What Pride Means to Me, As a Queer Woman

The first time I fell in love with a girl was like a breath of fresh air. For so long, I believed that I wasn't worthy of love; I wasn't like everyone else; my desires didn't match theirs and theirs didn't match mine. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me.

When I was sixteen, I remember being confused by the prospect of true love. I'd had boyfriends before; fleeting "crushes," fleeting heartbeats and fleeting feelings. I just wanted everything to be like everyone else said it was. I just wanted to be normal. There was not one part of me that could understand how two people could fall in love; fall in love properly, that is. I understood how two people could enter into a relationship with one another, as I'd done this myself with the boys who sent me heart emojis and playfully held my hand in the school halls before maths lessons. The logistics of it all were simple, and the rest more complicated.

The first time I fell in love with a girl was, as cringe-worthy as it sounds, when all poetry, film and music started to make sense. For years, I'd lived through other people's relationships. I'd devoured Jeff Buckley's "Grace;" I'd sustained myself through artsy films following lovers around beautiful cities; I'd absorbed every inch and every B side of Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan and Neil Young. Everything I knew about love existed in everyone else's experiences, expressed through different forms of writing. None of these experiences were my own.

I am proud of my sexuality. Beyond proud. I love everything about women. I love their eyelashes; their lips; their fingertips; their smiles; the crinkles above their noses. I'm so glad to love women. All those years I spent yearning to understand love were worth it. They taught me just how precious love is; to be in love, and to be loved. Everyone is deserving of care and affection. Everyone is deserving of intimacy.

Each summer, Pride celebrations manifest in cities all over the world. Pride parades are increasingly becoming more about celebration than about protest; protests have been replaced by parties. To me, Pride is about celebrating sexuality, but it is also about continuing the fight for LGBTQ+ rights. Each and every right afforded to me, as a queer woman, was won through political protest. I am forever grateful to my elders for these rights.

To live and exist as a queer woman in the Western world is becoming easier. However, this is not to say that there are no issues which exist. We must not forget our LGBTQ+ family in other countries, such as Chechnya, who are being persecuted and killed for existing. We must not forget our family in Russia, who are persecuted for political protest. In these places, to hold an LGBTQ+ flag is illegal. Again, it remains illegal to exist as an LGBTQ+ individual in seventy-two countries. In eight countries, identifying as LGBTQ+ can result in a death sentence. Pride celebrations present us with an opportunity to continue the fight for complete LGBTQ+ equality, both in the UK and elsewhere. Our fights must be intersectional.

The most ludicrous thing about homophobia is that it posits that LGBTQ+ individuals are not worthy of love. Everyone deserves love. To me, Pride is about lifting people up; it is about celebrating the voices who are heard, and, more importantly, celebrating the voices who have yet to be heard. It is about resisting authority; resisting oppression and control, and it is about building relationships and maintaining communities. The most important thing: it is about love.