Belonging, Bravery, and the Journey Toward True Acceptance

As I walk the vibrant streets of this large city during my vacation, I’m struck by the beauty of diversity unfolding all around me. Cultures intertwine here — in the food, the languages, the fashion, the conversations. Children tug at their parents’ hands, asking questions about traditions that are not their own, not with judgment, but with curiosity. It feels like peace. It feels like hope. 

In the middle of this urban hum, I met someone who reminded me how far we’ve come — and how much farther we have to go. He’s a bit older than me, warm and kind, with a quiet strength about him. We got to talking, and eventually, he shared something deeply personal: he had only recently come out fully as a gay man. 

Not because he hadn’t known, not because he hadn’t tried, but because he hadn’t felt safe — not 30 years ago, and only just recently, enough to be fully himself in the open. 

He didn’t speak of one particular person making him feel unsafe. There wasn’t a specific incident, just a lifetime of absorbing the message — sometimes loudly, sometimes silently — that being gay meant being “other.” And that being “other” meant being judged, shamed, excluded, or harmed. 

Chances are, he was right. 

Thirty years ago, coming out often meant risking everything: your job, your family, your place in your community. For many, it still does. That’s the heartbreaking truth. While progress has been made — Pride flags now fly over city halls and classrooms, and children today ask questions with openness instead of fear — the journey toward full acceptance is not complete. 

There’s still fear. 

There’s still anxiety. 

There are still people who walk through the world wondering if it’s safe to hold their partner’s hand. If they will be accepted at their family table. If their child’s school will affirm who they are. These are not abstract worries — they are the undercurrent of everyday life for so many in the LGBTQ+ community, and for others who have felt marginalized in this world. 

So how do we ground ourselves in a world that still sometimes feels unsteady? 

1. We start by naming the anxiety.  
It’s real. The fear of being rejected, misunderstood, or harmed simply for existing is not something to brush off. When we name what we’re feeling, we take away its power to shame or isolate us. 

2. We connect with safe people and safe spaces.  
Finding community — even just one person who sees and affirms us — can be life-changing. Whether that’s a friend, a support group, a therapist, or a chosen family, we need places where we don’t have to shrink or explain ourselves. 

3. We remind ourselves of our purpose.  
Whether it’s to live authentically, to raise kind and open-hearted children, to create art, to build a more inclusive world — grounding in our *why* helps quiet the fear. Purpose reminds us that we matter, that we belong, and that we are not alone. 

4. We celebrate the small moments of progress.  
Like a child asking about a different tradition with wonder, not judgment. Like two men walking down the street hand-in-hand without hesitation. Like someone finally saying out loud, “This is who I am,” and breathing a little easier afterward. 

I left that conversation feeling deeply moved. There was a quiet victory in his story — not just for him, but for all of us. It reminded me that while the road to full acceptance is still being paved, every brave step forward matters. Every heart opened, every question asked in curiosity, every person who chooses love over fear — it all matters. 

Let’s keep walking forward together — grounded, purposeful, and hopeful for the world we are continuing to create. 

Love is love. And belonging is a birthright.