Choosing Myself, Finding Pride
Written By: Lauren Lipscomb
When I first joined Capital Pride, I thought I knew what to expect. I planned to show up, do my job, and contribute to a mission I already cared about. Given that I am a Black, bisexual woman, I already live at the intersection of several communities this organization serves. As such, I figured my colleagues would assume I understood the significance of the work in this community.
From my first day, it became clear that this experience would be more than a professional opportunity. I wasn’t just learning about logistics or event planning; I was being immersed in the depth of Queer history, art, and activism in Washington, D.C., and beyond. Our seminars often evolved into powerful lessons on queer history in D.C. and the meaning of queer-coded art. We explored the stories of Black and Latinx trans activists, the artists who used creativity as a form of protest, and the local advocates whose work laid the foundation for modern Pride. Those conversations reminded me that visibility isn’t merely celebratory; it’s revolutionary. What impressed me most was the intentional way Capital Pride invests in its interns. Every assignment, whether it involved writing, outreach, or event planning, came with context and meaning. The team made sure my work wasn’t just helpful to them, but also valuable to me and aligned with my professional growth.
As I engaged more deeply with this history, it reshaped how I understood my own place within this work. Learning about LGBTQ+ bars in Washington, D.C. as sites of refuge, the significance of Dupont Circle in Queer organizing, and the role of queer-coded art as resistance showed me how marginalized communities rely on culture and space to survive and mobilize. Coming from Howard, an institution rooted in Black political history, into Capital Pride allowed me to recognize clear parallels between Black liberation and Queer liberation movements, both sustained through collective memory and community.
While my time at Capital Pride has been professionally enriching, it has also been deeply personal. Being a Black bisexual woman is something I am still learning to navigate. The bisexual aspect of myself is one I’ve identified with for years; yet rarely had the space to explore fully. I’m out to my close friends, a few family members, and most people I interact with daily. Still, there are relatives of mine who believe I’m straight, not because I’ve told them that, but because it’s easier for them to believe it.
Homophobia continues to persist within the Black community, often unspoken but deeply felt. It can manifest as dismissal, silence, or attempts to define Blackness in ways that exclude queerness. Yet, as I’ve learned through my work here, Black Queer people have always been central to the fight for freedom and equality. From Bayard Rustin’s leadership in the Civil Rights Movement to Marsha P. Johnson’s courage at Stonewall, our impact is undeniable.
Working at Capital Pride has also given me the space to hold all parts of myself without apology. It has reminded me that Pride is not only about celebration but also about survival and the ongoing act of creating spaces where we can exist fully, safely, and joyfully. Through my work in marketing, including creating TikTok content, designing graphics, and sending mass emails, I learned how visibility is built intentionally and how digital storytelling can expand the reach of advocacy. These experiences have strengthened my ability to communicate with diverse audiences and will be invaluable as I move forward in work centered on community engagement, nonprofit leadership, and social impact.
My experience at Capital Pride has been transformative. I will be leaving after Pride 2026 with new skills, stronger confidence, and a clearer sense of purpose. I’ve learned how collaboration can build community, and how storytelling can spark empathy and action. Most importantly, I’ve learned that Pride is more than an event, it’s a daily commitment to inclusivity, visibility, and empowerment. As I move forward, I carry with me the lessons of this experience: that representation matters, that advocacy begins with self-acceptance, and that the most meaningful progress comes when we choose to show up as our full selves.