In Honor Of Pride Month...Here's My Journey

On this—the last day of Pride Month—I’d like to share a little of my own story.

This is Louie. When I was fifteen, he was my first boyfriend.

We only dated for two weeks, but we were inseparable for nearly two years.

And we loved each other very much.

I remember tearfully confessing my love to him one day after school.

He tearfully responded that he was bisexual.

I was one of the first people he came out to.

Over the next several months, I became both supportive best friend and hopeful admirer. Everyone assumed we were together, and a small part of me quietly hoped there might be another chance for us.

But as time passed, he became freer in expressing who he was. And as he did, he began to pull away.

I didn't understand it then.

Looking back, I think he didn't know how to tell me he was gay. He knew it would break my heart, and he cared about me too much to hurt me. But he also needed to be true to himself.

And I'm glad he finally was.

Louie wasn't the last.

My second boyfriend kissed me on Halloween night while dressed in drag. He later admitted he was bi-curious.

My third boyfriend—my high school sweetheart—came out shortly after graduation.

So did my two best guy friends.

I used to joke that I was cursed.

Then came my twenties.

That was when I met JD.

Our friendship was effortless. We could finish each other's sentences, had countless inside jokes, and were fixtures in each other's lives. I don't know if I ever told him I was in love with him, but I think he knew.

Then one day we ran into an old high school friend named Diego.

Before long, the three of us were spending a lot of time together.

Diego wasn't conventionally handsome, but he was charming. He flirted. He texted. He called. And I was completely smitten.

Then things started to change.

JD picked Diego up before me.

Diego got shotgun.

When I called, they were already busy talking to each other.

The LGBTQ fairy had apparently decided to bless me twice more.

And yes—I was hurt.

There may have even been some anger.

Anger at feeling misled.

Anger at feeling used.

Anger at believing something was there when it wasn't.

But never hatred.

Never.

Because even at that age, I realized we were all victims of circumstance.

None of them set out to hurt me.

They were trying to navigate a world that wasn't always kind to people like them.

All they wanted was acceptance.

If they had been free to be themselves from the beginning, they never would have felt pressure to pretend.

They never would have had to hide.

And maybe none of us would have been hurt.

I don't blame any of them.

In fact, I'm still friends with each of them and think of them fondly.

I haven't told this story in years, but in light of some recent experiences in my life, I wanted to share where my allyship comes from.

It comes from friendship.

It comes from heartbreak.

It comes from empathy.

And it comes from understanding that every person deserves the freedom to be exactly who they are.

Love is love.

Love is beautiful.

And love will always win. ❤️🏳️‍🌈