We Are Not the Resistance — We Are the River

We’ve heard it for years now: Be the resistance.

It sounds courageous. Necessary. Faithful, even.
And for those of us working for LGBTQ dignity, human rights, and inclusion, it has become almost an identity.

But there is a problem with that framing.

Resistance is a posture a human nervous system cannot hold forever.

Resistance means bracing.
Clenching.
Standing against a force bigger than you and believing if you stop pushing, everything collapses.

No wonder so many people who care deeply about justice are exhausted in a way sleep cannot fix.

Recently, a talk by Glennon Doyle gave language to something many of us have been feeling:

We are not the resistance.
We are the river.

The Flow Has Always Been Moving

It’s easy to believe compassion is something modern movements created — that inclusion is a new idea we are fighting to introduce into history.

But look closer.

Long before Pride flags, long before civil rights laws, long before courts changed their minds, people were already choosing each other across forbidden lines.

Parents protected children society rejected.
Neighbors fed people they were told to exclude.
Friends refused to abandon each other when institutions demanded it.

Not once. Continually.

History does not primarily move forward because someone wins an argument.

It moves because belonging keeps resurfacing.

The circle widens — slowly, unevenly, painfully — but consistently.

That is not resistance.

That is current.

Who Is Actually Resisting?

Those opposing LGBTQ equality and human dignity often believe they are protecting order or tradition.

But notice how much effort it takes to maintain exclusion:

laws, bans, monitoring identity, controlling language, rewriting history, reinforcing fear.

Why so much effort?

Because without constant pressure, people drift toward each other.

They are bracing against gravity.

They are holding back the tide.

They are the resistance.

They are resisting the widening of belonging — the most consistent pattern in human civilization.

And that realization changes the emotional weight of advocacy.

We are not carrying the future.
We are stepping into it.

Find Your Boat

When we believe we are the resistance, activism feels like holding the world together by force.

When we understand we are part of a flowing, beautiful river, activism becomes participation.

Some people organize.
Some educate.
Some protect vulnerable people directly.
Some create art.
Some simply refuse cruelty in their own families.

Every one of those is movement.

You don’t have to do everything.
You only have to step into the current where your love naturally flows.

Why Joy Matters

Many people committed to justice feel uncomfortable with joy right now. It can feel inappropriate when harm is real.

But joy is not a distraction from advocacy.

Joy is persuasion.

People rarely leave fear because they were argued out of it.
They leave fear because they glimpse a fuller way to live.

When queer people live openly…
When communities celebrate across difference…
When love looks like relief instead of tension…

Observers see a future they want.

Fear can demand obedience.
It cannot create belonging.

A river sings.
A wall commands.

Human beings eventually move toward what feels alive.

The Invitation

None of this means we stop protecting people or speaking truth.

We still act.
We still vote.
We still intervene when harm happens.

But we do it without believing the future depends entirely on our ability to hold everything together.

Because it doesn’t.

The current has always been moving.

You don’t have to carry the movement.

You only have to step into it — and let others see the water holds you.

We are not the resistance.
We are the river.

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