Haley Everheart

Don’t ever let them steal your joy! 🏳️‍⚧️ Last month, we celebrated Trans Day of Visibility with our friends @folxhealth and @queermarketer_ who shared with us that the Trans community is so much more than just their struggles or what we see in the headlines. There is also love, joy, and absolute, undeniable fabulousness! We have some amazing partners joining our Gathering for Change virtual event series this year- stay tuned to learn how to register and join our next conversation!

It’s Trans Day of Visibility and I’ve made so much content for my day job and have so many things I could or want to say but what I’ve landed on is this: Thank you. Thank you to the trans people I have had the privilege to know and love. Thank you for your fierceness, thank you for making space for all of us to be more ourselves. Thank you for your joy and fabulousness amidst it all. To our allies: we need your voice. We need your resources. We need you in the workplace. We need you to vote. Links in the stories for more.

I grew up without seeing a single story that looked like mine. In 1997, Ellen DeGeneres came out on network TV. ABC aired a parental advisory warning before the episode. Advertisers pulled out. She received death threats. The show was cancelled. That’s how big of a deal it was to be out in media. I was almost graduated high school before queer women got a show about us. The L Word featured glamorous lesbians in LA. It was absolutely not my scene, but I appreciated that it existed. (And maybe it is now, ha!) Last week I was at the GLAAD Media Awards. Thousands of people in that room - writers, directors, producers, actors, podcasters, creators - all of them bringing to life the stories I didn’t have growing up. It is always a joy to be in this room, but this year felt different. We are in a moment where politicians are actively debating whether families like mine belong in the stories we read to children. Whether our existence deserves to be recognized anywhere at all. In healthcare benefits. In the law. I’ve spent the last 6+ years building healthcare for the community that showed me I could write my own story for the life I wanted to live. The community that learned early to find ourselves in the margins of stories that weren’t quite about us, or to go find places where we could whisper our own to each other. That work feels extra potent when you’re standing in a room full of people who decided the margins weren’t enough and did something about it. Our stories show us who we are allowed to be. Whose love is allowed in the spotlight. Whose family belongs. And we echo these stories - these possibilities - in what we build as operators, healthcare providers, marketers, citizens. In the space for pronouns on the intake form. In the “Parents” instead of “Mom and Dad” on the school paperwork. In the interactions with each other where we don’t assume. Every day, when we design onboarding flows, websites, ads, emails, and products, we can choose to make room for more stories. The world is so much sparklier when we do. 💖

This is a story about queer music saving my life, and my child’s. It’s about @brandicarlile magic, and the magic of our community. Nearly 5 years ago my water broke at 24 weeks - on a camping trip. I was told my baby had a 50% chance of surviving. It was terrifying. I was stuck in a hospital many hours from home. My kiddo was born a week later weighing only 1.5 pounds, put immediately on life support. I needed help and reached out to our little online community of queer parents. Built over a decade+, since we first started trying to make gaybies, since we created a place to ask the questions we couldn’t find the answers to anywhere else, to share the often heartbreaking and gorgeous journeys we took along the way. We’ve got each other’s backs, a sort of digital chosen family. I needed so much, and I won’t recount all the gifts I received just now, but one of the things I asked for was music. I needed music to accompany the long scary hours, the sleepless nights, the pumping, the alarms and clangs and cries of the hospital. Someone sent me their birth playlist, and it was filled with Brandi Carlile. I listened to that playlist over and over and over again. I’m not sure there is anyone who captures a certain experience of parenthood better than Brandi, the experience of a particular queer motherhood. All we give up and all we gain, all the ferocity and tenderness we wield. I had listened to Brandi before, but it never mattered more than now. I needed this music. I sang, I wept, I held my tiny baby, tethered by so many wires and tubes. I learned that music was shown to help preemies, and I played the music for her, over and over and over. I sang to her when they drew blood, when they did exams, through every procedure and scary moment. My husband and I held on so strongly to our vision of a Crowded Table, this baby making it home to join our big complicated family. Cont. in comments

39 today, last year of my 30s! And I feel more like a beginner than ever, in all the best possible ways. I also feel more accomplished than I’d ever imagined. I’m in the c-suite of a meaningful startup changing people’s lives. I’ve helped get transformative healthcare into the hands of more than a hundred thousand people. I ran my own business for over a decade, generating 7 figures doing work I believed in. I’ve had the honor of gestating and raising 3 incredible children, over a decade of parenting so far. I’ve survived a divorce. I’ve created a second marriage with a person who is nothing like my dreams - my dreams were never this good. 🥹 I have a beautiful home with enough earth to grow flowers and food and so much fruit. I have cultivated relationships with sweet neighbors, dear family, beloved community. I’ve made money all sorts of wild ways. I’ve traveled the globe. I’ve performed on international stages, produced an award-winning film, had my writing syndicated for millions, and made my kids laugh with my ridiculous living room dance moves. I’ve tried to make the world better in ways that have deeply nourished me and also broken my heart. At this age I’m more ambitious than ever, but also care less than I ever have about what I’ve done. I’m mostly proud of who I am. That’s the part that’s with us in the shiny and quiet moments. I’m proud of my resilience - when my work is threatened by unjust laws or when my kid came nearly 4 months early or any of the number of hard things life throws. I’m proud of my boundless enthusiasm, my deep joy, my fierce care, my relentless playfulness, my embodiment and desire. I’m proud of my presence, the way I marvel at a sunrise, a seashell, the feel of moss. I’m proud of my softness and my spine. I’m proud of how I listen, how I keep learning, to/about myself most of all. Anyway I’m off to eat sweets and revel in this turn around the sun. Thanks for being a part of this orbit. I’m oh so glad to be here.

Today is our December family meeting, and it one of our favorite family practices. Once a month we get all five of us (2 parents, 3 kids) around the table after dinner to check in, reflect, and plan the month ahead. As humans and parents, my husband and I are guided by a strong belief in both autonomy and interdependence. Care for self *and* the system. Our family meeting reinforces those values while teaching skills like: finance, planning, prioritization, facilitation, emotional check-ins, and giving meaningful compliments. Both some “soft” and some practical skills. Our agenda is typically: ✨ Opening ritual (one-song dance party + lighting a candle + family motto) ✨ Opening address (parent sets the stage) ✨ Appreciations (everyone gets the spotlight) ✨ Financial snapshot (allowance + goals check-in) ✨ Calendar review (work/travel, kid, social obligations) ✨ Kid report (currently led by the oldest - what’s working / what needs support) ✨ House + garden updates and planning ✨ Closing cheer The kids LOVE it, and we all come out feeling more aligned, connected and clear about what’s ahead. To me, this is leadership - creating culture and clarity, setting vision and priorities, making time and space for both sharing and input. And of course building connection and alignment. We all prepare for it, and the impact is so outsized for the relatively tiny time and energy investment. Anyone else do a family meeting? Any fun or useful rhythms or tips? Always looking for ways to keep building on this.

In 1984, straight employees refused to eat food made by gay colleagues, and so the IRS cancelled their Thanksgiving office potluck. It was just a few years into the AIDS epidemic, the year HIV was uncovered. Many lifetimes ago, and also just about 40 years. In 1984, thousands of people died of AIDS, many without their families of origin; many cared for by partners, chosen family and strangers. By healthcare workers. By lesbians. By the people who showed up when institutions didn’t. Today the internet talks about “Friendsgiving” like it’s a cozy alternative to travel and familial obligations. A cute trend. (In fact, the word picked up steam after a Bailey’s ad campaign in 2011!) But for some of us the meaning of doing holidays with “friends” is so much deeper, and so much more vital. Nearly half (46%) of LGBTQ+ young adults say they’re estranged from at least one family member. And almost half (45%) of LGBTQ workers report having experienced discrimination or harassment at work.  (That goes up to 82% for trans folks.) Some of us learned early that we need to set our own tables if we want a meal. Queer people create our own traditions because we’ve been excluded: from workplaces, from families, from tables where our food was considered unsafe. Our communal gatherings aren’t a twee alternative to going “home”; they are survival, community care, and resistance cultivated with food, ritual, and the love of people who accept us for who we are. In 2025, this spirit feels like it matters more than ever. In a year where LGBTQIA+ people are navigating devastating legislation, record misinformation, and the emotional complexity of the holiday season, chosen family remains a lifeline. A community technology. Cont in comments

Yesterday the Supreme Court decided that the government may proceed with requiring passport applicants to use their birth sex. That means men like my husband get an F for female on their passports. The decision stated that “…the Government is merely attesting to a historical fact without subjecting anyone to differential treatment.” I’ll be frank that 11 months and a lifetime of living in this, I have to dig really deep to even come up with words that feel useful to share. We’re exhausted. Living with this level of fear wears a body down. My day job is to provide leadership, growth, and narrative in an organization filled with trans and queer people that reaches hundreds of thousands of directly impacted folks. My role at home as a mom is to protect my family, help them understand in an age appropriate way, and plan for our futures. My mission in life is to unlock growth - for individuals, for organizations - and to build a future where we all get to thrive as who we are. So here’s what I can find to say today: Trans people deserve to live as who they are. They deserve safety, autonomy, and the simple dignity of accurate documents. They deserve a government that recognizes them or simply leaves them the heck alone. To my fellow LGBTQ people and our allies: No one gets to define who we are. We have battled internal demons to embrace ourselves, and we’re not letting go now. Community will see us through. We’ve spent lifetimes building resilience and caring for each other. We won’t stop. Courage is a practice, not a posture. Each of us can decide every day to put our values into action. We can make our communities places where everyone can thrive. We can use our time, money, and connections to support trans and queer people and organizations. We can share our stories to help make this real, to help someone out there feel less alone. If you’re reading this and feeling tired too, you’re not imagining it. But you’re not alone. No matter how loud the hate feels, there are so many of us working every day to build spaces where we can all thrive. We’ll keep going. Together.

LGBTQ+ history isn’t just in museums. It’s in my wedding album - the illegal one. It’s in the adoption papers where we adopt our own children. It’s in the Tumblr comment that says “omg an ad that actually speaks to who I am.” Same-sex marriage has only been legal nationally for 10 years. Gender marker changes were made legal and are now up for debate. Some people still consider us abhorrent and think kids shouldn’t know about us (see: current Netflix debates). My own children don’t yet fully understand what all of this means. They know dad builds the best chicken coops and mom loves the hard work she does every day. They know we expect them to be kind to strangers and take their dishes to the sink. Last week a substitute teacher refused to use my kid’s teacher’s (they/them) pronouns. The students corrected the substitute. Over and over again. He said he’d only use “normal pronouns.” The 10-year-olds knew better than the adult. It was simple for them - respect each other. I’m heart-broken and inspired so often these days. That’s the thing about being LGBTQ+ history while you’re still alive. You’re simultaneously drawing strength from a tremendous lineage and reeling at being breaking news. A decade ago, I couldn’t legally marry. Today, people debate whether my husband exists, whether he’s a danger to the very fabric of American society. But those kids in that classroom? They see their teacher. Our own kids see the dad they love, every day at drop off and pick up. Maybe that’s the thing I want to say this LGBTQ+ History Month. Most of us aren’t trying to make history. We’re just here on a Wednesday afternoon. We’re making soup because the kids are sick again. We’re teaching our kids that the most beautiful thing they can do is be themselves, even when that takes great courage. We’re reminding each other this is true, even when it’s hard. We’re just here. Present tense. I didn’t set out to be a category creator or to place myself at the forefront of debates about our existence or our right to be cared for, with respect and dignity, but here I am. With deep love for the past, present, and future for my LGBTQ+ community.

10 years ago today I welcomed my oldest child earthside, exactly on my due date. I had a very long, very challenging birthing experience, and a bumpy ride into parenthood, and yet I was emailing clients from my hospital bed post-surgery. “Aren’t you about to have a baby?” One said. “I had the baby!” I replied. After getting the client everything she needed, of course. I was producing an international campaign for a Fortune 500 company that was taking my coparent, also my business partner, out of the country and away from our newborn and my postpartum self just 3 weeks after delivery. Such is the life of a founder / mompreneur / breadwinner. I had no parental leave. My sister came and stayed with me - both video editing for my business and cooking for new-mom me - during that precious time. Baby and I did great, and so did the campaign. Later, I took this kiddo to Italy, to Scotland, and to more than a dozen cities around the US as I worked and parented. I hired babysitters on apps. I hauled video production gear and diaper bags. I was 28, and I wanted to have a thrilling career, done my own way. I wanted to devote myself to my family, created my own way. I’m not sure I’m the kind of person who knows balance. I’m the kind who goes full throttle in every direction. Integrates. And unbalances. Juggles. Drops the non-priority ruthlessly. Sometimes I lean all the way in somewhere - trips without my kids, where I stay longer to work harder and grow my career. And I get off grid with my kids, ignoring work fully. Sometimes I’m checking emails at the playground. Sometimes a kid wanders into the back of a Zoom meeting. I adore my work, and I adore being a parent, and I’m grateful every day for the opportunity to do both over the past decade. So much beauty and fulfillment and learning. I wrote this yesterday because today I’m off on an 10th birthday adventure with my kiddo, just the two of us, no little siblings. What a gift, what a life!!

I took my 90 year old dad and three kids on a 17 day camping trip up the coast. It didn’t go as planned, but it kept reminding me of some of the things I’m best at: taking a diverse set of needs into account, keeping my eyes on the prize, and pivoting rapidly (and repeatedly) with grace. 😅 It was such a trip! We foraged berries and mushrooms, played in creeks and lakes, oohed over mosses and ferns, saw the biggest trees, ran down dunes, toasted marshmallows, and delighted in our absolutely stunning parks, and in each other. Also, our van broke down, we slept in a U-Haul, several of us got sick, the baby didn’t sleep, we spent unplanned money, got jerked around by a mechanic, rented 6 different vehicles, and one of us grabbed some stinging nettles. Because of the breakdown, we also stumbled upon a pirate-themed night market and a queer store filled with 3d printed fidget toys, spent time with old friends, saw whales, ate delicious pastries, visited a hot springs and goddess temple, and my kids demonstrated their incredible resilience and flexibility. We decided our family motto might be something like “Prepared for Anything, Except Boredom.” We had planned this trip for nearly a year. I had stayed up late booking campsites when they opened, 6 months ago. I had made the kids an activity binder with the history of every park we were visiting, and of the indigenous people who’ve long inhabited the places, with coloring pages and games. I meal prepped for months. I love to plan, but I love to enjoy myself more. I aim not to get so focused on what I thought we were doing that I miss what is actually happening, what is now possible. And amidst it all, this trip kept reminding me of how I operate at work. I’m relentless about setting a clear vision and mapping every detail, but I’m equally ready to pivot when reality throws a curveball. In my marketing leadership roles, that combination has helped me steer diverse cross-functional teams through shifting markets, unexpected crises, and ambitious launches, often turning “breakdowns” into our biggest wins. Cont. in comments

Someone recently said to me that it was easy for me to do the conference thing because I’m good at the people part, a natural. But the truth is people-ing is anything but natural to me. What looks easy is actually the result of care, attention, and years of practice. (If you make it seem like a burden, it doesn’t work as well 😄) I’ve come to understand that the social energy that leads to relationships that leads to outcomes is a real skill, not just a personality trait. And like any skill, it can be honed. It’s something I think about and pay attention to. I stay curious. About new people. About what a night can bring. About what might grow years or decades in the future from seeds planted today. I think part of the reason we assume connection is effortless for some is… misogyny. Caring for others is often invisibilized labor. But this is work. Meaningful work, but work. I’ve led teams and grown brands for myself and others. This is one of the skills that sustains that work. The “networking” thing used to exhaust me. But I do things differently now. I look for genuine connection rather than feeling like I have to meet every person in the room. I take myself out to solo dinners with good food to nourish myself and recharge. I bring comfort items and take care of my sensory needs. I call my husband. I write. I take hot showers and drink water and carry earplugs and wear flats (don’t tell my stilettos-all-the-time past self 😆). I’m still terrible at remembering people’s names and sometimes where we’ve met, but I’m working on it. (And I’ll never judge you if you forget my name or face or who I am!) I certainly burn the candle at both ends when I travel, and I have to build in some recovery time. I’m continuing to learn how to take better care of myself while maintaining the super power that is being highly attuned to others. And it may not be natural or easy for me but I try to ensure it’s genuine fun. I’m fun, so that helps. 😉 Shout out to everyone who danced with me, schemed with me, or let me pull you into a corner of a bar to connect. I’m deeply energized by having met you. If we didn’t? Hopefully next time. Or on here. After a nap.