Pride

 I have complicated feelings about Pride. Beyond the whole "argh, people" thing, I never quite felt like I belonged there. 

A lot of it is internalised biphobia I guess. I've mostly been attracted to men throughout my life, so am I really bi? Is it just a convenient explanation for why I was so unfazed by my partner's transition? Aren't all women a bit bi?

It's not like I've really suffered much because of my sexuality; my teenage and young adult years were spent just assuming I was straight, and, sure, once Jess came out the microagressions got a bit tiring but that was nothing compared to what she had to go through. What all trans people have to put up with: now possibly more than ever. So when we first started going to Pride, it was because Jess wanted to, and somehow I always felt like I was going to support her, nothing to do with me.

Today was the first in-person Pride since COVID, and therefore the first since Jess died. There was no way I wasn't going. For her, obviously, but also for me. 

To prove to myself that I could. That I could cope with the people. That I could cope by myself. And that I was allowed to be there: just me, in my pretty subtle pride top, existing. And I had a good time, in my own quiet way. Met hardly any of the people I know that went, didn't dare attempt bar and didn't feel like queuing forever for food, but I managed the march without issue, I wandered round the knavesmire a bit and found a local cover band that I will probably never get round to hearing play again. 

Now my feet ache quite a lot, and I feel like another milestone, another "first since" has passed. And more importantly, not once did I feel like an imposter who had no right being there.