Your True Direction

Tag: Pride

  • The Legacy I’m Leaving

    Your True Direction

    By Ryan T. Garner

    Someone asked me recently, “What legacy do you want to leave behind?”

    Not what job I want. Not what title I’m gunning for.

    But legacy – the real kind. The kind that echoes. The kind that leaves a mark.

    That question didn’t feel polite. It felt like a punch to the chest. Because let’s be honest – most people are too busy surviving to even think about legacy. But I’ve been through enough, seen enough, fought enough, to know that the real work isn’t in the day-to-day grind. It’s in the lives you change while you’re grinding.

    So here it is. Raw and real.

    I’m not here to leave behind perfect spreadsheets or polished LinkedIn posts. I’m here to leave behind a trail of people who remember what it felt like to finally be seen. Really seen. Especially the ones who had been counted out.

    I want my legacy to be the ones who stood up straighter after talking to me.

    The ones who walked into that job interview after years of rejection – and nailed it.

    The ones who were told they weren’t enough, weren’t experienced enough, weren’t “corporate” enough – and found out that was a damn lie.

    I want to be remembered as the one who called out bullshit policies, stood firm in rooms where people whispered, and used every ounce of experience I had – military, career development, leadership, trauma – to light the way forward. Not just for me. But for everyone around me.

    I want my legacy to be about impact. Not impressions.

    Because I’ve walked through doors no one wanted to open for me.

    I’ve been overqualified and underestimated in the same breath.

    I’ve watched less-experienced people get promoted while I held the line and kept everything running.

    And still, I didn’t shrink.

    Because I wasn’t here to play politics.

    I was here to serve. To advocate. To build something better.

    Let me be clear: I didn’t build my legacy in perfect conditions. I built it while navigating burnout, chronic stress, leadership that didn’t lead, and systems that tried to silence me. I built it while dealing with trauma and training a service dog who saved my life in ways I can’t fully explain.

    I built it while helping others find jobs when I was struggling to find my own sense of purpose. I coached people through their breakdowns while still managing mine in silence. I mentored with a cracked heart and a full schedule – because I knew someone else’s survival might start with my willingness to show up, just one more time.

    That’s what legacy looks like.

    Not glamour. Not followers. Consistency.

    Showing up. Even when you’re tired. Even when no one’s clapping. Even when they’re whispering behind closed doors.

    I don’t want to be remembered for being liked.

    I want to be remembered for being real – for speaking up when it wasn’t convenient, for calling out injustice even when it cost me something, for pushing others to rise even when I was still crawling.

    If someone says my name years from now and follows it with:

    “Ryan didn’t just help me get a job. He helped me remember who the hell I was.”

    Then I did what I came here to do.

    That’s the legacy I’m leaving.

    It’s made of grit, grace, fire, and purpose.

    It’s covered in dog hair, sweat, sacrifice, and second chances.

    And no matter what room I walk into – whether I’m welcomed or not – I’ll keep showing up like I belong. Because I do. And so do you.

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    About Your True Direction

    I’m not here to play nice – I’m here to make change. I work with veterans, teens, career shifters, and anyone who’s ever been told they’re too late, too broken, or too much. I help people rewrite their story when the world hands them a script they never asked for.

    I don’t save people. I remind them how to save themselves.

    That’s my legacy – and I’m just getting started.

    Follow along as I speak truth, challenge systems, and help folks build a life that actually fits.

    Connect with Us

    Follow us on Medium @YourTrueDirection.

    Your journey is yours to shape – take the next step in Your True Direction.

  • If My Pride Offends You – That’s the Point

    A letter to the mother who taught me how to hide myself.

    Your True Direction

    For every son or daughter who’s ever been told to tone it down, hide who they are, or “keep it in the family” – this is for you.

    For every queer kid whose parents tried to shove them back in the closet after they finally broke free of it.

    This isn’t a plea for acceptance.

    It’s a warning shot.

    We’re done apologizing.

    I walked away from the house that taught me to hate my own reflection – and I didn’t look back.

    Mom,

    Let’s cut through the crap.

    That poem I posted – “If My Pride Offends You, That’s the Point” –

    Yeah. That was about you.

    Every single line.

    Every word carved out of the silence you insisted I keep.

    Every sentence soaked in all the times I swallowed myself to keep you comfortable.

    You want to know why I wrote it?

    Why I don’t come around anymore?

    Why the version of me who still wanted your approval is dead and buried?

    Because I got tired of being the only one who ever had to shrink.

    Let’s go back.

    When I told you I wanted to marry Chris,

    you didn’t smile.

    You didn’t cry happy tears.

    You didn’t ask what kind of cake we were having or what colors we picked.

    You looked me dead in the eye and said,

    “Are you sure?”

    Like I just told you I was getting a face tattoo, not committing my life to the person I love.

    Then you tried to walk it back.

    Tried to say you asked Benny and Ashley the same thing.

    No, you didn’t.

    Don’t insult my intelligence.

    You celebrated their love because it fit inside your box.

    You accepted their marriages without a flinch.

    But with me?

    You flinched.

    And then came the wedding.

    Your judgment didn’t stop.

    You said we shouldn’t dance.

    Because “someone might not like it.”

    You ever ask me if I liked spending my life editing who I am just to be allowed in a room?

    You didn’t care about that.

    You cared about optics.

    About shame.

    About what people would say.

    Then Dad didn’t show up.

    And you say, “I argued with him.”

    Really?

    When?

    Where?

    Because I never saw it.

    You didn’t raise your voice.

    You didn’t defend me.

    You didn’t say,

    “Then I’m not going either.”

    You didn’t say,

    “That’s your son, and he matters.”

    You just stayed quiet.

    Sat in it.

    Normalized it.

    You want points for arguing behind closed doors?

    You don’t get credit for invisible battles when your son was left standing alone at his own wedding.

    And if all that wasn’t enough?

    Let’s talk about Thanksgiving.

    Our first one after we were married.

    Chris and I show up – husband and husband.

    Legal. Legitimate. Real.

    And what do you do?

    You introduce him as “Ryan’s friend.”

    Not my partner.

    Not my husband.

    Not family.

    A friend.

    And when my nephew tried to introduce Chris properly,

    you corrected him.

    You corrected him.

    Let’s talk about that, Mom.

    Because what you said in that moment was loud as hell:

    That I was an embarrassment.

    That Chris, who is legally part of this family, wasn’t welcome as who he was.

    That being gay is something to downplay, something to manage, something to cover in polite company.

    What if Cody was gay?

    What did you just teach him?

    That if he ever loved differently, he’d have to hide it?

    That his truth would embarrass you, too?

    Because that’s what you said without saying it.

    And let me tell you:

    I heard you.

    He heard you.

    Everyone heard you.

    I used to think you just didn’t understand.

    But now I realize you did.

    And you chose silence anyway.

    You say, “I’ve always loved you.”

    No, Mom.

    You loved the version of me that was small.

    Quiet.

    Careful.

    Filtered.

    Tolerable.

    You loved me when I was convenient.

    But every time I stepped closer to truth – you stepped back.

    That poem?

    That wasn’t for show.

    That was the sound of my ribs cracking open so my soul could finally breathe.

    It was everything I never got to say while you smiled and shifted and pretended everything was fine.

    You’ve said things like, “Don’t post that.”

    “Don’t say that at dinner.”

    “Keep it private.”

    No.

    I’m done keeping your secrets.

    Done protecting people who never protected me.

    Done tiptoeing around your shame like it’s my burden to carry.

    If my pride offends you?

    Good. That means it’s working.

    Because I’m not here to make it easy for you anymore.

    I’m not here to fold my love into something that fits your dinner plates.

    I’m not here to pretend your silence was love when it was just fear wearing a cardigan.

    You had a chance to love me boldly.

    You had a chance to say,

    “That’s my son. That’s his husband. This is family.”

    You didn’t.

    You chose quiet.

    You chose image.

    You chose your comfort over my dignity.

    So no, I don’t call.

    No, I don’t come around.

    Because every time I did, I had to leave pieces of myself at the door.

    And now?

    I refuse.

    I take up space.

    I speak loud.

    I post what I want.

    I dance with my husband.

    And if that makes you uncomfortable?

    That’s. The. Point.

    You had your chance to show up.

    You had your chance to speak out.

    You had your chance to be proud.

    Now I’ll do it for myself.

    And I won’t lower the volume just because you’re still not ready to hear the truth.

    – Ryan

    Enjoyed this article? Please support our work!

    ☕ Buy me a coffee: Thank You!

    About Your True Direction

    I’m not here to play nice, I’m here to make change. I work with veterans, teens, career shifters, and anyone who’s ever been told they’re too late, too broken, or too much. I help people rewrite their story when the world hands them a script they never asked for.

    I don’t save people. I remind them how to save themselves.

    That’s my legacy, and I’m just getting started.

    Follow along as I speak truth, challenge systems, and help folks build a life that actually fits.

    Connect with Us

    Follow us on Medium @YourTrueDirection.

    Your journey is yours to shape, take the next step in Your True Direction.

  • “Are You Not Entertained?”

    “Are You Not Entertained?”

    (A Spoken Word Piece)

    They see us walk in, glitter — glam, bold, and bright,

    And they whisper — “They just want attention, right?”

    Drag queens strutting like royalty,

    Trans kings commanding space like destiny,

    And suddenly, it’s a show,

    Not a life. Not a fight. Not survival.

    Just… something to gawk at.

    “Are you not entertained?”

    The words echo from the Colosseum to the club,

    From Maximus to Marsha,

    From gladiators to glittered defiance.

    We didn’t come to dance for your comfort.

    We came to exist — loudly. Freely. Fiercely.

    Because the world handed us silence,

    And we chose sequins.

    They say — “Why so dramatic?”

    As if history didn’t drench us in drama.

    As if we didn’t bury friends in the ‘80s,

    Or hide who we were to keep jobs, families, our lives.

    As if bathroom bills, conversion camps, and closet doors

    Aren’t heavy enough to make you scream.

    But go ahead —

    Clutch your pearls. Shake your heads.

    Scroll by with your assumptions and side-eyes.

    Say we do it all for attention…

    “Are you not entertained?”

    Or are you just too afraid to admit

    That this isn’t a performance —

    It’s a revolution wrapped in rhinestones.

    It’s freedom with a strut and a split.

    It’s truth with a tuck and a tease.

    It’s saying,

    We’re here. We’re queer. We’re done whispering.

    So next time you stare,

    Ask yourself:

    Is it the sparkle that blinds you —

    Or the power behind it?

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    ☕ Buy me a coffee: Thank You!

    About Your True Direction

    Your True Direction is dedicated to empowering individuals navigating life’s transitions. Through inspiring stories and actionable strategies, we aim to help you reclaim ambition, overcome challenges, and thrive in every stage of your journey.

    Connect with Us

    Follow us on Medium @YourTrueDirection

    Your journey is yours to shape — take the next step in Your True Direction.

  • Are You Not Entertained?”

    Are You Not Entertained?”

    The Power, Pain, and Politics of Queer Expression in a Spectacle-Obsessed Society

    Your True Direction 


    “Are you not entertained?”

    This iconic line, shouted by a bloodied Maximus in Gladiator, wasn’t a celebration of victory — it was a challenge. A callout. A haunting indictment of a society addicted to violence, numbed by spectacle, and detached from the humanity of those forced to perform. He wasn’t seeking applause. He was holding up a mirror.

    More than two decades later, that same mirror reflects something eerily similar in the experience of queer people today — especially those whose identities are flamboyant, loud, expressive, and unapologetically visible.

    The Spectacle of Queer Visibility

    From Pride parades to drag performances, queer expression is often seen — and dismissed — as mere show. Colorful. Chaotic. Entertaining. Aesthetic. It’s packaged and consumed like a streaming show, a TikTok trend, a night out on the town. But beneath the glitter lies a deeper truth: visibility for queer people isn’t a costume — it’s courage.

    Society too often views expressive queerness — especially drag, gender nonconformity, or flamboyant behavior — as performance. But these aren’t acts for applause. They’re acts of defiance in a world that polices difference. Every strut, every sequin, every “yes queen!” is stitched together by centuries of resistance, pain, and the radical right to exist.

    So when society asks, “Why are they doing all this? Why do they need attention?”

    The answer, echoing from Maximus, is simple: Are you not entertained?

    The Double Bind of Visibility

    Queer people walk a tightrope of contradiction. Be visible enough to advocate for rights, but not so visible that it makes others uncomfortable. Be proud, but not too proud. Be out, but not too loud.

    This paradox plays out every day:

    • A trans woman is called brave on a magazine cover, then harassed on the street.

    • A drag performer wins an Emmy, then is banned from reading to children.

    • A gay teen posts a dance video, then is doxxed and bullied offline.

    Visibility becomes both lifeline and lightning rod. And the irony? The same society that celebrates queer culture in curated doses often vilifies it when it challenges their comfort.

    Drag Is Not a Distraction — It’s a Declaration

    Drag, in particular, sits at the center of this cultural conflict. Once underground, now mainstream (thanks in part to RuPaul’s Drag Race), it has been simultaneously commodified and condemned.

    Drag is dismissed by critics as obscene, as grooming, as “just for fun.” But that framing erases its political roots. Drag was — and still is — a rebellion. A theatrical protest against gender norms, patriarchy, and erasure. It says: We’re here. We’re fierce. We won’t shrink to fit your expectations.

    When a drag queen steps onto a stage or reads a book to children, that is not a performance for approval. It’s a statement of presence in a world that would rather they disappear.

    Flamboyance Is Survival, Not Showboating

    The flamboyant gay man. The femme nonbinary teen. The trans woman with bright eyeshadow and higher heels. These expressions aren’t for applause — they’re armor.

    In a culture where queerness has historically been criminalized, pathologized, and punished, to exist out loud is an act of survival. These individuals aren’t performing for your amusement. They’re breathing in their full truth — something so many are denied.

    And when people react with discomfort or accusation — “They’re just doing it for attention” — it reveals more about the observer than the observed.

    When the World Demands Conformity, Expression Is Resistance

    Every culture has norms. But when those norms are rigid, any deviation becomes disruption. Queer visibility disrupts the narrative of binary gender, heteronormative romance, and quiet assimilation. That disruption often triggers backlash.

    But conformity is not peace — it’s compliance. And for queer people, especially those from marginalized intersections (Black, brown, disabled, poor), compliance has never guaranteed safety.

    So instead, many choose to live vividly. Loudly. Colorfully. Not to entertain, but to exist on their own terms.

    Society’s Uneasy Addiction to Queer Culture

    Here lies the ultimate irony: society can’t stop watching queer people. From voguing in pop videos to queer slang in advertising, from Pride floats to rainbow capitalism, the world profits from queer aesthetics while rejecting queer lives.

    It’s like watching Maximus fight — cheering the bloodshed but ignoring the cost.

    So again we ask:

    Are you not entertained?

    Because if visibility rattles you, maybe it’s not the expression that’s the problem — it’s your expectations.

    FAQs

    1. Why is drag considered political?

    Drag challenges gender norms and stereotypes. It has historically been a form of protest, particularly during events like the Stonewall Riots. Today, it still represents resistance, especially in the face of anti-LGBTQ+ legislation and cultural backlash.

    2. Isn’t queer expression just for attention?

    No. Queer expression is often a survival mechanism and a form of self-affirmation. It challenges conformity and gives voice to identities that have been historically erased or marginalized.

    3. Why do some people feel uncomfortable with queer visibility?

    Discomfort often stems from internalized biases or rigid expectations about gender and identity. Queer visibility challenges these norms, which can feel threatening to some.

    4. How can allies support expressive queer culture?

    By listening, learning, advocating, and showing up. Support local queer artists, attend drag shows, push back against harmful narratives, and vote for inclusive policies.

    5. Isn’t visibility enough for LGBTQ+ rights?

    Visibility is important but not sufficient. Legal protections, healthcare access, education, and cultural acceptance are all critical. Visibility without safety can still be dangerous.

    6. What’s wrong with enjoying queer culture for entertainment?

    Appreciating queer culture is fine, but problems arise when it’s consumed without respect for the people behind it. Enjoying the art while ignoring or undermining the artist’s humanity is exploitative.

    The Cost of the Curtain Call

    Queer people don’t exist to perform. And yet, every day, they are forced to audition for acceptance — in families, schools, jobs, and public life. The performance is relentless, and the stakes are life and death.

    So when the world gawks at drag queens, critiques gay men for being “too much,” or questions why a trans person is “so visible,” remember this:

    They’re not asking for your entertainment. They’re demanding your recognition.

    And if that makes you uncomfortable — 

    Are you not entertained?

    Enjoyed this article? Support our work!

    ☕ Buy me a coffee: Thank You!

    About Your True Direction

    Your True Direction is dedicated to empowering individuals navigating life’s transitions. Through inspiring stories and actionable strategies, we aim to help you reclaim ambition, overcome challenges, and thrive in every stage of your journey.

    Connect with Us

    Follow us on Medium @YourTrueDirection

    Your journey is yours to shape — take the next step in Your True Direction.