I had planned to write my article this week about how much life changes in the span of a year, especially when that year is your first in college and away from home. What I didn’t plan on writing about was how little life changes in a year, and how, after nearly a year since the 5-4 Supreme Court decision in favor of same-sex marriage, I’m still deathly anxious and afraid about publicly identifying as part of the LGBT+ community.

The shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando on Sunday, June 12 was a reminder of just that. It’s been almost a year since “the legalization of gay marriage,” and since then, the LGBT+ community has been focused on the next major issue affecting its members: trans rights. And while as a community we’re making strides towards equality, on Sunday I woke up to news that filled my heart with sorrow.

Since leaving for college last June, I had developed a confidence in my sexuality and self that I lacked when surrounded by the primarily homophobic community I was reared in. My family, I suppose, was trying to hold onto their heritage, and their heritage — primarily Catholic and ruled by a machismo ingrained within the heteronormative gender binary — was repulsed by the idea of same-sex attraction.

It’s been almost a year since the historic Supreme Court ruling, but I still have close family posting text images on Facebook like the one below:

It reads, in Spanish: “Homosexuals ask that society accept them, but look at how life works — they can’t even accept themselves the way God made them.” Perhaps they felt they were being brave in speaking out against what they perceive as sin, but in the wake of the Orlando shooting? None of those individuals said a single word. None of those individuals seemed to bat a single eyelash.

What I find amazing, even during times such as these, is how willing the LGBT+ community is to stand in solidarity. Queer POCs are reaching out and sharing how they’re dealing with Sunday’s events. LGBT+ community members are taking to their social media circles and encouraging love, respect and healthy grieving. We are mobilizing to stand together during a month in which we celebrate our identities, a celebration all the more necessary when we are getting killed for the act of loving.

Someone asked the question “Why Gay Pride and not Straight Pride?” within my range of hearing a few days ago. I hope not to hear that question for the foreseeable future. I hope not to hear that trans women in female restrooms are dangerous nor that loving is a sin people should die for while raping is a crime worth only six months of jail time. I hope not to see my own mother roll her eyes upon hearing that I’m going to dinner with my girlfriend. I hope to be allowed a mourning period for my fellow brothers and sisters, fighting a fight that still isn’t over.

A lot changes in a year, but one thing that remains the same is how I and every LGBT+ person I know seems to continue fighting until the end. For every gay man who’s ever been disrespected, for every lesbian who’s been sexually harassed, for every bisexual who’s felt erased within the homo-hetero binary so many people insist on, for every trans person who’s lacked support, for every LGBT+ Muslim or Mexican non-binary person or any intersection of identities, ethnicities, races and cultures — you matter.

And know that even if you are afraid, we stand together as a community.