Pride, Quiet Courage, and the Truth I Carry to Work

Every June, rainbow flags bloom across streets, stores, and social media feeds like wildflowers in overdue sunlight. Pride Month arrives loud and colorful, filled with parades, playlists, glitter, and unapologetic self-expression. And every year, I feel two things rise in me: celebration and… a kind of quiet ache.

Because while the world is shouting "Be proud!"Sometimes, I still feel like I have to whisper.

I’m a lesbian. That’s not a secret. But it’s also not something I always get to live out loud, especially not at work.

Especially not since I moved to North Carolina—where it turns out, even a tiny rainbow sticker can feel like a political protest.

Back where I used to teach, I had a little “Safe Space” sign tucked next to my door. Subtle. Simple. A quiet message that said, Hey, if the world feels too loud or too cruel, this is a soft place to land.

It wasn’t a grand statement. It wasn’t even laminated. But it meant something. To me. To my students. Especially the ones still figuring themselves out.

Fast-forward to my new school in North Carolina, and that same sticker? Well, let’s just say… it didn’t make it past the cultural customs checkpoint. Apparently, a 2x2-inch rainbow equals a 10-alarm political emergency.

It’s a weird experience, teaching while partially closeted—especially after years of being out and surrounded by other people who also understood what it meant to quietly hand a kid their first “you’re not alone” moment.

Now, I edit my words. I dodge questions. I use “they/them” to talk about who I am dating,  like I’m protecting their witness identity.

And while I’m proud of who I am, I’m also tired of checking which version of me is safe for public use.

Now, to be fair—and I mean that in the Midwestern “I’m not trying to start drama, but…” kind of way—my staff? They’re wonderful.

Supportive. Kind. Many of them would probably walk in a Pride parade with me, hand me sunscreen, and make sure I stayed hydrated. If I came out to them tomorrow with a full Slide Show titled “I’m Gay and You Probably Already Knew,” they’d nod, clap, and ask if I was bringing snacks to the next meeting.

But the system? The policies? The unspoken “you can be you, just don’t put it on display” vibe? That’s a different story.

So even though I feel personally safe, I stay professionally silent.

Because in addition to being a teacher, I’m also a coach, a club sponsor, a role model, a hallway DJ, a snack provider, an unpaid therapist, and at least once a week—someone’s emergency mom figure.

And in all those roles, I’ve learned to play it safe. To edit myself.To make sure that my queerness doesn’t become “a distraction,” “an issue,” or—God forbid—a topic at the next school board meeting.

So yes, my staff is a safe place. But the institution? It’s like a haunted house. Looks fine on the outside, but if you hang a rainbow anywhere, suddenly there’s a ghost of someone whispering, “We’re going to need to have a meeting about that.”

So when Pride Month rolls in, I carry two things:

1. Deep gratitude for the history that got us here.

2. And the daily reality that we’re not all “here” yet.

   
   

A Quick, Not-So-Neat History of Pride Month

Pride Month wasn’t born out of parades, corporate sponsorships, or rainbow-themed cupcakes.

It was born out of resistance.

On June 28, 1969, police raided the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in New York City. Raids weren’t unusual—queer spaces were frequently targeted—but that night, something changed. The patrons, many of whom were queer and trans people of color, said enough. They fought back. The uprising lasted six days.  1969 Stonewall Riots - Origins, Timeline & Leaders | HISTORY

Among those who led the charge were Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, two trans women of color who became icons of the modern LGBTQ+ rights movement—not because they wanted fame, but because they demanded dignity.

One year later, to mark the anniversary of the uprising, the first Pride marches were held in New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago. They weren’t festive—they were fierce. They were a declaration that queer people would not be erased, shamed, or pushed into silence.

That spirit? Still lives on.

Today, Pride Month honors the trailblazers who made space for us to live more openly. It celebrates love, yes—but also liberation. Visibility. Voice. It’s about being seen… even in places that still ask us to shrink.

And Now That I’ve Educated You… Let’s Talk Dating

So now that I’ve shared some queer history, unpacked workplace politics, and reminded you that visibility still requires courage...

Let me also remind you that I am:

✅ A single, beautiful lesbian (inside and out—yes, I sparkle emotionally and on a good hair day) 

✅ Emotionally available (I’ve done the work—I have more journals than shoes, and yes, I’ve cried into most of them) 

✅ Gainfully employed with decent snacks, great playlists, and the ability to quote Brené Brown and Beyoncé with equal accuracy 

✅ AND—not to brag—but I can drive a bus. Yes. A whole bus. Like, with kids, air brakes, and everything. I know. Try to stay calm. 

✅ The type of woman who will tell you the history of Stonewall while sending you memes of lesbian squirrels cuddling under tiny rainbow umbrellas

So if you—or someone you know—has emotional maturity, a working sense of humor, and a soft spot for women who coach softball, love deeply, and keep a stash of emergency popcorn… Slide in respectfully. We’re grown.

AND (If you know the difference between being emotionally available and “just bored”… congratulations, you’re already hotter than 90% of my dating history.)

Happy Pride.

May it be full of glitter, truth, healing, and the kind of love that doesn’t make you question your worth. 💜🏳️‍🌈

Becky Shaffer 

www.liveinconfidence.com