The Only Clinic in Town Shut Me Out

I live in rural Kentucky, where there’s only one HIV clinic. The Matthew 25 AIDS Services. When I was diagnosed, they were my only option. I did everything right. I showed up, I got on treatment, I got certified in HIV counseling and testing, and I started advocating publicly. I wasn’t just surviving—I was ready to give back.

Feeling overlooked

I applied for jobs at Matthew 25 over and over. Case management, peer support, outreach—roles I was qualified for with both lived experience and training. But every time, I was overlooked.

At first, I thought maybe I just wasn’t what they were looking for. But when they hired more than 30 people in two years, many without the listed qualifications, and none were openly living with HIV, I knew something was off.

So I started speaking up.

Finding my voice

I asked why no one living with HIV was on staff or on the board. I asked why peer support wasn’t offered in a region that so desperately needed it. I asked why I kept being passed over while people with less experience were brought in—some who didn’t even last a year.

And that’s when things got worse.

Getting shut out

My scheduled meeting with the Executive Committee was canceled. I was blocked on social media—by the organization and the very staff I reached out to. I was ghosted by HR. Ignored by the CEO. Then denied services. Just like that.

All because I dared to challenge the status quo.

This isn’t just about me. It’s about the red tape that keeps people like me—people living with HIV, people in poverty, queer people—from having a voice in the spaces that claim to serve us. It’s about the white saviorism and performative inclusion that dominates HIV services. It’s about the emotional, financial, and physical toll of being shut out of your only source of care.

The Positive Change Movement

That’s why I created Positive Change Movement—because I was tired of asking for permission to lead. I built my own table.

Now, I’m fighting for something bigger: a world where people like me don’t have to beg for a seat. Where our stories are heard, our pain is validated, and our power is respected.

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If you’ve been silenced, shut out, or told you weren’t enough—I see you. This system was never built for us. But we can build something better.

Share your story. Speak the truth. Push back.

And if no one gives you a seat at the table, build your own damn table. That’s what I did. And I’m not done yet.