Never felt so free. Never felt so alive.

Last month, I had the honor of being part of the 2005 Black Queer Creative Summit, and it was nothing short of life-changing.

I grew up in a saved, sanctified, Holy Ghost-filled church where being myself was never an option. Looking back, I knew I was always gay, but the adults around me recognized it before I even had words for it. I remember being called “funny acting”—a phrase I cringe at now. As a preacher’s kid, I was constantly told that being gay was wrong, that people with “too much sugar in their tank” needed to assimilate, toughen up, and perform masculinity.

That kind of messaging leaves marks. I spent much of my adulthood hiding parts of myself, shrinking, and pretending. And when you don’t know who you are, you look for ways to quiet the noise inside. For me, that meant turning to pills to numb the hurt, chasing distractions, and sometimes leaning into reckless, harmful behavior. I was careless with my own well-being and careless with the feelings of others. In trying to cover my pain, I caused pain. I didn’t know how to show up for anyone else because I hadn’t yet learned how to show up for myself. Because it’s true: hurt people hurt people. But I’ve also learned something just as important—healed people heal people.

When I launched The Black Gay Agenda, it wasn’t just about a podcast or a platform. It was about creating a space where Black gay men could simply be—laughing, breathing, embracing joy, existing without performance or pressure. This work has brought me opportunities I never imagined and placed me in rooms I never thought I’d be worthy of entering. And last weekend, I found myself in one of the most powerful rooms yet.

The Summit gathered some of the most brilliant, beautiful, bold, and bright Black queer creatives I’ve ever met—people who’ve broken barriers, embraced their truth, and committed themselves to shining as lights in their communities. But what made it even more powerful was being able to share space with people I had admired from a distance—people who inspire me, who I aspire to be, and who reminded me what is possible when we live authentically. Every hug, every exchange of numbers and social media handles, every word of affirmation meant the world to me. What began as a weekend of panels and conversations quickly turned into something deeper. I found new family. I found new community. And together, we laughed, we danced, we shared stories, and we embraced our brilliance and our legacies.

A few years ago, if you’d asked me if I could be in a space like that, I would have said hell no. I wasn’t ready then. I couldn’t embrace my identity. I couldn’t be honest about where I was in my journey. But now—I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

That weekend reminded me of the little boy I once was—the one who longed for a space like this. While I didn’t have it growing up, I now get to build it for others. That’s my calling. That’s my responsibility. The Black Queer Creative Summit was everything little Micah needed, and everything future Micah needs to keep going.

So thank you to GLAAD for creating a space where we could simply exist. Thank you for letting us be seen, heard, recognized, and celebrated in all of our Black queer glory. I left the Summit more certain than ever of my mission, my calling, and my duty: to heal, to build, to create, and to leave a legacy.

This is the work. This is the joy. This is the Agenda.

-Micah B