I didn’t create Queer Reflection because the world needed another platform.
I created it because I needed a way to survive the space between who we are and what the world still refuses to feel.
I’ve been called names I won’t repeat. I’ve watched doors close the moment I walked in as my full self. I’ve lost people I loved—just for being honest about who I am.
And yet, I’ve seen beauty that defies language:
A friend’s hand in mine when I came out.
The laughter of chosen family around a kitchen table.
The quiet, stubborn strength of queer resilience.
“If you are always trying to be normal, you will never know how amazing you can be.”
— RuPaul
What’s harder to name is the harm of distance.
Most homophobia doesn’t shout.
It shrugs.
It says nothing.
It hides behind policies, smiles, and “good intentions.”
It thrives in people who’ve never had to feel what we feel.
That’s why I built Queer Reflection: to give people the chance to feel.
Even just for a moment.
This isn’t a startup. It’s a vessel.
For our stories. For our ache. For our flame.
For the kid too scared to speak.
For the parent desperate to understand.
For the executive who thinks allyship is a checkbox.
For the queer boy I was—and the man I’ve become.
“It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.”
— Audre Lorde
This is a love letter to us.
And a call to everyone else:
You don’t get to say “I didn’t know” anymore.
Now you’ll know.
Now you’ll feel.
And maybe—now, you’ll change.
