My Queer Year's Resolutions

As the glitter gets swept up and brands quietly pack away their rainbows, what's left is whatever we choose to keep. We don't stop at the end of the parade route. Identity, expression, connection — these aren't a single weekend's celebration; they're the work of the other eleven months.

This year, instead of letting Pride end, I'm treating it as a starting line: a set of Queer Year's resolutions to carry into the rest of the year. Here's what came up for me across all three. Take what resonates and leave the rest.

1. Identity: Labels Are Tools, Not Verdicts

Pride month can be loud about identity: flags, colours, symbols, the gentle (and not-so-gentle) pressure to declare exactly what you are. But whether you love a label, hate one, or are somewhere in between — it is yours to decide. Labels can be tools, not verdicts. They can change, expand, or get retired entirely. Exploring the names that fit and the ones you've outgrown is its own kind of self-knowledge.

Some questions worth sitting with:

  • Did I choose this word, or was it handed to me? Am I keeping it out of truth or habit?
  • What am I afraid will happen if I get it "wrong"?
  • Who would I be with no labels at all?
  • Which words feel like a home, and which feel like a waiting room?

The pressure to be so sure of ourselves can be overwhelming, and it's okay to live in the grey area of the unknown. I go by she/they, pronouns that sometimes feel like a perfect fit and sometimes don't. The "she" is honest: I express myself as a cis woman, I kept the feminine name I was given at birth, and my presentation usually lands on the feminine side. But "she" comes with a whole rulebook to fit into society. Rules about how to look — slim but curvy, put-together but natural, modest and revealing — and always without pockets. Instructions about how to take up space like apologize first, soften the no, keep the voice light and the opinions lighter. And above all, rules about what to be: the emotional translator, the unpaid caregiver, the one society leans on by default. "He" also has its own set of rules as well that complement she rules to create a neat binary box for both. The "they" is my refusal of those prescribed gendered rules. I see no policies attached to they/them. No role assigned. It's freedom to dress, behave, and think without first checking whether it's "lady-like." My pronouns shake off those expectations and disagree with the patriarchal structures that manufactured them, I go by she/they. Will this label change? Maybe. But for now, I am enjoying being outside the binary box.

2. Expression: Your Rainbow Doesn't Have to Be Loud

If you don't like rainbows, that's okay. Expression doesn't have to be loud, and it doesn't have to look like anyone else's. It can live in the small things that make you feel like you.

Pride month can be a kind of inventory, not about how out you are, but about what simply feels good. We typically think of expression as outward appearance, the items that represent us. But this month, it's also worth asking:

  • Which accessories or items make you feel most like yourself?
  • Is there a colour, texture, or scent that just feels like you?
  • What art pulls at you?

This month, for example, I took time to explore bisexual-inspired art as a year-long expression of what I want my space to reflect about me.

Expression can also be about exploration and action. There is so much 2SLGBTQIA+ literature and media to lose yourself in, from TikToks to music to manga to TV shows. At the start of the month, I enjoyed Angela Chen's audiobook Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex, and I recently started bingeing The L Word as a chaotic finish to June. Finding platforms or in-person groups that are safe spaces for your identity is another form of expression. Some parts of us only really come out around people who already understand.

It doesn't matter what your rainbow looks like — monochromatic or sparkly. Every time you invest in your expression, you're investing in yourself. The return on that investment? Euphoria (and I don't mean Season 3).

We hear a lot about dysphoria: the mismatch of a body or presentation that doesn't feel like it fits. We hear far less about its opposite. I bring up self-euphoria with my clients as something we can practise and grow — the feeling of being at home in your body and enjoying the relationship you're building with it. Like any relationship, it takes patience, energy, and time. The spirit of Pride can be the inspiration to begin.

Looking for extra support? Meet our 2SLGBTQIA+ affirming therapists.

Looking for extra support? Meet our 2SLGBTQIA+ affirming therapists.

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3. Connection: The Thousand Small Doors

The end of Pride month wraps up with a large gathering, connecting so many folx under the rainbow together. A parade represents many kinds of connection at once: it links us to the advocates who came before, the ones who protested for the right to love openly; it keeps pushing back against rigid heteronormativity; and most of all, it celebrates community. If large, loud parades aren't your thing (hello, fellow overstimulated brains), connection exists off the parade route too.

The first connection, and the one we skip most often, is with ourselves. Self-care, reflection, a bit of what I'd call me-search. When do I feel most at home in my own company? What would I do this year if no one were watching? Pride is a good time to check in. For me, it's not "am I doing queerness right?" It's "do I know myself a little better than I did last year?"

It's also worth saying plainly: our external connections don't define us. Who you're connected to doesn't dictate who you are. Your partnership(s), your friend group, the room you're standing in — their identity does not edit your sexuality or your own. You don't become straight or gay by proximity any more than bingeing Heated Rivalries makes you a 6 ft 5, Russian NHLer (or MLHer) with a perfect flow.  You can be partnered or single, surrounded or solitary, and be no more or less yourself. Connection is something you have, not something you answer to.

And the connections you do reach for are yours to choose. Chosen family is one of the oldest gifts queer communities have given the world. So is deciding who you come out to, and when. The classic coming-out story has one door you cross once, bravely. The reality most of us live is a thousand small doors. Correcting the new colleague, identifying on the intake form, a partner's family at dinner — opening and closing daily, forever. I've come to prefer a gentler frame: inviting in. You don't owe the world a coming out with a wide open closet - you choose who gets entry, on your terms, at your pace. And to those who can't be out, won't be, or simply aren't: your identity is not less real for being unwitnessed.  It is for you only.

What Will You Take With You After Pride?

However you spent this month, loud or quiet, out or inviting in, surrounded or on your own, it counted.

None of us have this fully figured out, because we're constantly changing. I know I certainly won't have it all sorted by next Pride. That's not the goal. The goal is to keep asking, all year long.

So I'll leave you with the question I'm keeping for myself: What are you taking with you?

P.S. If you're looking for affirming therapy support as you explore queer identity and mental health, you can book a free consultation with me here.

Kendra

Casey

She/they

Kendra is here to support you with trauma, PTSD, disordered eating and eating disorders.