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I got rainbow socks on today. It’s June, or “Pride Month” as it is often called, when I’m writing these wee words. Some think it’s too much of a statement, or at least a useless one. Others scream that it’s propaganda, that this audacity of being oneself, loud and proud, is unacceptable, all things that I am tired of listing. I put on these variegated socks, bright with the colours of the Pride flag, to forget about this; all this hateful noise doesn’t mean anything to me. I don’t even think about it anymore, but I know, deep down, that all of this would seem most peculiar to the former “me”, to this obstinate “you”, a complete stranger to all of this. A few years ago, you would’ve done anything to avoid all of this, you wouldn’t even let yourself think about it.

You’d probably deem me a hypocrite, as young and adamantly stubborn as you were. You suffered from these heavy and meaningful silences, from these questions you didn’t dare to ask, from these pesky labels people stuck on your back. You didn’t want to hear that, maybe, just maybe, you were a part of these individuals that sounded both brilliant and glumin their pride. You couldn’t bear to feel your heart sink in front of these mirrors that reflected an image that wasn’t yours, and you held it against yourself. You didn’t understand how one could feel so satisfied of this difference, these specificities that were insulted, denounced, slandered everywhere. You couldn’t recognise yourself. You wanted nothing of this closet that was now yours, as dark and gloomy and unrelenting as it was. For a long time, you couldn’t imagine anything else than this pain, this shameful and inescapable darkness, that twisted your bowels with anger and loathing. You had internalised so much hatred, so much violence and fear, that you directed against yourself, adding the weight of your own insecurities to this already excruciating situation. This difference you wanted nothing of branded you skin with sizzling guilt, or so you thought; streams of bitter tears ran down your cheeks as you tried so hard to hide from yourself.

It was this idea of “pride” that confused you, actually. How could you be proud of this queerness ? You didn’t know anything about anything, and you let yourself get carried away by prejudiced rhetorics and stereotypes. You’d never heard of Stonewall (a bar in New York and a pivotal moment in queer history) and knew nothing of the violence that the LGBTQ+ community was subjected to at that time. In 1969, after decades, if not centuries of abuse, persecution, oppression and slurs, the humiliated queer people protested and started fighting back, cobbles in hand, against a homophobic system and against the cops that regularly came in to arrest them, all because of their differences. And you knew nothing about AIDS, either, of the taboos that still linger nowadays, of the countless unspeakable deaths. Nothing of the authorities’ radio silence, of those who didn’t even lift a finger as long as this sickness only affected gay people, nothing of the blind and muted fury of this ever-growing stigma. No one mourned these ostracised, humiliated, sacrificed generations; this grief is borne by the younger ones now, because that’s how it is. The moments of deafening silence for these trampled lives are the loudest in the middle of the raucous Pride parades and marches. Those empty echoes between the tall buildings, those grave rumours that resonate with the sound of the steps of those who came before your time, jostled you. You didn’t feel valid enough to stand with them, to fight against the same hatred you directed against yourself.

Yet, little by little, you’ll manage to let go. It’s not so much a question of pride as of dignity, you know. These communities that grow around you, the insults and the protests, you’re gonna make them yours. You’ll find this dignity, through hard work and resilience. And I know it because I’m you, and you too will wave your pride like a giant flag fluttering in the wind. But it’s still quite far away; for a long time, you’ll feel guilty. You’ll blame yourself for being too queer, or for not being queer enough. It’ll be etched in indelible characters on your gaze, your strength, your self. Your resentment, bitterness, sadness will become my pride and, one day, out of the corner of your eye, you’ll see another reflection in the glass, mine, tougher and bigger than before. The jeers won’t lessen with time, sure, but you’ll pay no mind to them anymore. You won’t be taken any more seriously, though it will be less heavy on your heart. At least, that’s what I’d like to say to you. It’s not as easy as it seems, I won’t lie to you. It’s still a damned impossible obstacle course, even when you get used to it. With time, this pride became a strength for me, a sail woven with kindness and care that runs wild in front of prejudice and sour disdain (both still very much alive). And that’s why I chose these socks, that you’ll eventually pick as well, when the weight of your silence will be lighter. This rainbow at the end of our feet isn’t as hard to wear as you thought, even if it’s a bit eccentric. One step at a time, and I can promise you, it gets better.