Queer Pride and Self-Care

I’ve written a number of pieces for this website about my experiences as a rape survivor. I’ve written about how important it was for me to change my own language about my experience–to use the word “rape” instead of “sexual assault.” And I’ve written about consent and mental health, I’ve written about the way we talk about consent and why we need to change it. And I’ve written about the “nice guy fallacy.” In summary, I’ve spent a lot of time writing about rape. And I’ve written a lot about queer issues, including queer pride.

Not just this month but over the whole time that Adam and I have been writing these columns. That’s not to say that I haven’t written other things, but that those two topics seem to dominate my work. I once described one of the common themes in my work as “humanizing trauma.” Certainly I haven’t exhausted either topic yet, even if I might occasionally feel burnt out and want to write about other things. 

So this last Monday of Pride Month, I’m thinking about how to write about Pride. I’ve made three or four attempts to write something about it for today. About how I’m feeling kind of disconnected from Pride this year. One issue is the timing. In Orlando, our big Pride celebration is in October, and June is much more low key. Still, there’s always a little vicarious enjoyment as friends in so many other places enjoy their own local Pride celebrations.

Queer Pride and Accessibility

Another issue is accessibility. Pride is not the most disabled-friendly event to begin with. Wheelchair access is difficult or limited, there’s little or no shade, accessible restrooms are difficult to find and navigate. And all of that comes before you add in the fact that many people (especially in Florida) are behaving as if COVID is over. I’m still at high risk. I’m still anxious about being around many people, especially since so few people are wearing masks now (except the leather people). Even if I wear mine, it’s not as effective as when others also wear theirs. And that’s not even considering the harassment I face for choosing to still wear a mask.

It’s also hard to engage with my Pride feelings when things have been wearing me down mentally and emotionally. And physically, too. I’ve been having some more problems with joints lately, which makes it hard to do what needs to get done, let alone what I want to get done. That doesn’t improve my mood. And if you follow the news from the Supreme Court you know what’s been going on. Guns, Miranda Rights, and the Border Patrol have all been on their docket recently, with none of the decisions increasing rights or protections for citizens. And that was capped off by last Friday’s decision to overturn Roe v Wade. Friday’s decision triggered a lot of PTSD symptoms for me. It’s exhausting. As a person, as an activist, as a writer. I’m wiped out. And I’m afraid, too. 

Queer Pride and the Supreme Court

You would think all of that would be enough. But as I’m writing this (on a Monday morning,) news is breaking about the Supreme Court siding with a coach leading public prayer on the 50 yard line at high school football games. It seems that some of the so-called “Originalist” interpreters of the Constitution seem to be forgetting the whole amendment:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Prayer on the Fifty Yard Line

This isn’t an article about constitutional law. But a sports team is a close-knit group. And a person who can’t see how empowering one of the leaders of that group to impose Christian prayer on the members of that group (whether or not it’s voluntary) is ignoring reality in order to argue in favor of a  particular desired outcome. 

I can easily think of choices that could have been made that would have allowed the coach to lead public prayer on the field and still kept the game itself free from an imposition of religious practice on other people. Open the gates half an hour early for anyone who wants to sit through the public prayer part (whether they participate or not.) That method lets the coach pray on the field, with the students and still allows anyone who doesn’t want to sit through Christian prayer and Christian indoctrination to enjoy the football game. Or designate a section of the bleachers specifically for those who want to participate in the prayer, and offer a compromise.

Evangelists Don’t Seem to Understand that their Methods are Counterproductive

I understand (in theory anyway) that evangelizing is supposed to be a mandatory part of Christianity. I personally know people who think I’m condemned to some sort of eternal damnation because I don’t share their Christian beliefs. Who say they’ll “pray for me” when what they mean is that they’ll pray that I find my way to Jesus. They’ve told me so. And they’ve told my children so.

By the way, if you’re a Christian who’s reading this and taking notes, let me just tell you that that’s never going to convince me to become one of you. But if there were ever a way to convince me to explore Christianity seeing people living in ways that demonstrate the teachings of Jesus is going to go a lot further. You know. Caring for the poor, the sick, the women, the sex-workers. Not just caring for them but uplifting their dignity.

A Productive Strategy would be Existing in the World as a Good Person

My friend Laura does this. Laura, who, in addition to all her other fantastic qualities, is a Presbyterian Minister. I met her following the Pulse tragedy here in Orlando when she made the least judgemental, most heartfelt offer of support to our grieving community, and I reached out to thank her. My first, very tentative message made it clear that I had a spiritual home that I was happy with, but what grew out of that was a wonderful friendship that taught us both lessons about faith and tradition. 

So anyway. I’m exhausted physically and mentally. The bad news feels like it’s nonstop. I’m feeling distant from celebrating queer community. And I’m increasingly reminded that Pride is a protest not just a celebration. 

Queer Pride and Queer Joy in the Face of Dangers

Because the queer community is never safe. Not even at our Pride celebrations. A few weeks ago, the Patriot Front targeted a Pride celebration in Idaho. The Pride celebration in Oslo, Norway, planned for this past Saturday was canceled in the wake of a mass shooting that seemed to be targeting LGBTQ bars.

I really, really wanted to write about queer joy this month. To find some bright spot. To talk about why queer joy is both good and necessary. But I’m struggling. Physically I’m feeling more held back by the illnesses that have made me disabled. Mentally, there’s so much going on that it’s taking a great deal of effort just to maintain homeostasis. Even so, I did the good auntie thing, and, after talking to my nephew on Friday and hearing about his plans to go to NYC Pride I sent him a text on Sunday morning about having a good time, staying safe and remembering that Pride is a protest and a celebration. 

As much as I want to celebrate queerness, to honor all of the things that it means about how I understand love, about authenticity and being real, and about being able to live a happy and fulfilling life… I’m drowning. We’ve had hundreds of anti-LGBTQ (especially anti-trans) bills in state legislatures this year already. Only fourteen states and Washington DC haven’t had legislation directly targeting the LGBTQ community. (More states have proposed anti-queer legislation this year than allow public schools to spank students. Yes that’s still a thing. Like I said. Drowning.) 

Queer Pride in the Face of Judicial Violence

What am I celebrating when an eighteen year old who is about to step into the world as an adult is forced to revise his graduation speech to talk about his hair as a metaphor for what he really wants to talk about? 

We cannot allow the degradation of our communities, environment, and constitution to become socially acceptable just because we are witnessing these attacks daily. That needs to make us more shocked, not less. We need to react more each time, not less.

-A Curly Haired High School Graduate

What am I celebrating when Supreme Court justices and legislators are suggesting that other decisions that relate to privacy (as Roe v Wade does) and have the potential for major impacts on queer communities should be reevaluated? 

Obergefell v Hodges, which legalized same sex marriage, Griswold v Connecticut, which legalized access to contraception for everyone, and Lawrence v Texas, which protected sex between consenting adults, are all being called into question. If this keeps up, what else are we looking at? Loving v Virginia? Brown v Board of Education? The Nineteenth Amendment?

What Will Happen to Queer Adoption?

And that’s before I even think about what might happen to adoption or with various kinds of assisted reproductive technology–something that people may use regardless of sexual orientation but that many queer people who want to become parents rely on to start their families. The list of things wearing me down goes on and on and on. And it’s happening so much that it makes little things feel so much bigger. It’s just started raining here and I want to go outside and stand in the rain, just to feel it. But I can’t. Between the hassle of hauling the wheelchair outside and the aching I’m feeling right now, I just can’t do it. There are parts of my body that don’t usually hurt in ways I notice (much) hurting enough today that I’m really, really aware of them. It’s all just overwhelming. 

Queer Pride and Self-Care

I admit that things feel a little hopeless right now. And admitting that is important. Because sometimes Pride has to mean admitting that I’m not okay, or that I need help. That I’m overwhelmed or sad. That there are things I can’t do anymore and that I need to grieve for that loss. Because disability is a risk factor for mental illness and it also poses a barrier to mental health care. Because LGB people are twice as likely to deal with mental health conditions and transgender people four times as likely as cisgender people to deal with mental health challenges. 

So I’m reaching out. I’m trying to practice good self-care. I’m trying to rest as much as I need to. To say “yes” to things that bring me joy and “no” when I feel like I can’t. I’m being honest about the workload I can handle and openly suggesting others to do jobs I don’t feel I can do well. More talk about priorities. Less pleasing others, more taking care of myself. 

I’m reaching out to friends. And allowing myself the space to just crash–physically and emotionally. To retreat into the things that make me feel comforted. As much as I can, anyway. There are moments I wish that I could have a bed-tent the way some kids’ beds do.

Self-Care Means not Feeling Guilty

I’m not thinking about whether there’s value or virtue in the things I’m doing. Trying to judge myself less harshly. Less self-criticism. I’m watching a lot of YouTube–especially old game shows. (They’re comforting. Wonton soup and game shows were sick day treats when I was growing up.) I stumbled across this old episode of The Match Game which was filled with Anita Bryant jokes. And yes, it was full of awkward-to-watch sexism, as many shows from the seventies are, but it was also nice to watch the host and the panel (which included a closeted to the public Charles Nelson Riley) share their (heavily-coded) thoughts about Anita Bryant’s anti-queer hate campaign.

I’m trying not to feel guilty about reading less because it hurts too much to hold a book and because I get too fidgety trying to listen to audiobooks without something to occupy my hands. And trying to use more speech to text and type less when I can. 

Even without Dancing, Queer Pride Means Music

I’m listening to music I love. “Make Them Hear You” from Ragtime. “Everything Possible” by Fred Small. “Everyone is Gay” by Great Big World. I might not be dancing, but I can’t argue with lyrics like “Cause we’re all somewhere in the middle. We’re all just looking for love to change the world.”

I know. It sounds a little trite, the love part. But so much of what Pride means is about learning to love who you really are. And so much of my learning to be disabled experience has meant re-learning who that person is and how to take care of her. Physically and emotionally. And maybe even to love the updated version of me.

There are a lot of battles on the horizon for queer people. We need strong allies right now. And well prepared. We need to make sure we’re doing what we can to be strong ourselves, and to care for our needs so we’re not too exhausted to fight. Pride is still a protest. It always will be. Pride is also a celebration of love. We hear it all the time: Love is Love. The lesson I’ve learned this year about Pride though? In order to be able to celebrate love, I need to make sure that love starts with taking care of myself.