One of the most important lessons I've learned over the years is that being yourself isn't a one-time decision. It's an ongoing process of choosing authenticity, even when it would be easier to become the version of yourself that other people expect.
Growing up, I spent a lot of energy trying to fit in. As a closeted gay kid in a small conservative Midwestern town, I learned early on that acceptance often seemed conditional. Like many people, I became a people pleaser. I paid attention to what made others comfortable and adjusted accordingly. The goal wasn't necessarily to stand out - it was often just to avoid feeling different.
Everything changed when I discovered art. An art teacher helped me see that drawing and painting could be more than a hobby. Art became a way to process my experiences, explore my identity, and express things I wasn't yet able to say out loud. More importantly, it gave me something I had struggled to find elsewhere: a sense of belonging. Through creativity, I began to understand that there wasn't something wrong with me because I didn't fit neatly into the boxes that surrounded me. Maybe the boxes themselves were the problem.
What I didn't realize at the time was that the pressure to fit into other people's expectations doesn't necessarily disappear when you become an adult. In many ways, it just changes form.
Early in my career, I encountered people who thought I should hide or downplay the queer themes in my work. Some suggested that embracing that part of my identity too openly would limit my opportunities. To me, that felt like being asked to step back into the closet, so I chose a different path. Instead of changing my work to fit someone else's idea of what was marketable or acceptable, I focused on finding people who connected with it as it was.
As the years went on, another challenge emerged. People often seemed comfortable with one part of who I am, but not necessarily all of it. Some appreciated my work as an educator but questioned my more playful or provocative artwork. Others supported my advocacy work but were uncomfortable with the fact that I also create projects that celebrate queer sexuality, humor, and self-expression. I've even had people suggest that because I post lighthearted Cheesecake Boys videos in my underwear or create some work intended for adult audiences, I shouldn't be involved in educational programs or community initiatives.
For a long time, those kinds of criticisms bothered me because I wanted people to understand that these weren't separate versions of me. They were all part of the same person.
The artist who paints portraits. The educator who works with young people. The advocate who speaks out against bullying. The community organizer who creates opportunities for connection. The guy making goofy videos online. None of those roles cancel each other out. They all come from the same place: a desire to help people feel seen, connected, and empowered to be themselves.
One of the biggest challenges of my career has been resisting the pressure to simplify myself for the comfort of others. People often want easy categories. They want us to choose one identity, one role, one label, and stay there. But human beings are more complicated than that. We all contain contradictions, interests, experiences, and passions that don't always fit neatly together. That's not a flaw. That's what makes us interesting.
Pride Month reminds me that visibility is about more than being openly LGBTQ+. It's also about embracing the fullness of who we are. It's about resisting the urge to shrink ourselves to fit someone else's expectations. It's about recognizing that we don't need to earn the right to be authentic by becoming perfect, respectable, or easy to understand.
For me, authenticity has meant learning to embrace all sides of myself instead of separating them into categories. It has meant accepting that not everyone will understand me, and that understanding isn't a prerequisite for self-worth. Most importantly, it has meant realizing that the qualities I've sometimes been encouraged to hide are often the same qualities that allow me to connect most deeply with others.
If there's one thing I hope people take away from this Pride Month, it's that you don't have to choose between different parts of yourself. You don't have to become smaller, quieter, or more convenient to make other people comfortable. The world doesn't need a carefully edited version of who you are. It needs the whole story.
And so do you.