How LGBTQ Pride Feels to Me at the End of Roe V. Wade
I am bruised and aching, but I am trying to ground myself before I wake up my teen child to the news
From the New York Times, Friday, June 24, 2022:
Supreme Court Overturns Roe v. Wade
The decision, eliminating the constitutional right to an abortion after almost 50 years, will lead to all but total bans on the procedure in about half of the states.
From Forbes, Friday June 24, 2022:
Clarence Thomas: Court Should Reconsider Gay Marriage, Birth Control Decisions Next After Overturning Roe
Thomas said the court “should consider” these other precedents in future cases, saying that Obergefell, Griswold and Lawrence v. Texas — which affirmed the right to sexual intimacy between same-sex couples — were also “erroneous” and the court has “a duty to ‘correct the error’ established in those precedents.”
From Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale:
“That was when they suspended the Constitution. They said it would be temporary. There wasn’t even any rioting in the streets. People stayed home at night, watching television, looking for some direction. There wasn’t even an enemy you could put your finger on.”
June 24, 2022, 9:30 a.m.
I had a plan today, a schedule, an intention, but I don’t know what it was now.
This is not a scraping away of rights; this is suffocation and torture and pain for millions of women and people with uteruses.
How will I steady myself for my teen child when they wake to the news? How will I manage my own grief while also making space for theirs?
This season of Pride feels like a slow roller coaster of victories and losses. Like I can enjoy the anticipation of joy and the rocking motion of the ride and the climb towards better vistas and even sometimes the thrill of the descent — I am aware and I accept that the ups and the downs are a part of life — but I can also hear the edges of the machine itself, the bolts unloosening, the cracks in the foundation, the track coming apart. I can’t help but worry about the future.
Things fall apart. The center cannot hold.
I do not feel safe in this world that hates me, and I do not know how to keep my teen child safe in this world that hates us or how to support the safety of those I love or the safety of strangers whose lives I commend and respect and honor but who are hated for their authenticity and courage and vibrancy and truth.
Twice in early June, on two Thursdays in a row, my teen child walked out of school as part of a National Walkout organized by Rise For Abortion Rights. My teen child made their way to the downtown L.A. courthouse with their friends, co-leading a large group of students who protested fiercely against this decision that we all knew was coming. The Rise For Abortion Rights leaders saw the fire in my my teen child’s spirit and was handed the megaphone, was told to take the lead at the front of the march, to make their voice heard.
This morning, my teen child is still asleep, and I worry about waking them. I worry about how I am going to break the news to them.
My childhood best friend just called me and said that they thought of my kiddo first when she heard the decision — how hard this day would be for them.
During this season of Pride, I revel in the joy of the victories — the fact that I can finally be out and that my teen child can be out within the arms of our family and their school and our local community that loves and supports them.
My teen child and I agree that while we gag a bit at the corporatization of Pride — the rainbow logos and products that are in nearly every store this year — we also can hold space in our heart to just plain love it, for it signals broader acceptance and celebration. It’s a cultural shift that we know makes many upset, and we welcome it heartily.
We met with a school counselor this week at a high school that my child is thinking about transferring to. We asked about LGBTQ+ inclusivity and were astounded at the response. The principal is a national trainer for Gender Spectrum, and the campus psychologist is trained as well. They have an amazing Gender Support Plan: students can come to the counselor so that the counselor can learn the students’ preferred name and pronouns as well as delineate who the student feels safe using them with — it can be some teachers but not others, depending on the student’s comfort level. They also will not tell the family members if the student has not come out to them; they keep it confidential and safe. Together with the counselor, the student also makes a list to identify their safe spaces and safe people on campus — faculty and staff who they can go to if they are struggling. They have a GSA Club and observe Coming Out Day.
I was in tears when the counselor was detailing this well-crafted and intentional plan for LGBTQ+ students. In tears at how progressive and compassionate it is.
This is sometimes what Pride season feels like for me.
There are victories this season. I can see them.
We’ve attended several Pride events this month including a Pride flag-raising ceremony at my work campus and an amazing Pride picnic organized by our local LGBTQ+ advocacy group, where neighbors sat blanket to blanket sharing food as families played frisbee and Twister and the local library gave away free children’s books and Pride bracelets and My Pronouns Are buttons and there were rainbows — authentic rainbows — everywhere.
These moments feel like victories.
Pride Colors by Robin Stevenson
Julián is a Mermaid by Jessica Love
Ho’onani: Hula Warrior by Heather Gale
But the victories often make me nervous.
Because there are days like today where the other side wins, where they think that, by stripping away our rights to abortion, by threatening our rights to marriage, by trying to control our intimate spaces, that they can own our bodies.
And so I don’t know how, today, to feel inside my body, let alone to help guide my child to feel their way through theirs.
I open the curtain and feel sunlight and see that the marigolds still grow but only because I have been nourishing them.
Yet I live inside a nation that centers depletion.
The other side has co-opted the word “life” and coined the misnomer “pro-life” and now they terrorize us with their proprietary quest of not just words or concepts or philosophies but of our flesh, of our bodies, of our selves.
Yes: they want to own us, and now in many places, they do.
But the other side cannot own our lives. They can try, but they never will.
This is what I will tell my teen child when they wake up. Or at least this is what I will try to tell my teen child when they wake up, if I can get the words out.
This is what I will try to tell myself, remind myself constantly, force myself to believe. That we will provide pathways to safety for those whose lives have just been shattered. That we will fight for them, that we will fight for ourselves. That we will stand tall, shoulder to shoulder, that we will march and organize and vote and shout, and we will nourish a different world.
I don’t believe in war, but I will use the other side’s language now so that they understand that we understand the situation. We lost a battle today, and we are bruised and aching, but they will never win.
I will repeat this to myself and I will work and I will fight until I believe it, until it is true.
Ways to Fight:
- 10 Abortion Rights Organizations Accepting Donations to Support Their Fight
- Where to Donate to Abortion Funds Right Now
- Register Pro-Choice Democrats with Field Team 6
- Find a We Won’t Go Back Rally in Your Area
A few days ago, James Finn asked these questions, and I’ve been sitting with them ever since:
Pride is a feeling, after all, so what does your private Pride FEEL like? Is it different this year from other years?
This morning, this answer came forth.
E. Katherine Kottaras the writer, voice, and co-creator of Yoga with Eleonora on PillowFortTV and the co-writer with Vanitha Swaminathan of the forthcoming picture book, A RAINBOW INSIDE MY BODY, illustrated by Holly Hatam (Viking 2024). She holds an M.A. in English and an M.S. in Kinesiology with a focus on Integrative Wellness, and she is a contemplative writer and holistic teacher, having worked at the K-12 and community college levels for over two decades. She is a yoga teacher, personal trainer, and health coach while also living with invisible illnesses and neurodivergence, and as such, she is passionate about mindfulness, bodily self-determination, and health equity. As the queer daughter of an immigrant, Katherine believes that holistic and inclusive approaches to expression, healing, and growth should be accessible to all.
Connect with Katherine on the social medias: IG, YouTube, FB, LinkedIn, or at katherinekottaras.com. Check out Katherine’s new series, Yoga with Eleonora on YouTube, which helps kids of all ages calm their minds and bodies so they can respond to and communicate their feelings in healthy ways.
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This story is a response to the Prism & Pen writing prompt, My PRIDE Feels Like THIS.