Carry Pride in your Heart (Micro-nonfiction)

My First Pride

I will always remember my first Pride event. I went to one at the approximate age of 11/12. My identity at the time was confined to the pressures placed upon it by others. I was a straight ally, practicing Catholic with a growing curiosity for the LGBT+ community. Little did tiny WriterWoman know, she would grow up to be a proud member of the LGBT+ community. That was the start of my journey, my self-discovery.

I felt something new that day, a true sense of acceptance. It held no conditions. I didn't have to be anything other than myself to fit in there. It was a wonderful feeling.

When I used to sit in church, I felt as if I was pouring myself into a bottomless well. The well would swallow my authenticity and give nothing but an eerie silence back, making me reflect on what could be wrong with me. Why wasn't I getting anything back?

Going to that pride event felt very different, but not less moving than a religious practice for me. I felt as if the 'pride well' was a geyser of acceptance and interaction. One which flew out at me, flurrying into my senses and beckoning me to dive in, when I was ready.

A large part of this was watching a drag show. I had never seen such a thing - and it was fabulous! The drag queen tore down the patriarchal structure in my head with a flourish and no small amount of ABBA.

That Pride Feeling

After going to more LGBT+ events, I soon discovered that the effect they had on me was unchanging. When I was there, I would be carried on the backs of LGBT+ people who came before me. They took me to a place of self-love and acceptance.

Yet, when I left, the feeling didn't remain. I would return to my normal life and soon enough, my old patterns of critical self-examination would reoccur.

At first, I assumed it was merely the sad 'drop' that accompanies a post-party feeling. However, at some point (I cannot say when), I turned a corner and began trying to replicate the pride feeling on my own time. Starting with a little pride flag...

Bringing Pride Home

I was at Oxford Pride (UK) as a much more confident teenager when I decided to bring something home with me. I used to be very careful about what I brought home from LGBT+ events before this. If by chance, I did manage to pick something up (a leaflet perhaps), I would dispose of it on the way home.

This time was different, I was adamant that the pride feeling was coming home with me in some shape or form. When I saw the stand selling pride flags, I knew it was the perfect way to start. I politely asked for the smallest one available.

I remember feeling like a naughty child when I brought it home. Buried in the bottom of my rucksack like a hushed secret. I placed it on a shelf in my bedroom so it hung over my bed. Whenever the bright rainbow caught my eye, I felt a small spark of pride for myself.

A/N: I still have it actually, it sits on my desk where it reminds me to keep pride in my heart every day.

Keeping Pride as an Adult

While the flag was a way to start bringing some rainbow pride back home with me and still serves as a useful reminder, the feeling I was trying to replicate was one I needed to forge from inside. No person, no event, could give me true pride, only I could do that.

Pride was presented to me as a deadly sin when I was young. So, the journey of self-pride was a difficult one. It took time, heartache, and confrontation with myself to get to a point of self-acceptance. A process that I documented here. I then used that as a springboard to reach self-pride.

But, the flag was a good start!

If I were to offer any advice to someone reading this micro-nonfiction, looking to find their own sense of pride, I would say this:

Start slow, you will get there. Don't force that feeling - wait for it to come to you over time. Being proud of who you are is not a sin.

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A/N: Hi there! I hope you enjoyed this drabble! I enjoyed writing it!

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ThatWriterWoman