Letters, Silences, and the Spaces Between: The Weight of being Seen.

1. Opening Letter: “This Is Not a Guide”

This is not a guide to allyship. There are enough of those.

This is a glimpse into what it feels like to need it. Not as theory. But as oxygen.

It's about the soft tension in your shoulders when you're the only one like you in the room. The pause before you speak, calculating how much truth is safe. The smile that stays on your face even when you want to correct someone, because you’ve learned that being liked often buys more safety than being right.

Allyship, in those moments, isn’t a grand gesture. It’s the quiet presence of someone who sees the strain without making you perform it. It’s someone who asks how you are - and stays long enough to hear the real answer.

This edition is for the things we don’t say. And the people who hear us anyway.

2. Fragmented Truths: The Emotional Tax of Being ‘First’ or ‘Only’

• The first time I sat on a diversity panel, I wondered if I was there to speak or to be seen.
• I’ve softened my voice over the years. Partly because I’m shy. Mostly because I’ve been taught that softness is easier to digest.
• Every time someone says, "You speak so gently," I wonder if they know it was shaped by years of learning not to offend.
• Even now, I enter rooms as myself - but also as everyone like me who won’t be invited in.
• And sometimes I leave, not because I wasn’t welcome. But because I knew I would have to explain my presence more than enjoy it.

Personal Anecdote: I remember recently being invited to speak at a leadership forum. It was meant to be a celebration of diversity, and I stood there on stage, trying to speak about inclusion while wondering if my presence was ticking a box. I gave the speech. People clapped. And then someone came up to me and whispered, "Thank you for saying what I never could." That stayed with me longer than any applause.

3. Micro-Acts of Allyship: Unseen, Unsaid, Unforgettable

Not all allyship is loud. Some of it is barely visible. But it stays with you.

• When someone corrected a misused pronoun - not in a grand way, just a quiet nudge that changed the whole tone of the meeting.
• When a colleague checked in hours after a tough conversation, not to offer advice, but just to say, "That looked hard. Are you okay?"
• When a leader asked, "Would you like to speak?" and waited for a real answer instead of assuming I wanted to be visible.

Personal Anecdote: At one workplace, I was about to share a personal experience in a group session. Before I even began, a teammate subtly nodded and said, "Take your time. We're with you." I hadn’t realized how much I needed that one sentence. I spoke more honestly than I ever had in a corporate room.

Allyship isn’t always what gets noticed. It’s what makes it safer to be honest.

4. The Absence of Noise: What Performative Allyship Feels Like

• Rainbow logos. And no one correcting slurs.
• Celebration posts. And no space to actually grieve what it costs to be visible.
• Taglines about "belonging" - when the lived experience is code-switching just to fit in.

Personal Observation: I’ve worked in organizations where I was invited to represent, to educate, to inspire - and then left out of decision-making tables. Being seen and being heard are not the same. And being used as a face for progress can feel like another form of invisibility.

Real allyship is sometimes boring. Repetitive. Inconvenient.

But it is always real.

5. Archive: Notes I Never Sent

• To the first person who made space for me without needing my backstory - thank you.
• To the colleague who stayed quiet when they should have spoken up - I saw you. And I remember.
• To my younger self, who thought fitting in was the only way to be safe - you were wrong. But I understand why you tried.

Not everything gets said. But it shapes us anyway.

6. Closing Frame: “Maybe Allyship Begins with Less Noise and More Noticing”

If you’ve ever wondered what allyship looks like, maybe start here:

Watch who speaks. Watch who gets interrupted. Watch who waits for permission to be real.

Then make space.

Pride Month isn’t a campaign. It’s a call to pay attention.

To the letters. The silences. And the spaces between.