When Grief and Joy Meet: My Person of the Year Moment

There are moments in life when joy and grief somehow find a way to sit at the same table.

This was one of those moments (link to the speech here).

The past few weeks have been difficult for me. Behind the smiles, the work, the advocacy, and the moments you might see on social media, I have been navigating grief and other personal challenges that reminded me that healing is rarely a straight line.

And yet, in the middle of that storm, life gave me a moment of extraordinary light.

I was deeply honoured to receive the Inspire Award – Person of the Year 2026for LGBTQ+ advocacy.

Standing at Hart House at the University of Toronto, surrounded by loved ones, friends, colleagues, fellow advocates, and members of our beautiful community, I felt something I had not felt in a while and my heart was full.

When Celebration and Grief Coexist

Birthdays have become complicated for me.

My father and I shared the same birthday, July 30th.

For most people, a birthday represents another year of life and a reason to celebrate, gather, laugh, and look forward to what comes next. For me, that date now carries another meaning too.

It reminds me of someone who is no longer physically here to celebrate alongside me.

Losing my dad changed the way I experience that day. There is an absence that no birthday cake, celebration, achievement, or gathering can completely fill.

Grief has taught me that you don't simply "move on" from someone you love.

You learn to carry them differently.

You find them in memories. In values. In the things they taught you. In the person you have become.

And sometimes, you feel their absence most intensely during the moments when you wish they could be standing beside you.

These past weeks reminded me that grief does not follow our calendars. It doesn't care whether something wonderful is happening in our lives. You can be proud of yourself and still miss someone terribly.

You can celebrate and grieve.

You can laugh and still carry sadness.

You can be surrounded by love and still notice the absence of one person.

Two emotions can exist at the same time without cancelling each other out.

That has been one of the most important lessons of this season of my life.

Then Came a Moment of Light

Receiving the Person of the Year Award in the middle of everything I had been navigating felt almost symbolic.

It reminded me that a difficult chapter does not mean your entire story has become difficult.

Sometimes, while you are privately struggling, the seeds you planted years ago are still growing.

The people you supported still remember.

The communities you advocated for are still stronger because you showed up.

The conversations you started are still creating ripples.

And the work you did when nobody was applauding may eventually bring you into a room where people are.

That night at Hart House, I looked around and saw people from different chapters of my life and work. Friends. Loved ones. Colleagues. Community leaders and advocates.

People who had supported me.

People who had challenged me.

People who believed in the work.

And people who simply believed in me.

I allowed myself to receive that love.

Not analyze it.

Not minimize it.

Not immediately ask myself what I needed to accomplish next.

Just receive it.

For someone who spends so much time thinking about how to support, empower, coach, and advocate for others, that was powerful.

And Yes… I Met the Queen!

As if the evening wasn't already unforgettable, my heart was especially full getting to meet the one and only Brooke Lynn Hytes who is an extraordinary Canadian drag icon and someone who has brought so much visibility, artistry, joy, and unapologetic LGBTQ+ excellence into the world.

LGBTQ+ Advocacy Is Bigger Than Any Award

I am incredibly grateful for this recognition, but advocacy has never been about awards for me.

It is about people.

It is about the LGBTQ+ person who is still afraid to come out.

The newcomer wondering whether there is a place for them in their new home.

The young person scrolling through their phone searching for evidence that someone like them can build a beautiful life.

The person who has been told that they should make themselves smaller, quieter, or less visible to make others comfortable.

And it is about every person who came before us and raised their voice when doing so carried consequences many of us today can barely imagine.

Their courage created space for ours.

Now, we have a responsibility to keep expanding that space.

Our rights, dignity, safety, and belonging should never be taken for granted.

So we must continue speaking.

We must continue telling our stories.

We must continue challenging discrimination.

We must continue creating spaces where LGBTQ+ people, across cultures, races, identities, generations, abilities, and experiences, can live authentically and thrive.

And perhaps most importantly, we must continue raising our voices even when our voices shake.

This Award Belongs to the People Who Believed in Me

To everyone who has loved me through different versions of myself:

Thank you.

To the friends who checked in.

To the people who reminded me of my worth during moments when I questioned it.

To my colleagues and fellow advocates who continue doing the difficult, often unseen work of building stronger communities.

To everyone who has supported my journey, celebrated my victories, sat with me through difficult moments, or simply said, "I believe in you."

I dedicate this recognition to you.

And to my dad:

I wish you could have been there.

I wish birthdays didn't feel so different without you.

I wish I could tell you about the person I continue becoming.

But I carry you with me and I hope that somewhere, somehow, you're proud.

After Every Storm

If you're reading this while going through your own difficult chapter, I hope you remember something:

Do not confuse a storm with your entire life.

There are seasons when we cannot see very far ahead.

There are moments when loss, heartbreak, disappointment, uncertainty, or exhaustion convince us that the way we feel today is the way we will always feel.

It isn't.

Storms move.

Seasons change.

Hearts heal.

New people enter our lives.

Unexpected doors open.

Purpose finds us again.

And sometimes, right when you think life has taken something from you, it gently reminds you of everything that remains.

So keep going.

Keep believing.

Keep becoming.

And when the light finally breaks through the clouds, don't feel guilty for standing in it.

You survived the storm.

You are allowed to feel the sunshine.

With gratitude,

Moe Akel
Life Coach | LGBTQ+ Advocate | Inspire Award – Person of the Year 2026