🪞 The Mirror You Refuse to Face

A post for the “I’m not homophobic but…” crowd — and a challenge to confront soft hate, passive silence, and the subtleties of cruelty.

You say you’re not hateful.

You say you support everyone.
You say, “It’s not that I don’t accept them… I just don’t agree with it.”

But what if harm doesn’t always shout?
What if it speaks in quiet approval of rejection,
or the kind of silence that makes someone feel erased?

Because you don’t have to scream a slur to make someone feel unsafe.
You just have to stay quiet while someone else does.

This is the part most people don’t want to face:
That soft hate is still hate.
That passive silence still hurts.
That polite rejection still leaves bruises.

---

🪞 The Mirror They Avoid

You say you’re not homophobic.
You say you don’t have a problem with anyone.
You say you “treat everyone the same.”

But let me ask you something gently:

When your son brought home a friend who was soft-spoken and wore eyeliner,
did you smile — or did you wonder?

When your coworker mentioned their husband and used the word “they,”
did you ask more — or did you change the subject?

When your child asked what “nonbinary” means,
did you explain it with warmth — or dismiss it with discomfort?

Because the truth is,
most of the harm we carry didn’t come from people who yelled.
It came from the people who looked away.

You think harm looks like hatred.
But sometimes, it looks like hesitation.
Like long pauses in conversations that should’ve been easy.
Like silent disapproval wrapped in politeness.
Like support that disappears when it becomes personal.

This is not an accusation.
This is a mirror.

One you’ve likely been avoiding —
not because you’re cruel,
but because deep down…
you’ve started to wonder if fear has been wearing your face this whole time.

---

🪞 You Didn’t Say It — But You Let It Be Said

You didn’t scream the slur.
You didn’t post the meme.
You didn’t write the law.

But you sat at the dinner table when someone else did — and you didn’t leave.
You nodded politely at the joke you didn’t find funny.
You scrolled past the cruelty, because it didn’t have your name on it.

You didn’t vote to take anyone’s rights away.
But you voted for the person who promised they would.

You didn’t throw the first stone.
You just stood in the crowd and didn’t stop the second.

You don’t have to raise your voice to do damage.
You just have to stay quiet while someone else uses theirs to harm.

What’s wild is — you think you were being neutral.
You think silence made you safe.

But ask any queer person you know:
Silence is never neutral.
It’s permission.

It’s the echo chamber that makes slurs feel normal.
It’s the space where shame grows roots.
It’s the approval you never meant to give —
but gave anyway,
by not walking away.

---

🪞 Love Without Affirmation Isn’t Love

You say you love them.
You say you’re kind.
You say, “I don’t agree with their choices, but I still care.”

But let me ask you this:

If someone only called you by the wrong name…
If someone erased the words that made you feel real…
If someone ignored your truth, corrected your identity,
and told you they were doing it out of love —
would it feel like love to you?

Because it doesn’t feel like love to them either.

Love isn’t passive.
Love doesn’t withhold.
Love doesn’t edit people into versions that make you more comfortable.

You say, “It’s not personal.”
But for them, it’s always personal.
It’s their name, their pronouns, their existence.
It’s every time they hear someone say,
“I love you… but.”

As if love has a leash.
As if truth can be tolerated, but not embraced.

If your version of love comes with quiet disapproval,
scripture-as-weapon,
or “just don’t talk about it in front of the kids”…

…it’s not love.
It’s control dressed in concern.

And they feel the difference.
Even if you don’t.

---

🪞 Politeness Isn’t Neutrality

You think you’re being respectful.
You think you’re being polite.
You never raised your voice.
You just… stayed quiet.

But quiet is not the same as kind.
And politeness is not the same as safety.

Silence is the sound prejudice makes
when it wants to look respectable.

You don’t say slurs.
You just don’t say pronouns, either.
You don’t mock anyone.
You just avoid eye contact when they bring up who they love.
You don’t condemn them to hell.
You just “don’t want to get involved.”

But involvement is never optional —
not when children are watching.
Not when lawmakers are listening.
Not when your silence looks an awful lot like agreement
to someone standing in the fire alone.

You were raised to be polite.
But sometimes, politeness is just fear in a pearl necklace.

And if your comfort depends on someone else being erased,
you’re not being nice.
You’re just hiding your harm behind a smile.

---

🪞 What It Costs — When You Say Nothing

Somewhere right now,
a queer kid is sitting at the dinner table
listening to you talk about politics
and pretending not to exist.

They hear what you don’t say.
They feel what you’re not ready to admit.
And they are learning — fast —
how much of themselves they’ll have to bury
to stay loved by you.

This is what silence costs:
a name never spoken.
a truth never affirmed.
a child who becomes a stranger in their own home.

You may not know it yet,
but your approval is the currency they’re trading pieces of themselves for.
They are watching you
hesitate.
Flinch.
Stay quiet.

And with every glance you avoid,
they’re shrinking to fit a version of themselves
they think you’ll tolerate.

Until one day,
they disappear completely.

Sometimes not physically.
But emotionally. Spiritually.
Sometimes permanently.

And you’ll say,
“I didn’t know they were struggling.”

But they were.
And you did.
And you chose comfort over confrontation
because you didn’t want to upset the room.

---

🪞 If You’re Not Against Us, Then Be With Us

This isn’t a cancellation.
This isn’t a call-out.

It’s a call-in.
But one that comes with a choice.

Because when a community is under attack —
from lawmakers, pulpits, dinner tables,
there is no neutral ground left.

You are either building safety
or excusing danger.
You are either creating room
or closing the door behind you.

You don’t have to understand every label.
You don’t have to get the language perfect.
But you do have to show up,
with more than silence.

This is not about shame.
It’s about truth.
And the truth is,
your discomfort has cost other people their safety.
Your quiet has felt like violence.
Your theology, your politics, your “I just don’t know enough”
has carried weight you never had to feel.

Until now.

So this is your mirror.
Not to judge you —
but to show you who’s standing behind you.

Still hoping.
Still watching.
Still waiting for you to choose them
out loud.

— Thîrteen