All My Joy is Queer Joy

Creating queer joy in times of chaos

I want to see and feel more queer joy.

This is a personal goal that I set for myself earlier this year. With all of the chaos and destruction happening in our country and around the world, it would be all too easy to fall into despair, never to be seen again— especially with how it all triggers my PTSD. I don’t want that, though. As much as I already feel like I am toeing the line of survival mode yet again, I still find myself wanting more out of life, and I’ve been making a point to create the joy and balance I want to see more of.

It’s not to say I’m burying my head in the sand. On the contrary, I’m keeping myself informed, speaking publicly on panels, contacting my reps, and attending protests. I’m still doing the work that I started doing several years ago, but with one key difference: I learned just how important joy is, and how dangerous burnout can be.

I’ve talked before about my FMLA leave and burnout— and that recap is not the point of this post. For new readers: it happened, it was bad, and taking several weeks to check in with and reset my nervous system was life saving. All of this was before the reality of this current administration, and before all that I was fighting for would only get worse. I know, more than some, the reality of narrow focus in activism work.

As we all sat in the impending transition of power, I sat with how far I have come mentally, and how much I didn’t want to go back to hopelessness. I knew that I’d need to create a plan for myself, or at the very least mindfully approach each day to not slide back into overwhelm, burnout, and a more dangerous version of depression. I knew that I’d need to pay extra attention to my body and my nervous system, and that I’d need boundaries and balance to get me through.

With my advocacy specialty being queer liberation and trans equity, I wanted part of that balance to see and feel more queer joy. My community has been hit hard these last few years, with record breaking amounts of legislation and violence that continues to surpass itself, and it’s hard to imagine being capable of joy sometimes. At least, it had been for me. How can I feel joy in a moment like this, when we are all suffering, and afraid, and losing rights?

I feel it, because I have to.

I need to be reminded of what we’re fighting for in the first place. We’re not just fighting to survive— we’ve always done that. We’re fighting to be able to relax, and thrive, and actually enjoy our lives. We’re fighting so that we can simply live without constant threat. In order to keep fighting, we’ll need to continue to sustain our energy, and the best way to do that is to create balance and find moments of joy.

Queer Joy.

Radical Queer Joy.

This doesn’t always look like queer company or queer events, though it absolutely can and sometimes should. Whenever I attend a drag show, or a queer based nonprofit gala, I’m reminded of how beautiful queer culture is. It’s incredible to be surrounded by community and see that through it all we can still find success, and love, and laughter, and beauty. When I spend time with queer friends and found family, that company becomes sacred as we laugh, and share, and support one another. It’s a definite necessity to come together and have community— always, but especially in times like these.

And also.

It has occurred to me that any joy that I feel, even when I’m on my own, is inherently queer joy. I don’t have to see it in others or feel it in the presence of another person for it to exist. I am queer. I am trans. I am beautifully nonbinary and genderful. That means that any joy of mine is queer, and something to be sought on a daily basis.

I’ve made a point to create moments of joy for myself, some days more than others, so that I enjoy my life as I fight for the right to. These moments of joy ebb and flow, and it’s not to say that I’m blindly happy during them, either, but the entire point is to try and maintain my motivation, energy, and purpose. I’m also a single parent and a full time employee, on top of my advocacy work, and being able to provide and show up is a daily requirement. To do so well, as well as I can, means that I need to not be sitting squarely in the center of my misery and fear every day.

Some days it looks like simply following my nervous system’s lead. When I’m hungry, I stop what I’m doing and eat. When I’m tired, I rest between tasks and lay down early when I can. When I’m caught in a cycling thought, I journal, and find something to do that has meaning or simple pleasure. Other days it looks like binge watching a historical romance or re-reading Pride and Prejudice while sipping on something decadent. It may look like spending time with loved ones big-belly-laughing, and jogging in the woods, and staring at my carefully curated life’s-little-joys-feed on my Pinksky. Or maybe it’s basking in the beauty of the home I’ve curated, or listening to a record I love, or enjoying a nourishing meal I’ve made. No matter what the joy looks like, it’s queer joy, because it’s mine.

The balance of laughter with informing, of self care with self advocacy, and simple pleasures with complex systemic issues has been sustaining me, and that is something to be celebrated.

To my non-queer allies: what’s one thing you can do to bring some joy to someone LGBTQIA+ in your life? Maybe it’s a snail-mail card to surprise them, or inviting them out to do something (anything!) fun. Whatever it is, that smile that comes from them can do a whole lot of good.

To my queer community: what’s one thing you can do for yourself today to make a moment or two of joy? What is your body and soul craving that could have a positive impact on you? Your joy is worth making time for— more than that, it’s more important than ever to make time for it.

The more we create and celebrate moments joy for ourselves, the more queer joy we’ll have in the world.

Cheers to our daily, quiet little revolutions.

In joy,

Mx. Dani