When Pride Comes with Grief

This personal story reflects on what it means to grieve the family we thought we had—and to reclaim pride in the face of pain. It’s about vulnerability, betrayal, and choosing love anyway. It reminds us that Pride is more than celebration—it’s resistance, it’s resilience, and sometimes, it’s feeling our grief.

What follows is their story, in their own words:

June 13, 2025

This Pride Month, I wanted to take a moment to reflect—not just on celebration, but on grief.
On what it means to protect your joy, even when it’s threatened by betrayal.
On what it means to choose yourself when others don’t.
And on how deeply queer people know the ache of this grief.

Not long ago, I reconnected with someone from my past—a family member I hadn’t seen in over a decade. I approached the reunion with hope. I shared openly about my identity, my relationship, and the life I’ve worked hard to build. I allowed myself to believe we had formed a bond.

But what I learned later was painful: behind my back, this person had been spreading harmful, homophobic ideas about who I was—and worse, accusing my partner of things rooted in deeply dangerous stereotypes about queer and trans people.

Words like grooming, for example, are often not used to describe harm, but to weaponize fear against LGBTQIA2S+ individuals. It’s a term that has become a homophobic and a coded slur. Just like the way pedophile is misused to attack trans people under the false pretense of “protecting children.” It’s not just inaccurate—it’s hateful. And it’s devastating.

This betrayal brought back a familiar grief.
Because this isn’t just my story.
It’s the story of so many queer people.

The grief of being the first to come out in your family.
The weight of having to educate when you just want to be accepted.
The heartbreak of realizing people you trusted want to get close enough just to hurt you.

It’s the grief of showing up to a family gathering and wondering who’s whispering behind your back.
The grief of being deadnamed, called mean names, or ostracized.
The grief of knowing the spaces you once felt safe in are no longer yours.

And it begs the question:
If someone hears hate and stays silent—are they really an ally?
Because silence isn’t neutral. Silence is complicity.

In my case, it was someone else—someone who’s still learning but trying—who told me the truth. And that was hard, too. Because no one should ever have to deliver cruelty on someone else's behalf. No one deserves to carry that kind of burden.

There’s a particular kind of ache that comes from realizing someone you once spent so much time with in childhood has become a stranger. So many family members we hardly recognize.

And still… we choose joy.

We choose queer love in the face of rejection.
We choose truth even when it costs us belonging.
We choose ourselves even when others won’t.

The truth is: that pain is hers now—not mine.

I’ve learned that family isn’t defined by blood.
It’s defined by presence. By safety. By love.
Family is who shows up when you’re hurting.
Family is who fights for your joy like it’s their own.

So this Pride, I’m reflecting not just on who I’ve lost, but on what I’ve gained.
A partner who loves me fully. A strong sense of self.
A deeper connection to my truth, even when it hurts.

And to every grieving person reading this: I see you.
If you’ve been betrayed, abandoned, or silenced, I grieve with you.

Because Pride isn’t just a celebration.
It’s a space for our grief.
It’s our communal resistance to the loss we carry.
It’s the loud, defiant choice to live fully, despite all the reasons we’ve been told not to.

This month, I’m honoring the grief of queer people who’ve had to:

• Cut ties with family to protect their peace

• Leave faith communities they once loved

• Hide parts of themselves to stay safe

• Watch loved ones deny who they are

• Mourn relationships that couldn’t survive hate

• Trans folx who don’t feel safe in public

• Youth who are losing access to more and more resources

We carry all of that.
And still—we build new homes. New families. New joy.

Because our lives are not “lifestyles.”
Our love is not up for debate.
And our identities are not burdens—we are gifts.

You deserve safety.
You deserve belonging.
You deserve to be loved out loud and proudly.

Happy Pride.
Even when it’s heavy.
Especially when it’s heavy.