Are You Proud?

I have to admit. Pride groups used to really frustrate me. 

I remember at one of the first fundraising conferences I ever went to, there was a session on pride in fundraising. I had assumed it was a session about being proud of being a fundraiser, rather than a fundraising LGBT+ pride group. The fact that the panellists were from Stonewall and a few other queer charities passed me by, until I was in the room… But we’ll ignore that for now. 

I found the text I sent my best friend after the session. In that text, I said I ‘hadn’t expected be confronted’ by a ‘group of tub-thumping gays’ and that while I understood that it was ‘important to have role models (I guess)’, I felt like ‘I didn’t owe my sexuality, or a declaration of my sexuality, to anyone.’ I projected onto the pride group that they felt entitled to my sexuality. That I owed it to them to be out. And I really resented them for it.

I realise now, nearly a decade later, that I was scared that being seen as ‘a gay fundraiser’ would hold me back.

In the texts I sent my friend, I went on to explain that I was dealing with a number of older donors with conservative views. That being out to these donors risked income - and while I didn’t explicitly write this, I know that I thought risking income also risked career progression.If you asked that younger version of me what he wanted, he’d have said, without skipping a beat:

Results.

Challenge.

Recognition.

…A decade on, I realise some fundamentals were missing from that list. My younger self would have never asked for:

Safety.

Belonging.

Joy.

And if you had offered him these things, he might’ve laughed at you. The work, he’d have said, was more important. The best safety was being too good to ignore. The best safety was earned.

When I looked at that panel, I saw gay fundraisers fundraising for gay causes. I didn’t and couldn’t see myself represented at senior levels in the sector. My heart breaks for that younger version of me - and thinks how lucky I am to have eventually met the people that changed that - including Samir Savant and Luke Mallett. 

These two were being something I couldn’t be for myself. Senior-level fundraisers who happened to be queer and absolutely smashing their career. Their queerness had nothing to do with their success, but it wasn’t getting in the way either.Meeting them - and of course, going through quite a chunk of therapy - shifted something in me. Over the years, that shift has continued, to the point that I’m impressed if I don’t quote RuPaul during the working day.Then this week, a queer fundraiser I have a lot of love for put up a LinkedIn post. In it, he said ‘Name as many queer and women owned fundraising agencies as you can. I’ll wait.’And I realised their agency (Hynt), and my agency (Fireside) were the only queer-owned fundraising agencies I could name. I could name a few other phenomenal freelancers, but that was it for agencies. If I’ve missed any, please tell me. But for now, there are two. And I realised… Wow, there are two. And two is more than one. And one is more than zero.And that might feel like obvious maths, but it made me realise something else obvious.

I do owe it to someone to be out. I owe it to the younger version of me, resisting being ‘obviously’ gay because he thinks it’ll hold him back.

And I realise that he might not hear pride. He’d see the man dancing to Taylor Swift in a sequin suit - and roll his eyes. But then he’d hear that man say, yes I dance to Taylor Swift. But that dancing doesn’t stop me: I get results, challenge and recognition. And what’s more is I get to enjoy it.

I get to celebrate the moment that one of our clients lands a huge partnership, meaning they can finally fund a clinical trial that might cure the disease - we eat a toblerone and enjoy the moment, rather than just moving onto the next thing.

I get to delight in the moment that we helped challenge the charity that run Wikipedia work out who their service users are, and the penny drop moments of how to explain it. 

I get to feel safe in every room I’m in, and leave the rooms I don’t. And I get to quote Sabrina Carpenter as I do it.…And then that young man’s eyes might stop rolling. And he might realise he can dance in a sequin suit and change the world too. And that might just matter to him.

I’ll admit. I’m still not a member of a Pride Group. But I do, deliberately, hang out with queer fundraisers as often as I can. 

Whether it’s a gossiping with Fireside’s Research Consultant Lucy Mitchell, a coffee catch up with Arlo Hilton, sharing a stage with Cam St Omar Donaldson… I’m not part of a pride group, but I am part of a joy community. If you’re part of the Fireside clan in any way - client, friend, acquaintance - it feels like you’re part of that joy community too.

Thank you for being here,

Andy

PS: this email is about how far I’ve come on my journey, but I will confess to being a bit scared to hit send. To the extent I’ve asked a few queer friends if this email feels ‘too much’, which shows that feeling safe still can’t be taken for granted, even in 2025. If this email costs me results or recognition, so be it. I know there are enough of you in my/our corner. 

I also know that there are many other groups/people that question their safety. If you’re one of them, I hope you can take what you need to feel safe. If you’re not there yet, I’ll be fighting in your corner until you can x