I’m Just Me: Jen’s Story of Pride, Truth, and Living Out Loud

There’s a moment in Jen’s story that stays with you.

She’s standing at a pay phone, feeding in a quarter, calling her mom to say something that feels big, even if she doesn’t fully have the language for it yet.

“I called my mom and said, ‘I’m bisexual. I like girls.’ And she was like, ‘Okay… and? That’s what you wasted a quarter on?’”

It wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t turn into a long conversation.

It just… moved on.

For Jen, that moment became a quiet confirmation that she could be honest and keep living.

Before the words, there was knowing

Long before she named it, Jen understood something about herself.

“I knew there was something… fruity about me,” she says, laughing with ease and no trace of embarrassment.

At eight years old, it showed up in curiosity. As she got older, it became clearer. Growing up in New York City in the 90s meant living in a world where community existed, but you had to know where to find it.

“There were so many underground groups… you heard about it, but you didn’t hear about it.”

She found her way into that world anyway. As a teenager, she became a peer educator, learning and teaching at the same time.

That work was personal.

Her mother had been living with AIDS for decades. It was a reality Jen understood from a young age, even as the full weight of it revealed itself over time.

It shaped how she saw the world. It shaped how she saw people. It shaped how she learned to speak about things others were afraid to name.

Not everything about that time felt safe.

At 15, she was assaulted for being perceived as gay.

It didn’t push her back into hiding. But it did shape how she moved through the world. She became more aware, more measured, still unwilling to deny who she was.

A life that doesn’t fit in a box

Jen says her story isn’t one note. It never has been.

She was raised across cultures, born to a Jewish mother and a Puerto Rican biological father. When her parents split, her mom remarried a Black man who she considers her dad in every way that matters.

But Jen's home was also shaped by her mom’s drug addiction.

Some parts of her world made room for her exactly as she was. Others pushed back.

Her mother met her truth with ease. Her uncle still struggles with it.

Jen doesn’t spend her energy trying to reconcile that.

“That’s his belief,” she says. “I’m just me.”

She says it plainly. Not to convince anyone. Just to be clear.

A place where nothing about you has to be hidden

By the time Jen arrived at Covenant House at 19, she wasn’t questioning who she was.

But there’s a difference between knowing yourself and feeling safe enough to live that truth out loud.

“Covenant House never judged anybody,” she says. “Once you step foot in, it’s a no-judgment zone.”

There wasn’t pressure to explain herself or edit her story.

“You are able to speak freely, be who you are… and express everything about yourself.”

For someone who grew up learning how to keep going no matter what, that kind of space creates a shift you can’t fake.

“It slows you down enough to actually look at your own life,” she says. “I didn’t start talking about my story until my late 30s.”

But the foundation for that openness started earlier, in a place that never asked her to shrink.

Pride, without a calendar

Ask Jen what Pride Month means to her now, and she doesn’t frame it around June.

“Every day is Pride for me.”

She still shows up to Pride events, but for different reasons than she used to.

“I go to Pride to watch the couple that got married 45 years ago, when it was much harder and less accepted. I go to see people walk without hiding… the ones who fought for us to be here.”

For her, Pride is about recognition of history, of progress, of the people who made space where there once wasn’t any.

What it means to be asked, not told

Jen is clear about why spaces like Covenant House matter, especially for LGBTQ+ young people.

“People like me can start off very young with Covenant House and express how they’re feeling,” she says.

“That changes things because it means not waiting years to speak. Not carrying everything alone.”

At Covenant House, young people aren’t handed a script for who they should be.

“They ask what we want, how we feel, where we’re going,” she says.

There’s a difference between being guided and being controlled. Jen felt that difference immediately.

“That’s the point… to help people grow, not make people grow.”

“I’m just me”

Jen doesn’t reduce herself to a label.

“Being a lesbian does not define who you are,” she says.

“I’m just me.”

There’s nothing performative about it. It’s settled.

What stays with her

These days, Jen speaks about her life with a kind of clarity that only comes from time and reflection.

“This is my opportunity to open up… and live a calm life,” she says.

And when she talks about Covenant House, she keeps it simple.

“They let me shine in ways I never thought I would. Emotionally. Mentally.”

That’s what stays with her.

The space to be fully herself and to keep going without leaving any part of her behind.