Visibility is Powerful, But So Is the Inner Saboteur

This year’s Wear it Purple Day theme is Bold Voices, Bright Futures.

It’s a message filled with hope. Hope that young queer people can speak up, be seen, and shape a future where they don’t have to shrink themselves just to feel safe. I want to believe in that. I want to live in that. But I also want to be honest. Because bold doesn’t always feel good. And the future doesn’t always feel safe.

There are nights I lie awake turning over things I wish I had done differently. A conversation I could have handled better. A moment I misread. A small decision that turned into a bigger problem. I go over it again and again, gathering scraps of doubt like evidence in a trial where I am both the defendant and the judge.

RuPaul calls it the inner saboteur. That voice that doesn’t just whisper insecurities. It knows exactly where to strike. Mine doesn’t care how hard I’ve worked or how far I’ve come. It waits until I’m tired, quiet, alone. And then it says: see? You’re not ready. You’re not built for this. You’re the reason it will all fall apart.

That voice didn’t come from nowhere. It was shaped over years of learning that people like me — queer, gender diverse, different — aren’t always welcomed in certain spaces. And when we are, it’s often safer to make ourselves smaller. Tone it down. Hide the parts of ourselves that might make others uncomfortable. Learn how to blend in so well that no one notices we are different at all.

People talk about being a role model like it’s a badge of honour. But what they don’t talk about is how lonely it can be. How exposed. When you’re not what people are used to, your presence becomes political whether you want it to or not. You stop being an individual. You become a stand-in for everyone who looks or lives like you. And if you mess up, it doesn’t feel personal. It feels like proof. Proof that it was a risk to give you a shot. Proof that the next person like you shouldn’t be given one at all.

So I still double check everything. Not just because I’m being watched, but because sometimes I don’t fully trust myself. That’s what the saboteur does. It makes you question the decisions you made with a clear head. It makes every tiny slip feel enormous. It turns a learning moment into a looming threat.

And when people are watching, really watching, that voice gets louder. Some are cheering us on. But others are waiting to see if we will fall. And the pressure of that, the weight of building something bold while constantly bracing for impact, is heavy.

Some days, I feel strong in it. Other days, I want to disappear. There are days I wish I could fade into the background and just do the work without being seen. Without carrying the story. Without having to represent anyone but myself.

But then I remember who I was before this. The kid who never saw anyone like them. The young adult who couldn’t picture a future that felt safe. The person who needed to believe they weren’t the only one. That’s who I show up for.

So no, I don’t always feel bold. But I show up anyway. With the saboteur still whispering. With my stomach tight and my chest heavy. With doubt riding shotgun. Because maybe this is what bold actually looks like. Not fearless, but honest. Not loud, but steady. Not polished, but real.

So this year, as we honour Bold Voices, Bright Futures, I’m not pretending to have it all figured out. I’m not here to give advice or wear a cape. I’m here as someone who is still learning to love the voice that speaks up, even when it shakes.

Because it’s not just the industry that watches us closely. Sometimes we do it to ourselves. We pick ourselves apart before anyone else can. We hold ourselves to impossible standards. We try to prove we belong by leaving no room for error. But that’s not what builds a brighter future.

What builds it is compassion. Toward ourselves. Toward the parts of us that are scared. The parts that still flinch when we’re seen. The parts that believe we have to earn our worth.

So I’m starting there. With me. With the hard, messy work of learning to have my own back. Not just when I’m winning, but when I’m unsure. When I’m imperfect. When I’m still growing.

Because as RuPaul says, and I’m finally starting to understand:

“If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?”

Written By: Ash MacMahon - Co-Founder & Field Director