Today is International Lesbian Visibility Day. Pride is around the corner. And I’m standing here, heart bare and voice unwavering, to say this as clear as crystal:
My relationship is not for you to accept.
Your acceptance isn’t a prerequisite for my existence. It’s not a generous gift you’re offering me. It’s not even relevant. Saying “I don’t accept it” doesn’t put you in a position of power over my life. It exposes something else entirely.
Let’s be real: when someone says “I don’t accept your relationship,” what they’re ACTUALLY revealing is intolerance, judgment, and fear—not some magnanimous act of “holding space.” Saying you don’t accept my love is like saying you don’t accept gravity, or the fact that we need water to survive. It’s not up for debate. It just is.
I’m not asking you to reshape your beliefs. I’m not asking you to betray your religion, or your traditions, or whatever framework you cling to for meaning. I’m asking you for one simple thing: coexistence.
Coexistence doesn’t require agreement. Coexistence doesn’t demand approval. It simply asks: can you allow me to be as I am, while you be as you are?
Because listen—queer people, myself included, have been coexisting with systems, institutions, and ideologies that openly reject us for centuries. We have learned how to love ourselves in the face of your discomfort. Can you practice doing the same?
I’m a little charged as I say this. It’s personal. It always is. When you spend your life adored by thousands who see you for all your light, and yet are made invisible by someone in your orbit because of who you love—it cracks something open in you. It shows you exactly where the wound of judgment still bleeds.
Let’s dismantle this tired, weaponized phrase:
“I don’t accept your relationship.”
Let’s call it what it is: rejection.
Let’s name it: homophobia.
Let’s get honest: your discomfort is not my responsibility to soothe.
If my love makes you uncomfortable, I invite you to get curious:
Why is my joy so triggering for you?
What part of you feels threatened by my existence?
Because, sweetheart, before you walked into the room—I was good. When you leave, I will still be good. My love, my family, my life—they are rooted and radiant with or without your permission slip.
It’s so much harder to say “I judge you” than it is to hide behind the invisible army of “we” or “people like me.” But let’s not kid ourselves. If you’re bold enough to tell me you don’t accept me, then be bold enough to name your judgment and claim it.
Own it. Sit with it. Heal it. But don’t place that burden at my doorstep.
I will not shrink to make your comfort more convenient.
This Pride season (and EVERY DAMN SEASON!!!!!) we’re NOT asking for a seat at your table.
We’re building our own tables.
Tables with rainbow confetti, glitter, loud music, but most importantly REAL, MESSY, U-N-S-T-O-P-P-A-B-L-E love.
You’re welcome to sit with us.
Or not.
We’ll still be here, shining.
XO,
Jess
