Pride, MS and the power of representation

Growing up and realising I was gay was the start of a journey that would shape so much of who I am. Accepting it myself wasn’t easy. I was constantly searching for representation—for someone or something I could connect with. 

Along the way, people would say things like, “You’re gay, so you must be like this person or that person.” I found that incredibly difficult. It felt like other people were trying to put me in a box. Expecting me to conform to their ideas of what being gay meant.

It’s taken me many years to become comfortable in my own skin and to feel proud of being me. Maybe part of that was realising that if I couldn’t find representation around me, I could carve out my own path instead.

Second time around on the road of self acceptance

Interestingly, that whole process of acceptance - of owning my journey of discovery and learning to be proud of who I am - has strong parallels with my experience of being diagnosed with MS.

I started having symptoms in the spring of 2019. It was a rollercoaster of tests, uncertainty, difficult conversations, and enough medical appointments to earn a loyalty card (I wish that were a thing). I was diagnosed with highly active relapsing remitting MS in October 2020.

In the early days after my diagnosis, I was terrified. Despite having wonderful family, a loving partner and beautiful friends, I felt alone. I spent hours wondering how this would change me. Whether it would change me. And how I’d fit into everyone else’s world now. 

It was like staring into a future I couldn’t visualise at all. Like being handed a jigsaw puzzle without the picture on the box.

At first, I tried to avoid thinking about it altogether. My strategy was essentially: "If I focus on other things, everything will magically be fine, right?" Spoiler alert: that’s not how MS works.

Eventually, I moved into a phase of realisation - though not yet full acceptance. I started questioning how, and where, I fit into this new world.

How would MS impact my identity? Was it now going to be all of my identity? These were eerily similar questions to the ones I’d wrestled with around my sexuality years before.

The importance of representation

Being diagnosed during the COVID-19 pandemic added a delightful extra layer of chaos. I had to attend appointments alone, without the comfort of someone holding my hand (or at least entertaining me with memes in the waiting room). 

I remember coming home from A and E one day with what felt like hundreds of leaflets (though realistically, it was probably five) filled with images of people with MS. I didn’t connect with any of them. None of those leaflets looked like me or felt like me.

Another surreal moment came when discussing treatment options with medical professionals. In the middle of talking about drugs and side effects, the conversation veered into future plans for having a family. Suddenly, I found myself explaining that I was in a same-sex relationship and that we hadn’t quite mapped out our route to parenthood yet. It was as if, in an instant, I was transported back to being that nervous teenager coming out all over again.

Celebrating Pride

That’s why I believe representation is so important. Whether it’s about your sexuality, your health, or any other part of your identity—being in a minority can be isolating. You’re constantly pushing against the ‘norm,’ trying to find where you fit.

But knowing there are others like you helps you feel that the fight isn’t all on your shoulders. It becomes something shared—a journey carried forward by a network of amazing people.