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Finding Queer Joy in Community, in Loved Ones, and in Culture This Pride Month
Happy Pride! This month we’re celebrating pride in all sorts of ways—we’re gushing about the queer media we love to consume, we’re recognizing that pride is protest, and here, we’re celebrating the things that bring us queer joy.
Hannah’s queer joy: Queer Love in History’s Instagram account
The Queer Love in History Instagram account brings me joy whenever a post of theirs pops up on my feed. The account is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. Each of their posts feature a photo of a queer couple in history alongside a caption describing the couple and their relationship. The curator of the account combs through various historical archives to source the photos and stories. And although some of the couples depicted are well-known, the vast majority are ordinary people who lived outside the shine of the spotlight.
I know queer and trans people have always existed (even though I had to learn that on my own, outside of school). But seeing visual proof of queer couples throughout history brings me a level of comfort that my intellectual understanding can’t. It makes me feel that queerness is inevitable; a part of who we are that can’t be erased or stamped out, no matter how hard some may try. Queer folks: we’re here to stay.
Airin’s queer joy: A Hand Held
When I was kid, on the rare occasion that I would see a visibly queer couple holding hands, I would get a weird feeling in my tummy and quickly look away. But then I would sneak another glance. And another. And another, until they were too far for me to see. Despite not yet having the vocabulary, knowledge of LGBTQIA+ history, or even an understanding of myself, I was excited. I knew that it was special for queer people to be holding hands and that a queer display of affection was something to be admired.
Today, seeing queer couples hold hands and walk together still brings me so much joy. Whether I’m at the grocery store, on the bus, or just sitting at a park watching people go by, spotting a queer couple holding hands always makes me smile. And if I’m with my partner, I make sure to grab her hand and hold it a little tighter. Smiles all around.
M.G.’s queer joy: My mom
I was very worried when I came out to my mom in high school. She was a supporter of Trump’s first administration, despite its hostile actions against LGBTQIA+ people. But as I entered college, it became clear that my mom unequivocally supported me. One year for Christmas, she gave me a rainbow Santa ornament—now, that Santa is her second favorite Christmas ornament (second only to a photo of our dog, of course). And on the first day of June, she would go to our local bookstore and excitedly browse their Pride Month section. When I told her I joined a gay sports league, she was so excited to hear that I found a group that could help me feel a sense of queer community.
Now, as we’re seeing an administration acting hostile towards LGBTQIA+ rights, my mom’s support, always rooted in her unwavering love for her son, has invigorated her to extend her support into her community. To show her support for queer people in her community, she’s added pronouns next to her name at her job. She’s put up lawn signs promoting acceptance and support in her front yard, in contrast to signs rooted in hate and ostracization that are seen throughout her town. She’s made it her mission to find a support group of parents of LGBTQIA+ youth, where she can share from her experience being a supportive parent of a gay son. And now, every week, she shares with me her outrage over a new attack on LGBTQIA+ rights.
Seeing my mom’s evolution—as a parent supporting her gay son, as a neighbor supporting all queer people in her community, and as a citizen outraged by attacks on the existence of queer people—is my biggest source of queer joy and hope.
Jordan’s queer joy: Line dancing
If you told me a year ago that I would, in just one short year’s time, become obsessed with line dancing (and spend any moment of free time that I have learning and practicing steps), I… probably wouldn’t have been that surprised, actually. I have always loved to dance, albeit in a very unstructured, nights-out-and-Zumba type of way—but the allure of queer line dancing is that it truly is for everyone. Last June, I went to my first Stud Country dance party, and I knew immediately that it was something I wanted to be in my life forever. Line dancing as a space for queer community is nothing new, but in recent years it has really taken off, particularly in my home of New York City—with myriad options for dancing nearly every day of the week across the five boroughs.
The magic of queer line dancing is multifaceted. Classic old-timey square dance songs like “Jambalaya” (On the Bayou) and “My Maria” are swapped (as the pros say) with modern day hits like “Rush” by Troye Sivan and “Bodyguard” by Beyoncé. The effect is a dance party unlike any other, a crowd of queers spanning generations, stomping, spinning, and singing along to Britney Spears in tandem. And for the sentimental (like myself) there really is something special about watching queer couples two-step along to classic country ballads. It’s a place where kindness is non-negotiable and mistakes are forgotten by the next wall, a place to fall in love (as my dear friend Lydia wrote about recently) and above all else, a place to be part of something bigger than yourself, at least for a night. It’s the most fun hobby I’ve ever had, and I can’t wait until I’m a seasoned regular spending the whole night on the floor.
Caitlin’s queer joy: Meeting new queer friends
I am incredibly lucky to have been supported and celebrated in so many ways by my friends since I realized I was queer—and to have met more and more queer friends along the way! For the past few months, I’ve been reconnecting with friends of friends who are now my friends, meeting more neighbors, and trying to put myself out there a bit more to meet more friends in the DC queer community. It’s a singular kind of joy to revel in Pride decorations, scream sing songs, and crack gay jokes with people who understand your experience, and I’ve felt so much joy feeling my community grow.
We’re making plans to go to Pride events together, go dancing, and enjoy queer media together (and straight media that we think is gay- iykyk). I feel a lot of joy and pride (on the nose, but true), knowing that everyone is there to protect and buoy each other during this time that is meant to be joyful, even while people try to take it away from us. With every new person I meet and share queer joy with, I know that they can’t.
Hallie’s queer joy: My Nana
This year, I came out to my Nana. Considering how terrified I was to tell her, I would never have expected this to be my biggest moment of queer joy for the year. I spent years crying and worrying about how she would take it, if her love for me would change, and if she would embrace my partner like she welcomed my sister’s boyfriend.
But faced with her diagnosis of dementia, I found it increasingly imperative that while she still remembers me, I give her the opportunity to really know all of me. And so, I did. In the most nonchalant way possible after celebrating her 90th birthday, I told her I was dating someone. To my surprise, she responded by asking “It’s not a man, right?”
When I confirmed she simply stated, “that’s fine.”
My Nana turned a conversation I absolutely dreaded into my biggest relief. I now have the privilege to spend time with her and update her on my life without intentionally hiding (even though clearly her intuition meant I wasn’t great at hiding anyway). Staying closeted damaged my mental health and my ability to connect with the people around me. So, this pride, I celebrate sharing queer joy with my Nana, and I hold close the people who don’t feel comfortable disclosing or who did not receive support coming out.
