By Amber Ballweg
Growing up, I was instilled with a strong sense of community. Both of my parents volunteered in multiple organizations and served in emergency services. I was in scouting for ten years and participated in all of the school and church activities. In college, I joined a couple of organizations and served on the student senate for a couple years. I married soon after graduation and my life became very different. Community was no longer the focus. Family was. I was lost without my people and never connected well with my very large, gregarious new family, despite attending dozens of family events for years.
After a decade or so of this and losing my personal relationships outside of my marriage and my husband’s friends, I knew I was floundering without an anchor point besides my career. We were unable to have children, which further decreased my sense of belonging among these people for whom family was everything.
I received a postcard in the mail from a local service club and went to their information session. I joined, attended meetings, advanced through the ranks—initially because I was a guaranteed body for quorum, and participated in the organization at the club and district levels. This helped me find a sense of purpose and fulfillment, but I still didn’t quite have a sense of belonging. It took years for me to fully understand why, but I remember attending an event with my now ex-husband, his friend, and friend’s wife where I was worried about the acceptance of one of our friend’s piercings. She caught my concern and expressed the opinion that if these people were not comfortable with my friends, should I be comfortable with them?
Years later, after I had divorced, changed jobs, and moved towns, as I lost connections with my ex’s family and my co-workers, I realized I needed better connections. In 2019, I moved a couple states away to where I had long-time friends who I knew would be key for me to reestablish who I was.
I spent the latter half of 2019 reconnecting with my friends and dating. I discovered my bisexual and polyamorous identities and was exploring what those meant to me; I also started therapy. In the meantime, I decided not to continue with the service organization. My new people needed me, and I needed time to figure out myself. Little did I know how much time I was about to get to work on that.
For a while, early in the pandemic lockdowns, I was fine. I’m an introvert—more time to read, craft, and do puzzles. I became part of the family bubble for one of my people. I did not realize, however, how much I needed to be part of something bigger. I missed reading in bookstores, crocheting at the library, and surfing my phone in coffee shops. I didn’t necessarily need personal connections to more people, but I needed to be in the same space as them.
I joined all of the virtual activities at work. Employee Network Groups became a thing at work. Yes, I wanted to learn about other cultures, share stories with people who had had similar experiences to mine, and hear about perspectives on events different from my own! I thrived in this new space. I joined the leadership team for the LGBTQIA+ ENG (Employee Networking Group) and started participating at deeper levels.
After getting my vaccinations in Spring 2021, and just having bought my first house, I also wanted to take a look at my local community for opportunities for meeting new people. I joined Meetup and a group for Child-free Women in my area. Their next available activity was at one of my favorite locations, so I went and met several awesome people. I also searched for local queer groups, really having no idea what I was looking for. I found a local Pride festival and joined that group. During the pandemic, I had joined a local polyamorous group on Facebook and met someone. We attended events as they started happening. I carried my vaccination cards everywhere—my tickets into places to connect with new people.
During 2021 and 2022, I spent so much time meeting new people. It was very taxing for my introverted self. I attended an Out & Equal Workplace Summit in fall of 2022, during which I had a major epiphany. One of the events was a party of a few thousand attendees—wall-to-wall people, a DJ, dancing, and so on. I walked through the crowd several times. Squeezing my way between people, smiling, apologizing, clinking beer cans with other folks, as the celebration went on. All by myself. I have trouble recalling the previous time I was in that sort of space. Crowds freak me out. I can’t stand people touching me, even most of the people I know. If I need to attend a large event, I typically go with someone I know, and I hold onto their hand or sleeve as we move through spaces. I wandered through this crowded space without fear, anxiety, or worry. These people were my community. These were the people who would accept me and my people.
Having this revelation, I realized how to recognize these spaces and people. I’ve also been working on my own biases, trying to make sure I can create that same welcome space where other people feel like they belong. I go to new places to learn new skills and meet new people. This greatly appeals to my need for learning and trying new things. I evaluate risks for new things and will attend events in new locations with people I already know, host meet-and-greets for new people in my communities in my beloved spaces, and try out new things with those close enough to me to fail safely.
Without having expanded my world into new communities, I might still be in a tiny apartment in an area with folks who happily greet me at meetings, but not having a life outside of work and charity work. I’ve not just found a community. I now participate in creating safe spaces for queer folks and allies to gather, share information, learn with each other, and build a sense of community for so many.
Amber Ballweg lives in the U.S. near Minneapolis, Minnesota, and has one cat.