On Belonging

Everyone is pressured to have community. And for good reason—it’s important. Especially for queer people, the idea of chosen family is not just emphasized, it's practically branded into us. But it’s not like you can just go to the store and buy a community. There’s no Amazon Prime for chosen family.

Belonging is complicated. Even for people who appear to have it. And for queer folks who learned early that they don’t quite belong anywhere—that complexity runs deep. There’s often a quiet ache. A persistent feeling of being on the outside looking in. Watching everyone else live, laugh, fuck, and flow together. And wondering, why not me? Where are my people?

That sense of being peripheral—unclaimed, unnoticed—isn't just dramatic. It’s human. Wanting to be seen, included, chosen, is not some immature need. It’s foundational. But most people are carrying around an invisible backlog of rejection. Many of us are still haunted by the roles we had to play to survive our families, classrooms, peer groups. We learned to contort. To be quieter. Nicer. Funnier. More palatable. Less needy. And so now, even when we do show up authentically, some old part of us is waiting to be picked last.

And a lot of that starts at home. The family system is the first community we’re part of—and for many of us, it’s where we first learned that love is conditional. That attention has to be earned. That belonging depends on performance. Whether it was spoken or silent, you were shaped by it: the golden child, the problem, the peacemaker, the invisible one. And if your core self wasn’t mirrored back with warmth and acceptance, you internalized the message that you—just as you are—aren’t enough. So of course belonging feels complicated now. You’re not just trying to make friends—you’re trying to rewrite history. You’re not just trying to be liked—you’re trying to be seen in a way you’ve never been.

And then culture doubles down. It tells you who gets to belong—loudly, subtly, constantly. If you’re a woman, you’re too emotional. If you’re a man, you’re too soft. If you're queer, you're the sidekick. If you’re trans, you’re othered. If you’re BIPOC, you’re tokenized or erased. If you’re neurodivergent, you’re difficult. Religion, class, ability, body size—every axis of identity comes with its own distorted mirror. And it’s not just individual—it’s systemic. Belonging has never been equally distributed. So it’s not just your personal wound. It’s collective. It’s structural. It’s inherited.

Social media makes this worse. We compare ourselves to curated group chats and birthday parties we weren't invited to. We think, maybe I’m just not cool enough. Or hot enough. Or interesting enough. But here’s the truth: it’s not about being better. It’s about being seen in the right places by the right people.

And sometimes, that takes time. Real time. Not a weekend.

Some people find their crew early. Others spend years searching. Some people grow inward first—developing depth, clarity, self-awareness—but don’t find the social reflections of that growth until later. Others build fast networks but realize their relationships lack emotional intimacy. There’s no formula. No timeline. Just your life and your unfolding.

Not every space is your space. Not every person will feel you. Some communities are curated for status or clout. Some are deep but closed. Some are open but superficial. Some are genuinely beautiful—but still not meant for you. That doesn’t mean you’re defective. It means you’re discerning.

And it hurts. Because the desire to belong never really goes away. When you knock and no one opens the door, something in you breaks a little. You feel ashamed for wanting in. You feel foolish for trying. But you’re not. You’re human. You’re brave. And you’re doing what most people won’t admit they’re desperate for too.

Here’s what helps:

• Stop pretending you don’t care. You do. Let that be okay.

• Don’t shame yourself for being where you are. That never helps.

• Make a list of what you do value about yourself. Right now.

• Let yourself ache. Let yourself want. Let yourself grieve.

• Don’t perform your way into places you don’t belong.

• Pay attention to warmth, not status.

• Ask: what does integrity look like in friendship? In you?

• Remember: the fantasy of others' lives is just that—a fantasy.

And most of all: hold yourself in the in-between.

Where you are is not a problem to fix. It’s a space to move through.

Questions for Reflection:

• Where in your life are you performing to be liked or included?

• What parts of yourself do you shrink or hide in order to belong?

• What kind of connection do you truly crave? What does it feel like in your body when it’s present?

• Who in your life feels warm, safe, and genuinely interested in you?

• What friendships are you maintaining out of obligation rather than mutual care?

• If you could build your ideal community from scratch, what values would it hold?

• Where are you trying to rush your belonging instead of letting it form slowly?

You are not behind. You are not broken. You are not alone.

You are becoming. And somewhere, someone is looking for you too.