Pride Month is over. The Pride should stay.

Photo: u_9secrfwmuu, Pixabay

I often hear someone express pride in something they’ve worked for.

• I’m proud of the work I’ve just finished.

• I’m proud that I was able to stand up to that bully.

• I’m proud that I didn’t give up, that I climbed that mountain.

• I’m proud that I changed my own flat tire.

• I’m proud that I learned how to manage my finances.

I understand this pride. These people accepted a challenge; they struggled; they persevered; they succeeded. This was something they did themselves, and they’re proud of it. And it coincides with the definitions I see of pride: satisfaction from one’s accomplishments; awareness of self-dignity; self-satisfaction in one’s ability or skill.

Other times I hear people express pride in something they had nothing to do with.

• I’m proud to be American, or British, or Chinese, or French, or Indian, or Russian, or Ukrainian.

• I’m proud to have been born Jewish, or Christian, or Muslim, or Hindu, or Zoroastrian.

• I’m proud to be black, or a man, or a woman, or gay, or trans.

• I’m proud to be a Kennedy, or Clan MacDonald, or a Bauer, or a Smirnov, or a Lee.

This pride eludes me. I would not say I’m proud (or ashamed) to be female, or Irish, or American. And I certainly would not say I’m proud, or ashamed, to be heterosexual. I had nothing to do with being any of those things. Nothing in those descriptions is a part of me because of any effort on my part. I accepted no challenge to be female. I did not struggle to be Irish. I didn’t lobby to be born in America. I have no more choice about my sexual orientation or my gender identity than I have about what my fingerprint looks like.

Photo: catswithglasses, Pixabay

And yet....

Each June, I’m proud to support Pride Month. I’m proud that I turned away from the many things, some unpleasant and some downright horrible, that I’ve heard about what it means to be queer. I’m proud that I put in the time, the effort, the bandwidth—intellectual, personal, emotional, and societal—to understand that whatever our sexual orientation, whatever our gender identity, we are all people trying to lead our lives as best we can. And I’m proud to have spent time and energy honing my native writing skills so that I could use them in support of queer people.

And yet....

Each June, the pride I feel in my own support of queer rights pales in comparison to the pride I hope queer people feel at merely living their lives in a world where they are too often seen as less-than, too often denied human and civil rights to which the deniers lay claim for themselves. Queer people should be proud of the valor they demonstrate at merely being who they are. The challenges they face, the unending perseverance they must exhibit every time their right to be is threatened, and the successes they achieve—both large and small, both personal and public—so far outpace anything I can be proud of that I almost feel ashamed.

And that’s the real point. Shame. Shame is what societies have heaped upon queer people for millennia.

The opposite of shame is pride. And as we near the end of Pride Month, I want to acknowledge the pride queer people are feeling, a pride that instead of having its roots be in being queer leaps even higher and becomes pride in being capable of a courage I can’t even imagine needing.

Farewell, Pride Month. And as the month leaves, I hope queer people everywhere can hold onto the Pride they have earned.

Photo: lillen, Pixabay

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I’m an inveterate observer of human nature, writing novels about all kinds of people, some of whom happen to be gay or transgender or bisexual or intersex—people whose destinies are not determined solely by their sexual orientation or gender identity. Check out my work on my website.