though they love me, acceptance came in layers – like emotional lasagna.  I felt the love family and friends held for me, and while they now love and accept me as I am, it was a journey – for them and for me. I didn’t come out until I was out of college, and even then, it wasn’t some sparkly grand reveal. It was a process of slowly peeling back layers of self-defense and fear, like emotional duct tape to find who I am at my core.  During those closeted years, I found solace in video games, sports, nature, and music. I learned to play sports to engage with others.  I was secretly smart. I taught myself to play guitar – alone.  It was my therapy before I had the words for therapy. A lifeline I secretly disguised as chords and calluses and still practice weekly 20 years later. Most people don’t know that. It’s just for me.  My reminder that I’ve been building myself long before I could share myself and to access emotions I couldn’t describe.  Now I live in Chicago, one of the biggest cities in the world. It’s loud, loving, complicated, and worlds apart from where I grew up. I’m a social worker now – one of the gay ones – and I’m proud to work at Authenticity Counseling, where I bring my full, authentic self to the work I do. Because I’ve lived the complexity, the nuance, the in-between. And I know that when we lead with authenticity, we give others permission to do the same. 

It’s about now that I start questioning why I’m sharing these personal pieces of my life. While someone might argue it’s self-indulgent, my hope is that it helps someone – maybe some kid hiding in a closet, crying to ABBA, Madonna, Cher, or Lady Gaga – feel less alone, and maybe even reach out for help instead. Maybe it can give someone the confidence to wear that new outfit, try something new, or even just sing to their own song they wrote in whatever room they choose.  It’s a reminder that you may not fit into a heteronormative way of thinking, looking, or living – and that’s not just okay, it’s amazing. Our differences deserve to be seen and celebrated, not just tolerated. Even within the LGBTQ+ community, I’ve often felt like I didn’t quite fit. I’d take a board game night over a bar crawl any day. You’re far more likely to see me at a rock concert than a pop show, and I’ve attended more sporting events than musicals. Most days, I’d rather be walking by the lake than hanging in a coffee shop.

There’s this myth that once you find your people, everything clicks. But even within our LGBTQ+ community, there can be pressure to fit a certain vibe – loud, sparkly, unapologetic in a very visible way. And if you’re not that? If you’re nature-minded, emotionally nuanced, or still figuring out how to exist in your full complexity? Sometimes it can feel like you’re on the outside of the outside.  But here’s the truth: queerness is expansive. It makes space for the flamboyant and the subtle, the drag stars and the programmers, the dancers and the quiet bedroom guitar players. Pride makes room for ‘ohana – not just family by blood, but chosen family. The people who see you, support you, and don’t ask you to shrink or shift to be loved.  

To anyone out there still feeling like they don’t belong – because of where you’re from, how you look, what you love, how you move through the world, or because you’ve been led to believe the lies of a political system trying to silence you – this Pride is for you and your uniqueness. We welcome you as you are, beautiful, messy, stressed, or perfectly fine. You are not a misfit. You are not “too gay to function” or “not queer enough.” You’re you. And that is more than enough.  So find your most authentic self – to live meaningfully. Find your patronus – to guard your joy. And find your ‘ohana – your chosen family – to remind you that you were never meant to do this alone.  

Happy Pride, y’all.