Why Pride Month will always matter
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We loved each other behind closed doors, initially planning our future without ever saying the word 'boyfriend' publicly. That's what you do when growing up gay in a world that teaches you to hide.
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And then one day, I found Scott. Lifeless, at the bottom of a pool.
The autopsy called it an accidental drowning. But for me, his death left behind more questions than answers.
He was 27. I was 26. I came out in a Facebook post later that day.
Not because I was ready, but because I couldn't pretend anymore. I couldn't grieve for my boyfriend when I couldn't call him that. I couldn't live in a closet that had just turned into a tomb.
Even then, some people seemed more focused on my being gay than the fact that the love of my life had died. One of Scott's relatives told me to my face — just days after his death — that 'homosexuality isn't natural.' I was barely functioning and suddenly being forced to defend my existence in the middle of overwhelming grief.
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As Scott's obituary was being written, I was at first listed only as 'his friend' but asked his family to change that to 'partner.' I'm deeply grateful they did. That I had to advocate for myself says everything about the quiet, exhausting grief queer people carry. We're not just mourning the person, we're mourning the silence we were forced to live in.
That's the cost of shame. That's the price of hiding.
And that's why Pride Month still matters.
I
n the years that followed, I tried to outrun the pain. I worked obsessively to build a business from scratch, convincing myself that if I achieved enough, performed enough, I'd finally feel worthy.
But I was building coping mechanisms, not success.
Eventually, I lost it all. I went bankrupt. Underneath the rubble of my business wasn't just financial failure — it was the little boy who never believed he was enough. Who learned early that being himself was something to hide or somehow overcome with professional accomplishments.
We don't talk enough about what the closet does to people.
I went to an all-boys Catholic high school, where I didn't build any lasting friendships. No one was overtly cruel to me — people were actually pretty kind. Yet I kept a safe distance, afraid that if I let anyone too close, they'd see through the version of myself I had learned to perform. I wasn't bullied but I was invisible.
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In the draft of our senior yearbook, I was voted 'Biggest Non-Conformist.' I was so ashamed I begged the editor to take it out (he did). I thought they were mocking me, calling me the weird gay guy. Now, I see that they weren't insulting me. They were acknowledging that I was different — they were giving me a compliment. I just wasn't ready to accept that being different could be a good thing.
I walked the hallways feeling a few layers removed from everyone else — constantly putting on an act, never fully present. That experience rewired how I moved through the world. Later, I became someone who always went the extra mile for bosses, for boyfriends, for friends who didn't always reciprocate. I chased wealth and admiration as if they were the antidote to the thing I was too ashamed to say out loud.
The distance between myself and others didn't just cause me to miss out on teenage romance. I missed out on myself.
Participants cheer at the start of the Boston Pride Parade in 2019.
Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff
Today, when I see politicians banning books, erasing history about the gay rights movement, and calling education about LGBTQ+ topics 'grooming,' I don't just see a political strategy. I see the infliction of damage.
Let's talk about grooming, then. Because I was groomed, too — to be straight.
I was groomed by every TV show that told me boys only marry girls. By every classroom that pretended people like me didn't exist. By every adult who said, 'You'll meet a nice girl someday,' before I had the chance to discover who I was.
That's grooming. It's just the kind we've normalized.
What grooms kids into shame is erasure. It's growing up not seeing yourself represented in books. It's being told, through silence or scorn, that who you are, and who you love, is inappropriate. That your family is 'too political.' That your hand holding and kisses should be kept private or at least 'not shoved in our faces.'
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When we talk to children about families that have two moms, or two dads, or one parent, or chosen family — it's not about sex. It's about visibility. It's about the kid with two dads seeing themselves in a book and thinking, I belong here. It's about giving every child the gift of empathy, not confusion.
I didn't get that growing up. I don't believe Scott did either.
And that's why Pride is as important as ever. It is not just a parade or a party. It's a protest. It's a memorial. It's a lifeline.
It's for the ones who came out late. For the ones who never got to come out at all. For the queer kids in classrooms across the country who are being told their truth is inappropriate or wrong or bad. And for the adults who still carry the consequences of their silence.
Today, I'm proud to say I'm happily married to an incredible man. But it took 10 years of therapy and a lot of trauma to finally get here. I'm 36, and I still feel emotionally underdeveloped in some ways. That's the damage shame can do. My husband didn't come out to his family until he was 29. He was 34 when we started dating; I was his first boyfriend.
We're both learning how to love out loud. We're unlearning the kinds of choices you make for survival.
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So when someone rolls their eyes and says, 'Why do we still need Pride?' this is what I want to say:
Because silence kills.
Because shame ruins lives.
Because being gay is a gift but only if the world lets you unwrap it.
And because I loved a man who never felt fully safe being himself, in a world still learning how to accept people like us. Rest in peace, Scott.
A.J. MacQuarrie is a growth strategist and sales leader who helps others navigate growth with purpose. He lives in the Boston area with his husband and their two dogs. Send comments to magazine@globe.com.
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