Pride has never been just a month for me. It’s been a journey one rooted in resilience, love, and an unshakable commitment to justice.
Over 20 years ago, I came out as a queer Black woman. What followed was a mixture of silence, distance, and in some cases, outright rejection. Some friends turned away. Some family clung to interpretations of faith that excluded me. Others simply disappeared. At the time, I didn’t have the language for it, but I felt the full weight of intersectional marginalization—being Black, queer, and a woman meant that the barriers weren’t just doubled, they compounded in painful and isolating ways.
And yet, through all of that, I’ve built a life rooted in love and intention. I was married when it was still illegal and divorced at a time when LGBTQIA+ rights were once again under attack. Today, I’m lucky enough to have my mom with us in a multigenerational home along with my partner, my beautiful, kind, and thoughtful daughter, who brings so much joy into all our lives. My partner and I are committed to supporting one another in every way as we navigate our careers, co-parent with multiple parents, and intentionally center our love for one another by making space for connection amidst it all. Because of this foundation we’ve built grounded in care, resilience, and mutual support I’ve watched my life and career blossom in ways I once didn’t think were possible. 
As Director of Strategic Initiatives at Byrd Barr Place, I pour myself into work that uplifts Black communities regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity. I design and advocate for programs that foster homeownership, financial stability, safety, and healing. But what I know and feel deeply is that Black LGBTQIA+ people too often fall through the cracks, even in the spaces meant to protect and empower us.
In this political moment, that gap is only widening. The ongoing attacks on DEI, the attempts to erase trans people from public life, and the rollbacks of hard-won protections are not isolated threats. They are part of a coordinated effort to strip rights from people at the intersections especially Black queer and trans folks whose very existence challenges systems built on exclusion.
This Pride Month, I’m asking more of our allies. Celebrate us, yes, but also stand with us. Interrogate your institutions. Use your power. Speak up when policies exclude us, when laws target us, when silence becomes complicity. Your support cannot be seasonal, and it cannot be passive. It must be rooted in love and active in resistance.
To anyone reading this who has ever had to question their belonging: I see you. I am you. And I promise to keep building spaces where all of who we are, is not just welcomed but celebrated.
This is what Pride means to me: truth, transformation, and the kind of love that makes liberation possible.
By Tiffany Kelly-Gray
