I Used to Whisper. Now I Roar.

🔥 Share the fuego…

There was a time when I edited every sentence before I said it.
Not for grammar — for safety. For approval. For survival.

I didn’t speak with fire. I tiptoed. I minimized.
I swallowed opinions whole.
I was so quiet, even I couldn’t hear myself sometimes.

And yet, inside?
I was SCREAMING.

Not in rage. In repression. In that uniquely queer way where joy gets stuck behind your teeth because the room might not be ready for your shine.
Yeah. That.

I Didn’t Come Out Loud

I came out… politely.
Like, “Excuse me, if it’s not too much trouble, I might be slightly queer, but don’t worry I’m still chill.”
Ever been there?

I wanted everyone else to stay comfortable.
Even if it meant I stayed small.
Even if it meant I didn’t correct someone misgendering a friend.
Even if it meant I nodded and laughed when someone made a joke that punched down.

Because I thought being liked was the same as being seen.

Spoiler: It’s not.
Being liked is easy.
Being heard? That’s a revolution.

But Roaring Isn’t Screaming

Let’s clear something up.

When I say I “roar” now, I don’t mean I’m out here yelling in Target, flipping tables at brunch, or giving unsolicited TED Talks at the club.
I’m not trying to be louder than anyone else.
I’m just finally matching the volume of my truth.

Roaring is:

💬 Speaking up when something feels off — with love, not ego
😏 Correcting someone’s outdated language without making it a sword fight
🎤 Saying “Actually, I am proud of who I am” with your chest
🎨 Dressing how you want, moving how you want, living out loud

It’s energy, not decibels.
It’s intention, not intimidation.
It’s learning the art of turning up your brightness without burning others.

How to Speak Up Without Being a Jerk (or a Doormat)

Here’s what I’ve learned in my queer loudness journey: you can speak up and still be kind. In fact, that’s when your roar really lands.

1. Start with Questions, Not Accusations

Instead of: “You’re wrong.”
Try: “Hey, I’m curious, what made you say that?”

It opens the door without slamming theirs.

2. Use Humor As a Bridge

Being funny doesn’t mean being fake.
Sometimes a well-placed “Whew, that’s outdated! Did you time-travel here from 2003?” lands better than a lecture.

3. Know When to Educate, and When to Exit

Not every moment is a teachable one.
If someone’s committed to misunderstanding you? Save your breath.
Roaring also means protecting your peace.

4. Don’t Apologize for Taking Up Space

Ever start a sentence with “Sorry, but—”?
Cut that.
Try: “Here’s what I think.”
Boom. You’re leading with truth, not permission.

What Roaring Doesn’t Mean

It doesn’t mean:

You need to argue with strangers in comment sections
You need to have the loudest voice in every meeting
You must become a human glitter cannon who explodes every time someone says “boys and girls”

(Although… if you are a glitter cannon, live your truth.)

It just means being whole.
And sometimes, your wholeness is disruptive. That’s okay. That’s impact.

Funny thing: I used to whisper even when performing.

I worried my presence was “too much.” That my queerness was too loud.
I’d pull back, rein it in, make myself palatable.

But queerness isn’t just a flavor, it’s the whole damn dish.
And baby, I’m spicy.

So now, I lean in.
I perform like the world is finally listening, because it is.
I write songs like I’m not asking for radio approval.
I speak into microphones like the kid I used to be is watching, because he is.

And he’s cheering.

If You’re Still Whispering…

Let me say this softly, just for you:
You’re not broken.

You’re not behind.
You’re not “less brave” because you’re still finding your voice.

Whispers are sacred, too.
They’re where roars begin.

But when you’re ready?
When your chest fills with light and you’re tired of shrinking?
Take a breath.
Drop the fear.
And speak: clearly, boldly, kindly, fully.

Let the world meet the you who doesn’t flinch.

Your sparkle deserves volume.

✨🦁🎤
—gabro