My Existence Shouldn’t Have to Be a Statement

On the Weight of Being, the Longing for Ease, and the Fight for a Softer World

I have spent my entire life knowing that my existence is political. That my body, my relationships, my voice—simply being—carries weight beyond my own experience. I navigate the world as a queer, Black man, a therapist, a survivor, and a person who refuses to shrink. And in doing so, I am constantly reminded that my existence is seen as a disruption, a declaration, a statement to be dissected, debated, or denied.

I long for a world where my identity does not have to be a protest or an act of defiance. Where I am not asked to explain, justify, or soften myself to make others comfortable. Where I can move through life without the burden of representation, where I am not expected to educate, advocate, or resist just to be seen as whole.

But that is not the world we live in. Not yet.

This is something I wrestle with often, especially in my work as a therapist and a writer. In holding space for others, I witness the exhaustion that comes with always having to fight for the right to exist freely. The way survival, for so many of us, is tied to proving our worth, our humanity. The way joy and rest can feel like luxuries when the world demands that we constantly justify our place in it.

In moments like these, I think back to my younger years. We’d sit in my grandmother’s backyard, telling stories, playing pretend, and plucking mangoes straight from the tree. We’d dance barefoot in the grass, despite the ants that bit our tiny feet, and we’d sing songs til the street lights came on. Back then, existence wasn’t something to prove; it was something to revel in. I long for the freedom that innocence granted my younger self and hope to someday find my way back to its embrace.

I want something different—for myself and for those who come after me. I want a world where queer, Black, and marginalized folks can just be. Where our existence is not a debate or a spectacle. Where we are not asked to be strong simply because the world refuses to be soft with us.

I know that I am not alone in this longing. I see it in the faces of my clients, my friends, my community—the quiet exhaustion of always being on guard, the deep yearning for spaces where we do not have to defend our right to exist. I see it in the way we cling to joy, to love, to moments of peace, because we know how fleeting they can be. And I see it in the way we continue to show up for ourselves and each other, even when the world refuses to make room for us.

And until that world exists, I will continue to carve out space where I can breathe freely. I will embrace joy as an act of defiance, tenderness as a form of resistance. I will honor the dreams of my younger self, who danced in the grass without fear, and the hopes of those who will come after me, longing for a world that sees them as enough. My existence is not a statement—it is a truth, and that is more than enough.