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The long road to recovery

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I had my first drink when I was 8 — a Sloe gin fizz.

“Sloe gin fizzy/do it till you’re dizzy/give it all you got until you’re put out of your misery.” Aerosmith said that. It was the ’80s, the decade of day-glo and hair bands. My first cassette was an album by Poison. I grew up in a small town in the suburbs of Philadelphia that was populated with middle-class Catholics, a place where neighbors used their front lawns as storage, the restaurant of choice was Friendly’s and the popular Friday night activity was tailgating down High Street while intoxicated.

I showed up to my first day of high school dressed in a rayon orchid-print button down shirt, Lee’s husky jeans and a pair of sand-colored loafers. I frequently dyed my hair, tortured it with hair gel, and had pierced ears. I got my navel pierced when I was 16 at the Jersey shore, and got my first tattoo that same year. I ran, no walked, a 16-minute mile in gym class, sneaked out for lunch at McDonald’s, and when the name calling and threats got worse in school, took refuge in the music room and “All My Children” at 3 p.m.

I felt overwhelmed — an overweight, gay, soap opera-enthusiast teen. Then came acid, LSD and the ‘90s rave scene. It was a place to escape, where people were too fucked up to care if you were gay, straight or listened to Poison. I took acid. A lot of it.

I went to my first gay bar when I was 17. Armed with a fake ID and a tube of Carmex, I tripped through the front door of Woody’s, a gay hot spot in Philadelphia, with a dream of meeting a boyfriend. He would be cute, have blond hair, blue eyes and be 19.

Fast forward three gin and tonics later: He was a brunette, had brown eyes and a limp and was 45. Every Wednesday night I would drive my Mustang into Philadelphia, booze up at Woody’s, drive home drunk and try to make it through the next day. I made friends with people who bought me drinks, better friends with the bartenders and was merely acquaintances with those I would wake up next to.

At college in Allentown, Pa., there was a new set of rules. Let’s play the game “drink till you’re no longer straight.” The theatre department was full of tomorrow’s artists who were today’s misguided youth. The drinks of choice were Zima and Natural Light. Then I discovered the beer bong, a competition featuring horny, stressed college students guzzling beer out of a hose with a funnel on one end.

And what about that boyfriend? I sought him in AOL chat rooms; those meetings seemed to go better with booze. And cigarettes. I smoked a lot of cigarettes. My vocal coach smoked cigarettes, so why couldn’t I?  Finally, graduation came. Cap, check. Gown, check. Flask, check.

And now what? No more structure? I took a trip to Atlanta and didn’t come back.  Atlanta introduced me to house music, 24-hour clubs, warm weather, circuit parties, and the letters E, G, K, T and C. Ecstasy, GHB/GBL, ketamine, crystal meth, and cocaine.  They all made you high, and when used together, made you “crunk.” Considering that among that list, one is a solvent used to remove superglue, one is used as an anesthetic for your dog and one has been known to trigger explosions, it might cause you to think that snorting them up your nose while box-stepping to a Deborah Cox remix may not be such a good idea.

But, the drugs shrunk my waist from a 36 to a 34, made me feel socially acceptable, and were highly addictive. Ah, addiction. That force that causes you to do things over and over again expecting a different outcome. Or in the words of George Carlin, “Just cause you got the monkey off of your back, doesn’t mean the circus has left town.”

I was doing nothing with my life. I worked at Nordstrom, snorted ketamine in the stock room, boozed it up at night and blacked out. Wash, rinse, repeat.

I made the decision to go to grad school on a hit of E. I moved to Tennessee while high, I unpacked high, went to class high, studied high, met a boy drunk, got him high, and then moved in with him. We did coke and we were poor so we sold coke to pay for our coke, all the while telling ourselves that we weren’t getting in over our heads. I got in over my head and moved again.

You may want to consider your options when the list of your achievements starts looking more and more like the storyboard for a Lifetime original movie, rather than that of a successful person.

Consider the following criteria. You may be an alcoholic when you have a glass of wine at a meal and that meal is breakfast. Or, if you find you get your best eight hours of sleep from noon to 8 p.m. Or perhaps you decide to increase your fiber intake by drinking more Guinness. Or you carry around business cards that have your name and address with the phrases “Hello, I’m ____” and “Please take me to ______”.

I moved to Philadelphia and I drank. I moved to New York City and drank. I moved to Raleigh and drank. I moved back to Philadelphia and drank. I moved to D.C. and drank.  It wasn’t working. No matter how much I drank, I was still not the pretty, smart, extroverted starlet that a bottle of vodka was telling me I could become.

Even though I managed to shrink my waist size to a 32, I was still terribly unhappy. I was chasing something down a long, dimly lit tunnel, with no end in sight. Blackout.  Wake up. Who are you? Where am I? The walk of shame after impulses came to me from the bottom of a bottle of booze. I made many mistakes and lied a lot. My life became a fictional narrative, a choose-your-own-adventure story, with no happy endings.

It was time to do something. Something had to change. I took off my sunglasses, soaked up the daylight and asked for help. The party was over. The lights came up.  “Hello, my name is John and I’m an alcoholic and drug addict.”

I haven’t had a perfect recovery. I’ve had my share of slips, trips, falls and follow-ups, but I’ve learned how to ask for help, and to listen to those willing to share their stories and suggestions. It’s not the same script, different cast, but a different script, and more diverse cast.

I’m grateful to be sober today. Addiction is always there. It’s a Christmas present neatly wrapped in sparkly paper with a glittery bow that contains an empty box. I choose the other gift. It is the gift of stories of other men and women who are recovering and shedding the burden of their pain. They are young, old, black, white, straight, gay, bi, trans, lawyers, doctors, artists, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, grandparents, Poison fans and soap opera-enthusiasts and they all have one thing in common. They hope for a better way of living. A sober way of living.

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Commentary

The power of no

Pick one priority this year, not 10

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(Photo by Damian Palus/Bigstock)

January arrives with optimism. New year energy. Fresh possibilities. A belief that this could finally be the year things change. And every January, I watch people respond to that optimism the same way. By adding.

More workouts. More structure. More goals. More commitments. More pressure to transform. We add healthier meals. We add more family time. We add more career focus. We add more boundaries. We add more growth. Somewhere along the way, transformation becomes a list instead of a direction.

But what no one talks about enough is this: You can only receive what you actually have space for. You don’t have unlimited energy. You have 100 percent. That’s it.  Not 120. Not 200. Not grind harder and magically find more.

Your body knows this even if your calendar ignores it. Your nervous system knows it even if your ambition doesn’t want to admit it. When you try to pour more into a cup that’s already full, something spills. Usually it’s your peace. Or your consistency. Or your health.

What I’ve learned over time is that most people don’t need more motivation. They need clarity. Not more goals, but priority. Not more opportunity, but discernment.

So this January, instead of asking what you’re going to add, I want to offer something different. What if this year becomes a season of no.

No to things that drain you. No to things that distract you. No to things that look good on paper but don’t feel right in your body. And to make this real, here’s how you actually do it.

Identify your one true priority and protect it

Most people struggle with saying no because they haven’t clearly said yes to anything first. When everything matters, nothing actually does. Pick one priority for this season. Not 10. One.  Once you identify it, everything else gets filtered through that lens. Does this support my priority, or does it compete with it?

Earlier this year, I had two leases in my hands. One for Shaw and one for National Landing in Virginia. From the outside, the move felt obvious. Growth is celebrated. Expansion is rewarded. More locations look like success. But my gut and my nervous system told me I couldn’t do both.

Saying no felt like failure at first. It felt like I was slowing down when I was supposed to be speeding up. But what I was really doing was choosing alignment over optics.

I knew what I was capable of thriving in. I knew my limits. I knew my personal life mattered. My boyfriend mattered. My family mattered. My physical health mattered. My mental health mattered. Looking back now, saying no was one of the best decisions I could have made for myself and for my team.

If something feels forced, rushed, or misaligned, trust that signal. If it’s meant for you, it will come back when the timing is right.

Look inside before you look outside

So many of us are chasing who we think we’re supposed to be— who the city needs us to be. Who social media rewards. Who our resume says we should become next. But clarity doesn’t come from noise. It comes from stillness. Moments of silence. Moments of gratitude. Moments where your nervous system can settle. Your body already knows who you are long before your ego tries to upgrade you.  

One of the most powerful phrases I ever practiced was simple: You are enough.

I said it for years before I believed it. And when I finally did, everything shifted. I stopped chasing growth just to prove something. I stopped adding just to feel worthy.  I could maintain. I could breathe. I could be OK where I was.

Gerard from Baltimore was enough. Anything else I added became extra.

Turning 40 made this clearer than ever. My twenties were about finding myself. My thirties were about proving myself. My forties are about being myself.

I wish I knew then what I know now. I hope the 20 year olds catch it early. I hope the 30 year olds don’t wait as long as I did.

Because the only way to truly say yes to yourself is by saying no first.

Remove more than you add

Before you write your resolutions, try this. If you plan to add three things this year, identify six things you’re willing to remove. Habits. Distractions. Commitments. Energy leaks.

Maybe growth doesn’t look like expansion for you this year. Maybe it looks like focus. Maybe it looks like honoring your limits. January isn’t asking you to become superhuman. It’s asking you to become intentional. And sometimes the most powerful word you can say for your future is no.

With love always, Coach G.


Gerard Burley, also known as Coach G, is founder and CEO of Sweat DC.

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Honoring 50 queer, trans women with inaugural ‘Carrying Change’ awards

Naming the people who carry our movements forward

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Dear friends, partners, and community:

We write to you as two proud Black and Brown queer women who have dedicated our lives to building safer, bolder, and more just communities as leaders, organizers, policy advocates, and storytellers.

We are June Crenshaw and Heidi Ellis. 

June has spent almost 10 years guiding the Wanda Alston Foundation with deep compassion and unwavering purpose, ensuring LGBTQ+ youth experiencing homelessness have access to stability, safety, and a path forward. Her leadership has expanded housing and support services, strengthened community partnerships, and helped shift how Washington, D.C. understands and responds to the needs of queer and trans young people. In her current role with Capital Pride Alliance, June advances this work at a broader scale by strengthening community infrastructure, refining organizational policies, and expanding inclusive community representation.

Heidi is the founder of HME Consulting & Advocacy, a D.C.–based firm that builds coalitions and advances policy and strategy at the intersection of LGBTQ+ justice and racial equity. Her work spans public service, nonprofit leadership, and strategic consulting to strengthen community-driven solutions.

We’re writing because we believe in intentional recognition — naming the people who carry our movements forward, who make room for those who come next, and who remind us that change is both generational and generative. Too often, these leaders do this work quietly and consistently, without adequate public acknowledgment or what one might call “fanfare,” often in the face of resistance and imposed solitude — whether within their respective spaces or industries.

Today, we are proud to introduce the Torchbearers: “Carrying Change” Awards, an annual celebration honoring 50 unstoppable Queer and Trans Women, and Non-Binary People whose leadership has shaped, and continues to shape, our communities.

This inaugural list will recognize:

  • 25 Legends — long-standing leaders whose decades of care, advocacy, and institution-building created the foundations we now stand upon; and
  • 25 Illuminators — rising and emerging leaders whose courage, creativity, and innovation are lighting new paths forward.

Why these names matter: Movement memory keeps us honest. Strategy keeps us effective.  Recognition keeps us connected. By celebrating both Legends and Illuminators side by side, we are intentionally bridging histories and futures — honoring elders, uplifting survivors, and spotlighting those whose work and brilliance deserve broader support, protection and visibility.

Who will be included: The Torchbearers will represent leaders across a diverse range of sectors, including community organizing, public service, sports, government, entertainment, business, education, legal industry, health, and the arts — reflecting the breadth and depth of queer leadership today. They include organizers providing direct service late into the night; policy experts shaping budgets and laws; artists and culture workers changing hearts and language; healers and mutual-aid leaders; and those doing the quiet, essential work that sustains us all. 

Intersectionality is our core commitment: identity in its fullness matters, and honorees must reflect the depth, diversity, and nuance of queer leadership today. 

How you can engage: Nominate, amplify, sponsor, and attend. Use your platforms to uplift these leaders, bring your organization’s resources to sustain their work, and help ensure that recognition translates into real support — funding, capacity, visibility, and protection.

We are excited, humbled, and energized to stand alongside the women and non-binary leaders who have carried us, and those who will carry this work forward. If history teaches us anything, it’s that the boldest change happens when we shine light on one another, and then pass the flame.

YOU CAN MAKE A NOMINATION HERE

June Crenshaw serves as deputy director of the Capital Pride Alliance. Heidi Ellis is founder of HME Consulting & Advocacy.

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Protecting the trans community is not optional for elected allies and candidates

One of oldest political tactics is blaming vulnerable group for societal woes

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rotester stands outside Children's National Hospital in Northwest D.C. on Feb. 2, 2025. (Washington Blade photo by Linus Berggren)

Being an ally to the trans community is not a conditional position for me, nor should it be for any candidate. My allyship doesn’t hinge on polling, focus groups, or whether courage feels politically convenient. At a time when trans people, especially trans youth of color, are under coordinated attack, elected officials and candidates must do more than offer quiet support. We must take a public and solid stand.

History shows us how these moments begin. One of the oldest political tactics is to single out the most vulnerable and blame them for society’s anxieties — not because they are responsible, but because they are easier to blame than those with power and protection. In Nazi Germany, Jewish people were primarily targeted, but they were not the only demographic who suffered elimination. LGBTQ people, disabled people, Romani communities, political dissidents, and others were also rounded up, imprisoned, and killed. Among the earliest acts of fascistic repression was the destruction of Berlin’s Institute for Sexual Science, a pioneering center for gender-affirming care and LGBTQ research. These books and medical records were among the first to be confiscated and burned. It is not a coincidence that these same communities are now the first to suffer under this regime, they are our canaries in the coal mine signaling what’s to come. 

Congress, emboldened by the rhetoric of the Donald Trump campaign, recently passed HR 3492 to criminalize healthcare workers who provide gender-affirming healthcare with fines and imprisonment. This bill, sponsored by celebrity politicians like Marjorie Taylor Greene, puts politics and headlines over people and health outcomes. Healthcare that a number of cis-gendered people also benefit from byway of hair regeneration and surgery, male and female breast augmentation, hormone replacement therapy etc. Even when these bills targeting this care do not pass, they do real damage. They create fear among patients, legal uncertainty for providers, and instability for clinics that serve the most marginalized people in our communities.

Here in D.C., organizations like Planned Parenthood and Whitman-Walker Health are lifelines for many communities. They provide gender-affirming care alongside primary care, mental health services, HIV treatment, and preventative medicine. When healthcare is politicized or criminalized, people don’t wait for court rulings — they delay care, ration medication, or disappear from the system entirely.

As a pharmacist, I know exactly what that means. These are life-saving medications. Continuity of care matters. Criminalizing and politicizing healthcare does not protect children or families — it puts lives at risk.

Instead of centering these realities, political discourse has been deliberately diverted toward a manufactured panic about trans women in sports. Let me be clear: trans women deserve to be protected and allowed to compete just like anyone else. Athletics have always included people with different bodies, strengths, and abilities. Girls and women will always encounter competitors who are stronger or faster — that is not a gender or sports crisis, it is the nature of competition.

Sports are meant to teach fairness, mutual respect, and the shared spirit of competition — not suspicion or exclusion. We should not police young people’s bodies, and we should reject attempts to single out trans youth as a political distraction. Families and doctors should be the authority on sex and gender identity.

This narrative has been cynically amplified by the right, but too often Democrats have allowed it to take hold rather than forcefully rejecting it. It is imperative to pay attention to what is happening — and to push back against every attempt to dehumanize anyone for political gain.

Trans people have always been part of our communities and our democracy. Protecting the most vulnerable is not radical — it is the foundation of a just society. My work is grounded in that commitment, and I will not waver from it. I’m proud to have hired trans political team Down Ballot to lead my campaign for DC Council At Large. We need more ally leaders of all stages to stand up for the LGBTQ+ community. We must let elected detractors know that when they come for them, then they come for all of us. We cannot allow Fox News and social media trolls to create a narrative that scares us away from protecting marginalized populations. We must stand up and do what’s right.

Anything less is not leadership.

Rep. Oye Owolewa is running for an at-large seat on the D.C. Council.

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