Pride Month: A Personal Reflection from the Quiet Side

Quiet Corners Beyond the Battlefield

Sometimes being trans can feel a bit like a war field in today’s times. You’re scared and you feel alone, like you’re deep behind the enemy’s lines. You feel it in your bones, a weariness of fighting. Yet you soldier on for what you believe in. For a better life. One where you are happy.

You find those small foxholes of relief. The small respites amongst your comrades. The moments where you can let out the fear and tension you have felt.

While this is a metaphor, those foxholes can be very real for some of us. Small corners of our otherwise hectic lives where we can be ourselves. Whether you’re still in the closet or out of the tension of real life, amongst people can boil over.

Most of the time, even finding these little pockets can be long and hard, but once a year, they bloom. Pride Month is the time of the year when these places I relish and consider great show themselves. I never had any interest during the active nightlife or booming crowds. My interest in the rainbow strewn streets were always during the quiet parts of the day.

The parts of the day that felt like another ordinary day.

My fondest memories of Pride Month was always in the nonchalant moments between them. There was something to the bombastic draw of a booming nightlife, I liked things simpler. Quieter.

When Pride Month dissolved a little bit to the background. When it stopped seeming like a special occasion and became real and ordinary. Those moments where I strolled down the transformed streets and relished in the vibes of my city.

For me, it had been these quiet moments that convinced me to be myself more so than any party.

My Workplace Pride Month Experience

For my day job, I update and manage various online storefronts. This is usually limited to making sure the products get up on time and all the graphics look right. Editing the occasional photo and updating the banner with the seasons.

While this would be the bulk of it, there were the things I dreaded the most. The weekly meetings. A weekly meeting that didn’t need me there, but the boss insisted that, as the head of a department, I sit in on. I would sit and hear about how the factory did the custom work. Or that the storm delayed this month’s shipments. Or the cooler in the employee break room was down for the third time this month.

A cavalcade of issues that were outside of my area. The website was up to date, I had listed a series of new products, and sales were fine.

“What about Pride Month? Are we doing anything for that?” a co-worker asked.

The question was simple and straightforward, and something I wasn’t expecting. The boss looked annoyed at the question, but allowed my co-worker to talk about it. My co-worker was an out-and-out lesbian with a wife, so she was passionate about this subject. My boss was a man who looked as if he held a tobacco pipe would be whipped back in time to the 1940s. And prefer it there.

His query was simple, straightforward, and only seven words. “Do you think it will increase sales?” It could’ve been his response to the suggestion of murdering his own mother or kissing a frog. Dispassionate, uncaring, and completely self-interested.

It was the typical corporate response.

My co-worker looked displeased with his response as I felt, but she was more vocal about it. “It’s about community. About showing the local community we care about the LGBTQ+ people around us. There’s people here who identify as such and would love it if the company showed they care.”

It went unsaid that it was pretty clear that the boss didn’t care.

“A positive reception in the community will result in more local foot traffic. If we can get a booth at the local Pride festival, it would act as a form of free publicity.” The explanation was concise and had data to back it up.

“Sounds great!” the boss declared. “Get us a new pride banner and logo up. Design some posters and let’s show our company pride.”

There was a reason I wasn’t out as trans work, despite the fact that I was already growing my hair and nails out. Black and white was too complicated a viewpoint for my boss. He saw things as red and green. It either made money or it didn’t.

I wanted to lie low, do my job, and get enough money to buy a house and transition then. Doing a pride banner was preferable to listening to the boss bellow about 2nd quarter sales.

The ancient laptop I worked on inched itself to life. It booted up Photoshop, and I started with the basics. The logo with the flag in the background. Done with that in like 10 seconds. I set to work on the banner and a few company pride t-shirts.

“Urgh,” my co-worker said as she threw herself over my desk in an exasperated manner after the meeting. “Thanks for sticking up for Pride Month back there. Even if you did make it sound like an excuse to suck the souls out of the innocent.”

“You’re the head of a department. You know how it is. The boss only cares about profits.”

“You make it sound like he would fire every queer person here if it made him 50 bucks.”

I didn’t answer that. Like I said, there was a reason I wasn’t out at my job. I’m pretty sure he’d do it for 50 cents.

“Still, I appreciate you speaking up like that. I understand that the boss and most companies don’t care about Pride Month. But it is still nice seeing the support. Even if it is a show, knowing that we’re at least appreciated enough for a flag hanging up in the window at most places. Spent so long in the closet, it is nice being seen.”

There was something there that resonated with me.

Even a Little Support Means So Much

Plenty of people have scoffed at Pride Month and the idea of corporations hanging flags. I’ll even admit to being one of them. But I can also recall being new to it all and feeling like everyone would judge me.

I can recall walking in as my true self for the first time to a local coffee shop. They complimented my dress and my nails and asked me what I wanted. I got a pink lemonade with light ice, and I sat in the corner and drank it. I was amongst familiar faces.

It was during Pride Month that I drove to my local library. I had on a nice long skirt and lace top. I was dressed like that when I requested they change my name and data in the system. They accommodated me with a smile. The pride flags are a stark reminder that this was a place I belonged.

Sure, I had hit up the bar. Seen a few drag shows and done a plethora of other Pride Month-themed events. But still, when it was moments where it wasn’t ‘because it is Pride Month’ that meant the most to me.

When it felt like I could be myself, not just because it was June. But because I was simply a person who belonged.

Those quiet moments were the ones that helped me feel whole.