I almost didn’t write this.
Not because I don’t care—but because I care so much… and the words felt too small.
I see the pain that hate causes. I see the way some people freeze, pull back, or say nothing. And I feel myself tempted to do the same—not out of apathy, but out of reverence for just how big the issue is. I didn’t want to offer platitudes when what’s needed is presence.
But as I journaled about what was holding me back, I kept thinking about my kids.
When one of them was in pain, I offered comfort—sometimes welcomed, sometimes not. And when another had caused the pain, we’d walk through it together. We’d ask:
Is it safe? Is it kind? Is it fair?
That framework helped us return to connection and empathy. Not perfection. But love.
I believe most people mean well. They just haven’t had the chance to be close to LGBTQIA+ people—at least not knowingly. And sometimes, that’s all it takes: exposure. Presence. Realness.
That’s part of what Pride Month offers: a celebration of being fully seen. No longer hiding. A chance to be, out loud and unashamed. Or at least in numbers that make people feel safe.
Some of the most inclusive and loving spaces I’ve ever been in were at Pride events—or at places like Kripalu Yoga and Phoenix Rising Yoga Therapy trainings. Those environments cracked me wide open. They reminded me what’s possible when we lead with compassion, truth, and embodiment.
I remember walking out of one of those spaces—so tender and present—and seeing a girl crying behind a fast-food counter in the airport. No one noticed. No one paused. Everyone raced on through the robotic rush of their day. But I noticed it all, and it cracked something in me wide.
I wept for our world.
That’s what hate—or even indifference—can do. It numbs us. Speeds us up. It keeps us from noticing what needs love.
So here’s what I will say this Pride Month:
I see you. I stand with you. I will keep learning, speaking, and loving—imperfectly, yes, but wholeheartedly.
If you’re someone who’s hurting: I offer comfort. If you’re someone who’s confused or still learning: I offer patience.
That’s what love does.
Always. —Renee