In the little box room study where I do my writing hangs a banner from Black Lodge Press. QUEER UTOPIAS ARE NOT FANTASIES, it says. QUEER UTOPIAS ARE NECESSITIES. And at a time when things feels far closer to dystopia than utopia, that’s something that’s been playing on my mind. I’ve been thinking a lot about the necessity of mutual care, and how we look after each other when times are tough.
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There are lots of ways humans can take care of each other, but for me the simplest ones often feel the most beautiful, and the most effective. I’ve mentioned before how platonic intimacy is very much my jam; whether that’s through physical affection (here’s a lovely article I linked to last time I mentioned this) or co-creating dynamics that feel authentic and accepting, where we can witness and cheerlead and support each other.

I’m very grateful to have a number of people in my life who sort me right out just by being in their presence. And tangible acts of care can be so meaningful; this weekend, I spent some time at a friend’s house, and between being cooked for, given advice and laughing at films together late into the night, I was nourished in every sense of the word.
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When the world seems chaotic, cruel and terrifying, our nervous systems are activated, setting off our ‘fight or flight’ threat response. This is instinctive; it happens at an animal level, as part of our physiology. Which might explain that sudden, impulsive desire to bunker down in our homes, to say fuck this and chip everything off for a cabin in the woods, or a dissociative sense of not being able to take in anything more (fight or flight also includes freeze, hide and fawn as options, and I’d say fully noping out – whether physically or cognitively – falls somewhere between freeze and hide). Again, this is animal. This is human. Not good or bad or strong or weak.
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There are many ways to calm our nervous systems, but one of the most powerful is the concept of co-regulation. That by physically being in the same space, by being near each other, we can significantly affect each other’s physiological processes, from the depth of our breathing to the rate of our heartbeats, without even consciously trying.

This is part of what makes mutual care so essential; our bodies, hearts and minds can be all be soothed by just being near people who care about us. And if those people are also taking care of other physical and emotional needs we may have? That’s all the more restorative. The benefits work both ways: providing we have capacity for it, studies have shown that helping others can boost our moods and self-esteem.
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All that to say: our in-person connection and care is important, and especially so right now. Whether that happens on a one-to-one basis or as part of larger groups, collectives, or communes, mutual care is a long-standing queer tradition, and an integral part of building or at least getting closer to those oh-so-necessary queer utopias. I especially loved this description from this article about living on a queer commune:
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In a world that is steeped in digital media, it feels like a radical act to carve out a physical space and call it ours. The internet has provided a safe space for millions of young queers who may have no where else to turn in their small towns or their conservative families or their own total confusion, it’s true, but I want those people to know there are places where we can meet face to face, get our hands dirty together, fight and fuck and listen and forgive and live, without any screens to separate us… I want to acknowledge how important queer land is, how grateful we should all feel for it, and how capable we all are of creating it and keeping this legacy alive. I want to help lead a queer revolution in the woods because living here has made me see that we can.

I too want to help lead a queer revolution in the woods. But in the meantime I’ll settle for having my friends be there to listen to me, support me and feed me baked goods while we process everything that’s happening out there in the world.

Originally shared as part of my newsletter in March 2022