A Pride Month Reflection
I had written the meat of this post over a month ago but hadn’t published it yet. The reason I’ve been sitting on it is simple.
I was nervous.
I know I’ve shared a lot of my life here. However, there are some things I’m still working through with my therapist. Even at my age, I’m learning there’s always more to discover about yourself.
Pride Month is nearing its end. The Twin Cities Pride Festival is upon us. It feels like the right time to share. Pride is often associated with the LGBTQ+ community. However, I believe it’s for anyone who has ever struggled to find themselves. It is also for those who now live in their authenticity.
Pride isn’t just about rainbows, parades, or a single community. It’s about the courage it takes to live authentically, no matter how long the journey. It’s about the quiet moments of realization. It’s about the words we finally find for ourselves. It’s about the love we give and receive along the way.
Whether you’re part of the LGBTQ+ community or simply someone learning to live more fully as yourself your story matters. You matter. And I hope, like me, you’ll keep becoming.
A Journey Through Identity, Writing, and Self-Discovery
In the recent months I’ve learned more about myself than I expected. Therapy has helped me feel more comfortable exploring who I am. Having family and friends who listen without judgment has made a huge difference.
Writing has opened the door even further. It’s allowed me to think about things on a deeper level, to connect dots I hadn’t known were there. And through that process, I’ve started to see myself more clearly.
Childhood & Disability
As a child growing up in a small Minnesota hometown, I quickly learned that I didn’t quite fit. Disability was rarely visible, and the world around me wasn’t designed for bodies like mine. Navigating that space taught me resilience and adaptability. I became skilled at adjusting—at molding myself to fit into places that hadn’t anticipated my presence. I bent without breaking.
But I wasn’t just molding to fit into the world—I was also molding to meet my family’s expectations. I performed the version of myself that felt safe and acceptable. That pressure, though quieter, was heavier. It was about survival. And sometimes, it came at the cost of my authenticity.
What I didn’t realize at the time was how deeply these early experiences would shape my understanding of self. Learning to adapt to a world that wasn’t built for me didn’t stop with disability it became a pattern.
That same instinct to “pass,” to suppress discomfort, followed me into every part of who I was becoming. Into how I loved. How I moved through gender. How I showed up—or didn’t—in my full identity.
I’d spent my childhood learning how to bend myself to fit into other people’s definitions. It would take me years to learn how to define myself on my own terms.
Coming Out, and Coming Into Myself
At a young age the early signs of queerness began to surface even if I didn’t notice. I remember a relative who adored New Kids On The Block. I must’ve been five or six when I casually mentioned liking Danny from the band. At the time, it felt natural, but looking back, it was a small rebellion. A quiet truth surfacing.
At a similar age, starting in kindergarten, there was always a girl, or girls, I liked. I never thought girls were “yucky;” I just knew there was something about them that drew me in.
In fifth or sixth grade, there was a boy in Sunday school. He gave me the same fluttery feeling in my stomach that I’d felt around certain girls. In my early teens, I attended summer camp. That was the first time I truly felt something deeper for another boy my age. Still, I could not fully say the word “gay” to myself until high school. Even then, it felt more like a question than an answer.
In high school, I wrote a paper on same-sex marriage. It stirred up a lot of conversation first among classmates, then with some family members. Questions about my own sexuality began to surface. I deflected by saying I had a lesbian aunt, which was true, but also conveniently deflected the spotlight. It gave me a way to speak up without fully stepping out. A shield wrapped in truth.
I didn’t come out to most of my family until college. It wasn’t a big, cinematic moment. There were no joyful embraces or heartfelt cheers. There were tears, but not the kind that come with relief. It was raw and complicated, tangled in confusion and unspoken expectations.
At first, identifying as gay gave me something solid to hold onto a label, a sense of belonging. But as time went on, I realized that label didn’t always fit. While others seemed to find a home in their identities, mine kept shifting, stretching in different directions.
I’ve felt attraction to people of different genders and across age differences. Some connections were romantic or sexual, others weren’t. There were also times I felt no sexual attraction at all. Those patterns gently opened the door to the asexual spectrum. They showed me there was more room to explore than I’d once believed.
Gender, Clothes, and the Words I Didn’t Have
As a teenager, I remember my sister had a pair of maroon faux leather pants. I thought they were the coolest thing. I wished boys could wear something like that without question. It wasn’t just about fashion—it was about the freedom that came with it.
In college, I found myself drawn to musicians like Ani DiFranco, Ellis Delaney, and especially Melissa Etheridge. Her look leather jacket, worn jeans, quiet confidence hit a nerve.
I did a drag performance as Etheridge in college. When I stepped into that outfit, and out onto the stage it didn’t feel like a costume. It felt like stepping into something honest. Something that had been waiting to be seen.
In my mid-twenties, I started questioning my relationship with gender. I felt discomfort in my body and wondered if I was transgender. I’m thankful I had a therapist who, though not an expert in gender dysphoria, helped me work through those feelings. Through deep conversation, I realized that I was mostly comfortable in my body. There were parts I didn’t love, like body hair or the physical complications of being in a wheelchair.
I wasn’t seeking to transition from one binary to the other. I was seeking something outside the binary entirely. At the time, term non-binary wasn’t yet in the common language within the queer community.
When it became common to share pronouns in bios or intros, I hesitated. He/him didn’t feel right. They/them felt a little closer, but still not quite it. I didn’t feel like a he or a they—I just felt like me. Just Levi. And for a long time, that made me feel like an outsider. But slowly, I began to understand that being just Levi was enough.
As pronouns became more common, the concept became clearer. Friends came out as non-binary. It was like a crack in the door I didn’t realize I needed to walk through.
The Mirror of Writing
Writing has always been a mirror. A way to show myself back to myself. Characters with ADHD tendencies, with anxiety, trying to figure out where they fit in the LGBTQIA spectrum. Characters who are hesitant, loyal, or unsure of where they belong. They’re all extensions of me. These characters emerged from my subconscious before I ever had the words to describe those parts of myself.
These stories have helped me process, understand, and articulate feelings that were once nebulous. Through storytelling, I’ve found a deeper clarity and a quiet acceptance. I’ve realized I don’t need to chase a destination. I only need to keep chasing the road.
Becoming
I’m not sharing this as a final declaration. I am not sharing this as another coming out. I’m sharing it as a snapshot. A step in the process. A truth for today. Because identity isn’t fixed it evolves. It deepens. It grows with us.
I’ve never had one label that felt like home. Maybe I was never meant to be defined by a single word.
Maybe I’m not a noun.
Maybe I’m a verb.
Always becoming.
You’re Not Alone: LGBTQ+ and Mental Health Resources
If you’re navigating identity, struggling with mental health, or just looking for community—these resources can help:
Image Disclaimer:
The featured image was created using DALL·E. It is OpenAI’s legacy image generation model. ChatGPT provided conceptual guidance and design direction for this collaboration.
