Pride Celebration: Honoring How Far We've Come

It’s easy to forget, in the swirl of rainbow confetti and dance anthems, that Pride was never meant to be just a party. But it is also true that joy itself can be an act of resistance. And sometimes, surviving long enough to celebrate is a radical triumph.

We have come far.

We have trans lawmakers and queer teachers. We have gender-affirming clinics and lesbian grandmothers who hold hands in public without fear. We have drag brunches that raise money for housing. We have kids who know the words nonbinary and asexual before puberty. We have weddings and funerals and baptisms and breakups where chosen family stands strong.

We have books written by us. Movies directed by us. Churches led by us. And after generations of being told to hide or lie or leave, we have found each other in plain sight.

I remember a time when a butch woman could be fired for looking too masculine. When a trans woman could be arrested for wearing a skirt. When no doctor would treat a dying gay man without gloves and a sneer. I remember a time when you couldn’t say “lesbian” on television without it being a punchline. I remember the cold silence of hospital rooms. I remember.

And that’s why I celebrate. Because we fought tooth and nail for every inch of ground we now dance on. Because the joy we feel today was built from blood and protest and a million acts of quiet defiance. Because no one handed us this moment. We created it. And we earned the right to revel in it.

But celebration does not mean forgetting.

There are still laws trying to erase us. Still parents disowning children. Still bathrooms where safety is a question. Still clinics being closed. Still queer youth on the streets. Still Black and brown trans women murdered without justice. Still families afraid to speak their truth at the dinner table.

Pride means holding both truths in our hands. We celebrate how far we have come. We keep working for how far we still need to go.

Progress is not a straight line. It bends. It stutters. It gets knocked down and rebuilt. But it keeps moving because we keep moving. Every generation holds the torch in a different way. And today, that flame burns in drag performers and queer coders. In polyamorous elders and two-spirit youth. In sober queers and sex workers and teachers and artists and lovers who refuse to shrink.

We are not finished. But we are not where we started.

So this Pride, let the glitter be holy. Let the dancing be prayer. Let the hugs be protests and the kisses be declarations. And let the celebration remind us that joy is part of the revolution too.

We are still here. We are still rising.

With love,
Nina