Many of us understand what it means when someone bombs your home, your sacred spaces, or the places where you learn and heal. We know how it feels when a person or entity invokes a mixture of pseudo-science, religion, and misinformation to deny us control of our bodies or identities. We know what it feels like to earnestly initiate dialogue only to find our words aggressively and consistently cut off by someone whose mind is already made up.

There’s another form of aggression, however. It’s far more subtle and insidious, easy to miss, and even easier to dismiss. Often misunderstood or discounted, it’s frequently identified as “micro-aggression.” For those who experience it time and time again, it builds up over time, can metastasize like a cancer, and leave indelible marks.

If I had $100 for each person to whom I’ve introduced David as my husband, only to discover them subsequently identifying him as my “partner,” we’d own our house by now. I totally understand why many people who are not LGBTQ+ invoke “partner” either out of discomfort or an attempt at politeness. But what they may not realize is how important marriage is to us. It’s about far more than a piece of paper we could hang on the wall, photos, and indelible memories. It’s greater than our status as a legally recognized couple entitled to tax benefits, Social Security, and a say in each other’s final moments on Planet Earth. It’s recognition of our spiritual union—our sacred bond—that has been as hard won as it is repeatedly under attack.

David and I are not business “partners.” We are not separate but equal. We are united in sickness and in health, in rich and in poor, until death do us part. As two men with a strong root in spiritual practice, we know that this is not the only time we have done this dance. In different bodies and genders, in different identities, and in different lands, we’ve walked down this street before, often with the ancestors of the magnificent Daisy Mae Doven, adorable Guy Luvberg, clueless Leo Gleesun, and departed Baci Brown at our side. (For the uninitiated, those are the beloved canines with whom we share or have shared our lives.)

As I was preparing to write this column, David mentioned that talk of micro-aggression invoked thoughts of some people he knows who joke about him being gay. Some do it innocently, out of friendship; others do it out of discomfort or disapproval. He feels the difference. It’s the latter that hurts.

How many times have people told me that I’m too sensitive for my own good (or their comfort zone)? In a society where many are determined to enforce patriarchal gender norms as the one true “normal,” it’s expected for women to be sensitive, caring, and intuitive. But for a man to be so—for a man to dare share his heart, say he feels hurt, or acknowledge his wrongs and apologize—is considered a sign of weakness. It’s an indication of not belonging to the club. Instead of being honored as members of the human family, we’re treated as the “other.”

Every time the so-called issue of “oversensitivity” is raised as an excuse for aggression, I balance hurt, anger, and rage by resolving to open my heart and mind even more. I will neither be bound nor silenced by the limitations and fears of others.

I’m deeply aware that my experiences are tied to my identity as a gay soul in a white male body. As much as multiple decades of micro- and major aggressions have left their mark, those marks often pale before the affronts and hurt experienced daily by women, people of color, and trans people. I remain humbled by the dignity and ability to forgive of those who daily experience multiple hurts and harms. I also honor their anger and rage, even as I feel it mirrored in every fiber of my being.

As we approach the new year—an election year filled with hope, anticipation, and fear—let us examine anew the ways we cause each other harm. Let us all resolve to do better.

Jason Victor Serinus is the oldest member of the WA State LGBTQ Commission. A professional critic and commentator (and occasional whistler), he examines music, culture, and audio in the U.S. and abroad.