Finding Pride in Every Place: A Reflection from Rural Roots

Every June, I find myself reflecting more deeply on the meaning of Pride — not just the rainbow flags or the parades, but the quieter, more personal parts of the journey: the stories we don’t always tell, the internal battles, and the unexpected places where love and acceptance bloom.

I grew up in a rural area, where people tend to know your name, your family, and what church you go to. It’s easy to assume that a small town wouldn’t be the most supportive place for someone exploring their identity. But here’s the truth that surprised even me — respect and support can be found in the most unassuming places. My community has shown me that even if they don’t always understand every part of my journey, many are still willing to walk beside me with open hearts.

For a long time, I struggled with feelings I didn’t want to admit. I told myself I had to be “normal” — that if I could just push everything down far enough, I could prove that I was just like everyone else. And ironically, I already was — I just couldn’t see that yet. I supported others wholeheartedly. I believed love was love for them. But when it came to me, I built walls. I told myself I didn’t get to belong.

That internalized resistance is a quiet, complicated pain — one that I know many people, especially in rural or conservative areas, can relate to. But over time, and with the support of a few safe people (and a lot of work), something in me softened. I started to believe that I could belong, too. That I didn’t have to prove or earn anything. That my version of love, my identity, my truth — was just as worthy as anyone else’s.

Pride, for me, is about that slow unlearning. It’s about honoring the journey, however long or winding it may be. It’s about seeing every coming-out — whether public or deeply private — as an act of courage. And it’s about community. Because none of us do this alone.

I’ve seen firsthand how powerful it is when a rural community shows up in unexpected ways — a neighbor who uses your partner’s name without blinking, a local business that puts a flag in their window, a client who feels safe enough to come out because they know you’ve walked a similar road. Those moments matter. They tell us we’re not just surviving — we’re seen, valued, and even celebrated.

Everyone’s journey is different. For some, Pride is loud and colorful and full of movement. For others, it’s quiet and tender and still in progress. Both are valid. Both are brave.

This month — and every month — I hold space for the many versions of Pride. I celebrate those who are out, those who are questioning, those who are healing, and those still finding the language for who they are.

Wherever you are on your journey, I hope you know this: You are not alone. You are worthy. And there is a community — sometimes right where you least expect it — waiting to welcome you home.