'To any young person reading this, I see you. I was you.' This Wear It Purple Day, Japhia shares why showing up matters.
Trigger warning: Japhia's story discusses themes of internalised homophobia, shame and rejection related to queerness and religion, and the emotional impacts of coming out. Sometimes words or images can cause sadness or distress, or trigger traumatic memories for people. For some people, these responses can be overwhelming. If you need to talk to someone, support is available.
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Image: Japhia McGuire, Regional Practice Lead, wearing glitter and rainbow flags on her face, holds two light-up fans and smiles at the camera.
To acknowledge and celebrate Wear It Purple Day in 2025, Japhia McGuire, Regional Practice Lead, Child, Youth and Family, shares her journey of growing up queer in a non-affirming environment, finding pride in her queer identity, and the importance of safe, supportive adults in shaping brighter futures for young people.
This is Japhia's story, in her own words.
I’ve worked at Life Without Barriers for four years in the Child, Youth, and Family (CYF) program. One of the things I value most about working here is that I don’t just feel supported as an out queer woman, I feel celebrated. I see that celebration extended to LGBTQIA+ employees and the young people, carers, and community members we walk alongside.
But it wasn’t always like this for me.
I didn’t grow up thinking queerness was something to be proud of. I was raised in a small religious community where being different wasn’t celebrated; it was condemned. Being queer meant being sinful, shameful, or simply something you didn’t talk about. Ever.
From a young age, I learned that being myself might come at a cost: love, safety, connection. So, I pushed that part of me down. I locked it away and tried to be what I thought I was supposed to be. Straight. Faithful. Acceptable.
And I truly believed it. I had so much internalised homophobia that I 'knew' I was straight; there wasn’t even space to consider otherwise. I had queer friends growing up and admired their strength in coming out. But there was also a quiet jealousy… because they were living their truth, and I was still stuck in hiding.
Looking back now, I realise what I was carrying wasn’t just confusion or repression, it was grief. Grief for a version of myself I hadn’t even met yet.
That kind of disconnection eats away at you.
It shows up in your mental health, your relationships, and in the way you feel like you’re faking it, even when no one knows. Especially when no one knows.
For me, coming out wasn’t a gradual process. It was sudden. At 27, I kissed a woman, and in that single moment, my whole life fell into place. All those 'girl crushes' and straight relationships instantly made sense. I realised I wasn’t straight; I was a lesbian. And for the first time in my life, I felt like myself.
Today, I live openly as a proud queer woman, married to my incredible wife. Through her support, I’ve been able to accept myself more fully and live more authentically. That’s a beautiful thing. But it doesn’t mean everything magically healed. Internalised shame is sneaky. It still shows up sometimes. But now, I know how to meet it; with compassion, not silence.
And now, I get to be part of something bigger.
I work in child protection, supporting employees, foster carers, and the young people in their care. Every decision we make, every conversation we have, every moment of allyship or advocacy, it all ripples out. It all helps create safer spaces for children and young people to be their true, authentic selves.
Because young people are watching. They’re watching how we talk. How we show up. Who we include, and who we don’t.
Image: Staff and carers gathered in a group, holding a sign with the text 'We love our Foster Carers!'.
Sometimes I wonder how my own life might’ve looked if I’d had more safe adults around me. People who could’ve said, 'Hey, you’re okay. You’re still loved. You don’t have to pretend.'
And yes, that includes safe queer adults. But just as importantly, it includes safe straight ones.
Because allyship isn’t passive, it’s a choice. A powerful one.
You don’t have to 'get it' perfectly to stand up for young people. You just have to show up.
So, if you’re reading this and wondering what role you play in a young person’s story, this is it. You don’t need all the right words. You just need to be someone they feel safe around. Someone who doesn’t flinch when they talk about who they are. Someone who helps them believe their future can be bright.
To any young person reading this, I see you. I was you. There is nothing wrong with who you are. You don’t have to earn your worth. And you sure as hell don’t have to change to be loved.
You deserve to be seen, heard, and supported; just as you are.
Because bold voices really do create bright futures. And sometimes, the boldest thing you can do… is just keep going.
