Pride Was Never Merely a Party — It Was Always a Healing

A Psychologist's Take on What It Really Means to Celebrate Yourself

As a Lesbian or Queer Woman

Jacklyn has been eagerly anticipating her Pride weekend since April.

She is ready; her outfit is chosen, and the hottest spots to visit are all mapped out. Her friend’s group chat, called "dykes do June," has been buzzing for weeks. She loves Pride, genuinely and wholeheartedly. The music, the visibility, the feeling of moving through the world in a crowd of people who understand her. Each year, she counts down to it like a holiday.

However, as the celebration approaches year after year, she encounters a familiar pattern.

By the time she is actually there, surrounded by rainbows, joy, and women who love women, she feels the need for a drink to fully arrive. Then another. Not to drown anything out, exactly. More to lower the barrier. To allow herself to feel the celebration she longs for. Without three margaritas, she senses a faint distance between herself and the joy, like watching it through glass rather than living inside it.

She considers this ordinary since her friends do the same. Yet, I see something deeper when I reflect on it. Not because substances are inherently bad; they can have their place in celebration. But if relied upon to mask aspects of ourselves that would benefit from gentle exploration, it may be worth paying attention. My own sobriety shapes how I perceive this. Not drinking my way into Pride nudged me to do the inner work over the years. I am deeply grateful for it, as it helped me experience joy, authenticity, and true security by facing myself more honestly.

This journey, from numbing to actual feeling, often unfolds in therapy sessions.

After twenty-five years of sitting with lesbian and queer women in the therapy room, I've come to understand that the open bar tab at Pride is often one of the most honest things a woman can show me. It offers a small window into areas we can work on. It's akin to watching a nervous system reaching for the one thing it knows will lower its guard long enough for her to feel what she already deserves to feel — freely, fully, without the subtle trace of alarm that follows queer women nearly everywhere they go. The popular bar tabs at Pride are a love story intertwined with a wound. And that wound has a name.

The History They Don't Put on the Floats

To understand the inner work, we must look at Pride's origins. Amidst today's glitter, corporate sponsorships, and selfies, the true story has faded.

Pride began at Stonewall on June 28, 1969. As usual for those times, the police raided a Greenwich Village LGBTQ bar. The patrons that night fought back. Marsha P. Johnson, a Black transgender woman, activist, and tireless advocate for her community, threw the first bottle. Once others followed, they refused to disperse. This act of bravery and courage changed the course of history for queer people. Those at the front of that uprising were transgender women of color, drag queens, and lesbian and gay patrons who had simply had enough. The first Pride march, held the following year, was not a party. It was a proclamation: We exist. We resist. We are not going anywhere.

Somewhere between 1970 and now, the message got translated into something more integrated and universal: celebration, visibility, corporate floats, and rainbow merchandise. All of this has genuine value because visibility saves lives, particularly for queer youth who need to see themselves mirrored in the world. Yet, the first act marked those tipping points in human history when nothing would be the same again. Something important can get lost when we forget that.

The external political fight and the internal psychological fight have always been one and the same. Both are about the same thing: the right to exist fully, openly, embraced, and loved as you are without consequences. The police who raided Stonewall enacted a version of the same message that many queer women received from their families, churches, schools, and their own minds: you are not safe here. You are not welcome here. Who you are is wrong.

That message didn't stay outside. It came in. For millions of lesbian and queer women, it took up residence in the most intimate place imaginable, the felt sense of whether they deserve to be loved.

What Lesbianphobia Actually Does to a Queer Woman’s Nervous System

Many discussions on queer women's psychology only scratch the surface, omitting a key element.

Homophobia is real. Internalized homophobia is real. But for lesbian and queer women, the targeting has never been singular. In 2010, I introduced the concept of lesbianphobia, the unique, compounded effect of misogyny and sexism plus homophobia and heterosexism, to describe the distinct psychological burden faced by women who love women in a culture built by and for straight men. Lesbianphobia not only shapes how lesbian and queer women are viewed by society but can directly affect their psychological well-being: undermining self-acceptance, instilling low-grade self-doubt and imposter syndrome, and creating anxiety around expressing love freely. This complex pressure influences day-to-day interactions, relationships, and internal self-talk in ways that can make authentic living difficult. Four arrows: misogyny, sexism, homophobia, heterosexism, one body intersecting into one mind continuously.

Lesbianphobia is the compounded intersection of misogyny, sexism, homophobia, and heterosexism, a reality for women who love women in a culture designed by white, straight men. This ongoing exposure can teach the nervous system that safety and acceptance are conditional, leading to chronic tension and a persistent sense of not belonging. Culturally speaking, lesbian identity and existence have often been erased, fetishized, or treated as taboo instead of simply a part of the multifaceted life we are all living. For queer women of color, racism and white privilege intersect with these forces, deepening emotional and psychological trauma and a sense of not belonging. Over time, lesbianphobia can create deep-seated discomfort around intimacy, a solid sense of self, and difficulty feeling worthy of love. Healing requires spaces that affirm every facet of identity, through groups, community organizations, or trusted circles, supporting the feeling of belonging every queer woman deserves.

A woman who grows up around lesbianphobia, something every lesbian and queer woman experiences to some degree, absorbs that message at the nervous system level. Lesbianphobia conditions her to anticipate danger or rejection, even in seemingly safe spaces, which can manifest as anxiety, chronic self-doubt, or behaviors like pulling away emotionally or overcompensating in relationships. This learned response gets deeply internalized, not just in our minds but in our bodies, frequently resulting in a baseline sense of hyper-vigilance or unease. This internalization is referred to as internalized lesbianphobia.

Even as acceptance grows globally, the nervous system still learns that our type of desire is unwelcome or fetishized, making love feel risky and visibility scary. When left unaddressed, these feelings can appear as low self-esteem, insecurities, attachment issues, love addiction, substance abuse, or low self-worth, often unconsciously.

The tendency toward over-drinking at Pride becomes clearer through the lens of lesbianphobia's impact. A woman whose nervous system has carried years of shame or anxiety related to unspoken and internalized stigma may feel undeserving of public joy. Lesbianphobia can promote a perception that real celebration, comfort, or belonging are only accessible with the help of substances to dull the internal alarm. The armor built for psychological protection—to manage years of carefulness and self-defense—can ultimately put distance between the individual and communal joy, making it harder to celebrate freely, even in affirming spaces.

Why "Just Be Proud" Can Still Lead to an Open Bar Tab

Here is what nobody says out loud at Pride: celebrating publicly is much easier than believing privately.

A woman can march in the parade and still struggle to believe that she deserves lasting love or flinch when someone shows her tenderness. Internalized lesbianphobia can change in intensity through self-acceptance and community, but it doesn't completely dissolve because that takes direct and intentional healing. A type of healing greatly improved through an affirmative lens that puts the focus of the problem back onto society, family, and religion when warranted. This kind of internal change can be a gradual process—slow, interior, and direct.

Even surrounded by happiness and closeness at Pride, some women face a quiet, exhausting question: why doesn’t this come naturally to me? This struggle can lead to an isolating sense of difference. Yet, internalized lesbianphobia has operated beneath awareness far before there were words for it, installed by larger cultural forces. The real question isn't what's wrong with me, but what has this patriarchal, heteronormative society taught me about myself, and how do I want to respond now?

Pride Month has the potential to reopen the wound for women still healing. The contrast between the celebration outside and the unfinished work inside can be triggering. It's easy to feel like everyone else got the memo, and somehow you missed it—but the reality is, no memo was ever sent. Healing is not linear, nor does it follow a calendar. It is completely normal to feel out of sync with the celebrations around you. For many, the process moves slowly, with progress sometimes appearing in small, subtle ways. There is nothing wrong with needing time, retreating, or questioning whether you belong. The work is interior and a process, and June does not speed it up. It helps. Being part of an amazing community is incredible, but June can also remind a woman why the work is worth doing.

What Real Pride Looks Like Psychologically

Real pride is not simply a month-long event. Real pride is the slow, cellular work of healing our nervous system so we can fully embrace the truth that full visibility is our birthright. Authentic joy is accessible to all of us when we do the work, and queer love, underneath the barrier of the shadow, is true, quantifiable, and our divine right.

There are many ways to start this process, and I invite you to try this simple one offered here. It can begin with a quick daily practice of self-compassion. Each morning, take a moment to place your hand over your heart and remind yourself: I deserve to exist fully and to love openly. For some, repeating a gentle affirmation such as "I am enough, exactly as I am" can begin to soften old patterns. You might also try writing a short, encouraging message to yourself in a journal each morning—notice what you appreciate about who you are, even if it’s just one small thing.

If the evening is a better time for you, you can do this before falling asleep: recall one thing you did that day that reflected your authentic self, no matter how minor, and acknowledge it. If any of these practices feel hard, allow yourself to simply notice that feeling without condemnation; self-acceptance is an ongoing process, and every tiny step matters.

Embodied pride looks like slowly embracing someone who loves you without feeling a need to pull away or protect yourself. Staying present when intimacy deepens, rather than finding an exit. Making it through a Sunday afternoon together, ordinary and undramatic, without manufacturing a reason to push her away. Picking a partner who is also committed to doing her own inner work, not one whose wounds are untamed and end up creating chaos.

And, specifically at Pride, embodied pride can become about staying present. Not getting lost in triggers that get activated or drinking to feel your way into the celebration. Actually being in it, in the body, in the moment, in the fullness of what it means to be a lesbian or queer woman free of internal restrictions.

Taking grounding tools with you to Pride can be tremendously helpful. Here is one of my favorites: pause wherever you are (no one has to know), feel your feet connected to the ground, and take three slow, deep breaths into your diaphragm, feeling your chest and stomach rise and fall. Notice your surroundings: the colors, the music, and the people connecting. If anxiety or distance starts creeping in, gently anchor your attention back to your breath and your feet rooted in the ground. Giving yourself these tiny moments of presence can help you move through celebration more fully and with more self-acceptance.

The somatic dimension of our healing process is enormously helpful, and it is the piece that most psychological frameworks miss. Worthiness does not live in the mind. A woman can affirm herself all day, “I am worthy of love, I am enough, I deserve to be here,” and if it continues to land intellectually, it will take a long time to integrate. The body holds everything; it does not forget, but it is also wired to release it with the right guidance.

Authentic pride can become a working part of who you are, and with proper support, you will get there.

The Truest Kind of Pride

Pride has never been simply a party. The women at Stonewall weren't celebrating. They were refusing and insisting on their own humanity in the face of a world designed to erase it. Every generation of lesbian and queer women since has been doing some version of the same thing, both in the streets and inside the self.

Jacklyn is still out there somewhere, at this very moment, in the middle of another Pride weekend. If, like Jacklyn, you find yourself wishing for different ways to arrive at joy, it might be time to explore new rituals and traditions. Pride can be celebrated by dancing sober with friends, creating art or signs together, joining a sunrise walk as a group, volunteering, organizing a picnic in a queer-affirming space, or simply connecting meaningfully with others who see and celebrate you. For some, skipping the bar entirely and soaking up the energy at daytime events or local meetings can lead to a fuller feeling of belonging. Trying a guided meditation or breathwork circle, hosting a game night, or writing letters of pride to your younger self are just a few options. There are as many ways to honor Pride as there are queer women, and each alternative opens space for authentic joy to take root without needing anything to soften or filter the experience.

You deserve to feel every bit of it, not just through a chemical-induced celebration, but fully, in your body, with nothing between you and your joy. Getting there is the work. And the work starts with knowing what you're actually carrying.

Exactly as you are.

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References & Further Reading

Arriola, E. R. (1995). Faeries, Marimachas, Queens, and Lezzies: The Construction of Homosexuality Before the 1969 Stonewall Riots. Columbia Journal of Gender and Law 5(1). https://doi.org/10.7916/cjgl.v5i1.2378

Costine, L. D. (2019). Lesbian love addiction: Understanding the urge to merge and how to heal when things go wrong. Rowman & Littlefield.

Meyer, I. H. (2003). Prejudice, social stress, and mental health in lesbian, gay, and bisexual populations: Conceptual issues and research evidence. Psychological Bulletin, 129(5), 674–697. https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-2909.129.5.674

van der Kolk, B. (2014). The body keeps the score: Brain, mind, and body in the healing of trauma. Viking.

Levine, P. A., & Frederick, A. (1997). Waking the tiger: Healing trauma. North Atlantic Books.

Weiner, S. A. (2016). Bibliography of books on sexual minority health 2005-mid-2015. Purdue University Libraries. https://docs.lib.purdue.edu/lib_fssup/1/