WARNING:
This will be a very long and difficult read.
What you don’t know about me is that this past year has likely been the most gruelling and painful one of my entire life.
The irony is that before it all began, I was on top of the world—on the verge of opening an exciting new business explicitly for the queer community that was little more than a fleeting fantasy mere years ago; living in a beautiful neighbourhood with a doting romantic partner; enjoying a blossoming social life; and managing a successful non-profit organisation that was poised to effect meaningful change for my community, both locally and abroad.
However, it was seemingly not meant to last—things took a sudden and dreadful turn. What came immediately following those glory days was a series of challenges I was grossly unprepared for.
Since that time, I’ve had to endure two illegal evictions, ongoing domestic abuse of all varieties, months of homelessness, financial insecurity, mental illness and even a suicide attempt. To top it off, I’ve also somehow been branded an outcast by the very community I’ve supported for years.
In truth, I am still navigating many of those same challenges today.
Yet, In the midst of all of this, I still make an honest attempt to maintain an air of professionalism and extend support to those in need at every opportunity. I’ve given financial aid to numerous friends who were struggling to pay rent or feed themselves, oftentimes to complete strangers online who also identified as queer and were clearly in vulnerable positions. I’ve given thousands out of my own savings to ensure the ongoing operation of the community centre for marginalised youth that I set up in my home country the year prior, including paying out-of-pocket for equipment, furnishings, branded materials, employee salaries, rental payments and utility payments. And I did everything in my power to support my intimate partner’s failing mental and physical health—even going so far as adopting two young pups, solely to give them a reason to keep on fighting.
I continued to organise meetings, write press releases, contribute to virtual LGBTQIA+ seminars and manage the finances of my organisation, including covering the costs of our marketing and merchandising. And when I wasn’t performing those day-to-day tasks, I was fleshing out a lengthy business plan, seeking out funding, building a strong social media presence and developing a full-fledged website for my burgeoning new venture in Galway.
But I clearly hit my breaking point when one day, I received word that my eldest child tried to take their own life.
Having been separated from them in 2020 at the start of the pandemic, they were an ocean away from me and with everything I was already grappling with, I felt utterly useless. I’d given up so much to get as far as I was and there was very little else left for me to offer—so I had no choice but to focus on building up my strength again if there was any chance of me being there for them in any meaningful way.
Still, the challenges kept coming. With the housing crisis in Ireland still rampant, I had to resort to moving my partner and I from hotel to hotel, simply to keep a roof over our heads, steadily draining my bank account and jeopardising the launch of my business in the process. I cut myself off from friends for months, determined to preserve my funds until we were in a better position. Consequently, I also picked up smoking in a desperate attempt to alleviate the mental anguish and resulting insomnia.
But as things slowly seemed to be changing for the better, my partner and I abruptly found ourselves out on the street for the second time, with no other recourse but to rely on the goodwill of others to get us through; at least until we finally parted ways and on terrible terms at that.
Were it not for the encouragement and kind words of two dear friends, I would have easily gone through with my plan to make that September the last one I’d ever see. Somehow, though, I found the strength to get back on my feet.
Since then, for the past three months, if I wasn’t spending the night wandering around the airport or bus station, I’ve been sleeping in a tent in the cold and rain or, if I’m lucky, curled up on a friend’s couch with my backpack ready and waiting for the coming morning. During the day, I float from one café to another, taking advantage of the wi-fi for work, powered by a steady flow of coffee. And I’ve limited myself to a single meal a day just to keep my expenses at a minimum.
In spite of it all, I keep moving.
This year has taken just about everything from me that I had to give. Yet, with so little left in me, I’m somehow managing to cobble together what’s remaining to try and make a new start. It hasn’t been easy but I remain hopeful and resilient.
I grappled with the thought of sharing all of this for a long time, especially on such a public platform but I believe firmly in the slogan that my organisation champions: “Visibly Strong.”
So, if my story has any chance of empowering others, I’d like for you to share it. And I thank you for taking the time to read it.