Sunday Scaries, Gratitude, and Recognizing Pride

A Sunday evening reflection.

From time to time, I write about the Sunday Scaries - that anxious, unsettled feeling that creeps in on a Sunday night. Thinking about the things I didn’t get done. The uncertainties of the week ahead. The doubts about whether I’m doing the right thing.

It’s a feeling my daughter and I both experience. And to a certain extent, we’ve bonded over it. We’ve come to understand each other a bit more because of it. I’ve learned to hesitate before saying, “I know how you feel” - because I don’t. I’m not in her shoes. I’m not in yours. But through her, I’ve learned to be more open about my own challenges.

She told me once (I am paraphrasing), “If people my age only hear about how successful you are, it won’t feel attainable. But if they hear about your struggles, you might give them a bridge that helps them realize they can achieve what you have.”

She was right.

It wasn’t easy. There’s a certain stigma that can come with someone in a leadership position saying, “I have anxiety,” or “Sometimes I feel like an imposter.” And as easy as it would have been to stay quiet, speaking my truth has helped me - and hopefully has helped others. Candidly, it has helped me.

So today, as Pride Month begins, I feel the need to write about something else - something a bit deeper.

Let me start by clarifying a few things. My family - my parents and much of my extended family - were Christian or Catholic, but it wasn’t a major part of our daily lives. We went to church on holidays. I read the Bible at times and studied religion on my own. However, the lessons I learned about life didn’t come from scripture. They came from my environment. From watching the people around me. From the values they lived by, more than the words they spoke. And many times, from the ignorance of what I did not know - and my tendency to retreat to the familiar.

I grew up in Latin America, going to an American school, and I didn’t realize what racism was until I was back in the United States. I didn’t know how to process it. And truth be told, while I may have been bullied because of my last name, I found it hard to believe that others were attacked because of the color of their skin, or their religion, or culture. Yet we used words every day that today, if I heard someone use, I would cringe.

I was raised to value people - individuals, intentions, actions toward others. So while I didn’t understand certain lifestyles, I was “tolerant” of them.

It wasn’t until I moved to New York that my worldview really started to open up. I began meeting people - really seeing them as individuals, not just labels or roles. I had a boss who was in a same-sex relationship - something I hadn’t been exposed to much before. He became a mentor to me. He saw that I was in a tough spot, trying to transition into the corporate world, and he helped guide me through it. He praised me when I deserved it. Knocked me down a peg when I needed it. He taught me a lot - not just about work, but about people.

Meeting his partner, now-husband, and their two adopted children opened my eyes even further. It challenged my own ignorance. Seeing their household - the love, the commitment, the care - it made me realize that a family built on love is just as real, just as valuable, as any so-called “traditional” household. That was a big moment for me - understanding that what matters isn’t the structure of a family, but the love within it.

I moved to acceptance - still with some reservations, but with respect.

Later, when I was working in Dallas, we were charged with building out a top-level design team. We recruited from top schools and companies and started to attract talent - but often, the best candidate for the job would turn us down. One day, I asked a candidate I very much wanted on the team, bluntly, Why?

He explained that community and culture were very important to him - as a gay man. Not just tolerance of his lifestyle, but a place where he could truly be himself and flourish. No amount of money could make up for that.

It wasn’t about hate. It was about belonging. And that stuck with me.

It mattered to me - because that’s what my parents taught me: People should feel like they belong. And it mattered because I was the one hiring new members of the team. If I was bringing people onto the team, I wanted the culture to be one where they felt like they could thrive. Not just the team or the company - but the community at large.

That conversation, with someone who trusted me enough to be open, and others like it, taught me how much community matters - and how subtle things, unspoken and unacknowledged, can still make people feel excluded.

Where I stand today is shaped by all of those conversations - sometimes instigated by me, sometimes by others, most times starting uncomfortably. But every single one, a step further in my journey.

I don’t think people should be judged by who they love, what faith they follow, what family they come from, or what economic class they grew up in. People should be judged by their actions. By their behavior. By how they treat others. By the impact they have on the world around them.

That’s where I’ve landed: on the side of inclusion, empathy, and understanding. Embracing.

I’m not perfect, and I still have a lot to learn. But as we step into Pride Month, I want to acknowledge the journey - my own, and the journeys of others.

Even with my own anxieties, I am grateful for what I have - whether you call it earned or privilege, I’ve worked hard, but I also know I’ve been allowed to be myself and afforded more than others. My anxieties pale in comparison to those who, for one reason or another, don’t feel comfortable living their truth. Those who feel hate because of who they love. Those who feel their rights are restricted.

I absolutely don’t know how that feels. But I can still be an ally. I know it might be easier to simply support quietly, but my daughter taught me to speak up.

That’s why it matters to recognize Pride. Outwardly.

It’s about the freedom to be who you are, the courage to live authentically, and the responsibility we all share to create a world where everyone feels they belong.

And the importance of those of us who are allies of the LGBTQ+ community to speak up and say, “You are welcome. I’m always here - to listen, to protect, to stand up.” 

So, with that said, Happy Pride Month!

“We should indeed keep calm in the face of difference, and live our lives in a state of inclusion and wonder at the diversity of humanity.” — George Takei

“If you really keep the royal law found in Scripture, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself,’ you are doing right. But if you show favoritism, you sin and are convicted by the law as lawbreakers.” — James 2:8-9 (NIV)

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P.S. The person who was brave enough to be open and honest with me turned down the job. But a year later, proudly, he came to work for our team - and he is one of the most talented individuals I’ve ever had the privilege of working with.

There are so many I owe a debt of gratitude to - for being willing to listen, to allow me to fumble my thoughts and words, to patiently teach.

And here is where I should add: The opinions expressed here are mine, and mine alone. They are my personal reflections and don’t represent any organization I may be part of.

That’s one of the blessings of living in this country - we are imperfect, sometimes deeply flawed. We’ve made mistakes, but we learn, we grow, and we have the freedom to hold our beliefs and speak our truth. That I learned in history class…