I’ve been trying to figure out my roots in this city and staking my place. I’ve written about it a few times:
A year ago, I took on building connections. I’ve known for years where I’m best able to build connections, so I specifically sought out non-bar spaces and events.
That’s when I learned about the Bears/Pups swim that takes place on Mondays at the Wellesley Community Centre. As a result,
- I’ve met a bunch of non-judgemental people that are open and welcoming, and that’s been fostered by a small community,
- I used to go into the Black Eagle and my social anxiety would immediately go into overdrive and I’d become a wall flower. I now know people who will likely be at the Eagle as a result of the cross-community nature of that swim,
- I’m also connected to people online and have a source list of events and such so I know what’s going on in the city be it more social or bar-based and people who are attending.
This week has been the first Leather Week that has taken place in several years in Toronto. I’m not exactly sure who specifically arranged it, but I’ve heard that BLUF Toronto was involved. To whoever was involved, thank you for your work to set this up. For the events I was able to attend, it was amazing.
When I heard about it, I became excited. I knew I wanted to be present and add positive energy to the community. I knew that I wanted, for me, to connect with others, to really change my view on going out in Toronto, and to finally lay claim to whatever my spot is.
I know when I attended my first BLUF event in Toronto about two years ago, I did not go into it with the right attitude. I didn’t say it was bad, but it did feel like a bunch of cliques in gear that weren’t open. I also recognize that you generate what you make of it, and I call myself out on that. I know I went into it that event with anxiety and with certain expectations that didn’t need to be there.
Talking to the Bootblack for the night that was staying with us, it seemed a bit of both. People were commenting about some of the anxiety they were feeling about connecting with others, so I guess it’s the combination of what we all bring to the space, our abilities to be social.
The energy last night was bonkers amazing. It felt connected, relaxed, and alive in a way I’m not sure I’ve felt in Toronto in a long time. I know part of that came from a real shift in how I approach this city—but I also know I wasn’t the only one feeling it.
When people let their light shine, great things happen. For me, that doesn’t mean being louder or more outgoing. It means paying attention to the energy I bring into a space—my expectations, my mood, the stories I tell myself before I walk through the door.
It means arriving with the belief that I belong there. That I’m worthy of connection. That I don’t need permission to take up space.
No one had to create that space for me – it was already there. I claimed it by showing up less guarded, more open, and willing to connect. And when a few people do that at the same time, something shifts. People begin to hold space for each other—often without even realizing it.
That’s the energy I felt last night. And it felt really, really good.
Maybe belonging isn’t something we find—it’s something we practice until the room notices. Not by forcing connection, but by showing up consistently and honestly, without armor. By acting as though we belong before there’s any guarantee that we do.
Over time, something shifts. The room begins to respond—not because it was convinced, but because it recognizes something familiar – comfort, ease, presence. Belonging doesn’t arrive as permission; it arrives as recognition.
For me, that practice has meant resisting the urge to shrink, to brace, or to disappear the moment I feel unsure.
It’s meant returning again and again with a little more openness each time, until being there starts to feel natural. Until the room no longer feels like something I’m trying to enter, but something I’m already inside of.
When that happens, space doesn’t need to be made—it already exists. And we step into it together.