My first Pride was in 2008 and if I’m honest I don’t remember any of it. I didn’t see the march, or the community led performances. I stayed in Soho the entire day and night, drinking from the earliest moment I could. In hindsight I didn’t have any pride and I am embarrassed to say I didn’t know what the day was about. I just assumed it was a good excuse to get wasted. I repeated that pattern every year until 2013.
Between 2013 and 2019 I learned about the Stonewall Inn, how pride began as a protest, and I also began my own personal journey to understand why I drank the way I did. Through self-reflection (and lots of therapy) I started to connect the dots and understand that the two might be linked.
I was eight months sober. If I’m honest, I was terrified. In preparation for what I knew would be a true test of my resilience (and sobriety) I enlisted two of my best friends to come with me. We got ready together, and stone cold sober we left home and headed into Central London.
I remember feeling a tightness in my chest, the little voice in my head telling me I couldn’t do it or that I wasn’t strong enough. It took everything I had not to turn back and get into my PJs and spend the day on the sofa. Thankfully I have the best friends in the world and whether they knew it or not, they put me at ease and distracted me from myself.
We arrived at the pride march, and I was awestruck by the number of families, friends and chosen families celebrating together.
People were drinking but that wasn’t the focus; they were overjoyed, they were clapping, cheering, screaming and smiling. People were proud. It was a side to pride I hadn’t seen before and it felt wonderful.
After the parade, we headed to Trafalgar Square in London to see the live performances; I vividly remember seeing Billy Porter and dancing, in broad daylight, stone cold sober for the first time. I was wildly uncomfortable and hugely self-conscious but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t matter because I knew I’d rather feel self-conscious for being sober than be self-loathing for the alternative.
It was then my relationship with pride changed. No longer was the day about how drunk I could get, or how many clubs I could attend. It was about staying present. It was about being able to fully appreciate the significance of the day. It was about feeling proud.
I was home by 9pm that night, and I couldn’t have been happier.
