WORDS BY EMILY JONES, JUST LIKE US AMBASSADOR

This time last year, I was adrift. I’d just finished my degree and felt completely lost, with no idea what came next. On top of that, I was a disabled person who had neglected their health for years, always prioritising study deadlines over rest and medical care.

The result was that working full time wasn’t even an option. Thankfully, my mum was able to let me live with her while I slowed down, focused on my health and tried to work out what my next steps were.

The first months were about recovery. I forced myself to rest, finally getting eight hours of sleep a night and three decent meals a day. I started taking my medications as prescribed instead of “when I remembered”. I filled my time with gentle, manageable things; an online poetry course, rewatching Once Upon a Time and endless hospital appointments with my ophthalmologist, haematologist, physiotherapist and GP.

Gradually, I felt my body come back to me. My energy wasn’t unlimited, but I could walk further, sit up longer, think more clearly. It was the best I’d felt in years. Yet, alongside this fragile sense of recovery came a gnawing uncertainty. What now?

I knew I was ready to do something, but I had no idea what that “something” should be. And, I was lonely. I didn’t know anyone in London anymore, and without work it felt impossible to meet people. I searched for local groups, but most seemed irregular or inaccessible. As a queer person, I was anxious too — what if I walked into a group and found it full of queerphobia? The idea of seeking community felt like an impossible challenge.

Then, scrolling on Instagram, I saw an advert for volunteering with Just Like Us, the LGBT+ young people’s charity. It promised the chance to help people while connecting with other queer people. The thought of giving talks in schools was terrifying, but something about it hooked me. I told myself I’d sign up, just to see. If it was awful, I could always quit.

What followed was an amazing weekend filled with so many supportive LGBT+ people, both Just Like Us staff and fellow trainee ambassadors. Getting to talk to so many different queer people of all different identities and from all different backgrounds was a truly transformative experience.

Afterwards, I wanted more. I’d decided to attend an asexual and aromantic meetup group in London that I’d always been too anxious to go to. I arrived early at the community centre, panicking for a few minutes when I found it deserted. Suddenly, about 30 people streamed through the doors. Over the next few hours, I spoke to more a-spec people than I’d ever imagined meeting in my life. Our orientations weren’t generally the centre of conversation, but our shared understanding ran through everything we talked about. I went home that evening no longer feeling so alone.