Architects wear a lot of hats. Sometimes too many hats. First and foremost, we are creators of the built environment, hopefully making the world a better and more beautiful place. But we are also marriage counselors and therapists—something they don’t teach you in school. During every project, a moment (or two) will arise where you find yourself holding the client’s hand and talking them off the occasional ledge.

Architects are also advocates. That idea took a while to put together in my head. Yet every day, we advocate for our clients by working with contractors and consultants to ensure their projects are successful. We have also become more environmentally conscious, advocating for zero-carbon buildings, more resilient cities, and equitable communities.

However, when it comes to advocating for ourselves, architects do a terrible job. How many times have we pulled all-nighters in school to meet the deadline for a jury review? How many times have we allowed professors to demean and belittle us? How many times have we permitted clients to do the same? How often has the idea that “we are artists, and therefore, it’s okay to suffer for our art” been drilled into our heads?

Twenty-eight years ago, when I entered the profession, none of this was on my radar. I finished my degree. I had a job. I was starting down the road to becoming a licensed architect. Over time, I would learn about being a counselor for my clients. I would also work with owners who would mow down a rainforest if they could get the right wood veneer—so the environmental awareness came a bit later. For architecture in general as well.

But somewhere along the way, the idea that architects needed to stand up and begin advocating for themselves crept into my consciousness. Maybe it was from watching interns at one firm get berated for bad drawings even though the project architect hadn’t given them any guidance or assistance. Maybe it was from feeling like the only gay architect in Dallas. Or maybe it was from seeing queer architects left out of discussions about equity, diversity, and inclusion.

I attended an eye-opening mini-conference for emerging professionals where the leadership at the American Institute of Architects essentially wanted buy-in for what they were already planning. Each working group was expected—with the proper guidance—to produce the answer leadership wanted. After the first day of the EPs being ignored in my group, we started day two with me standing up and saying we weren’t being heard. I don’t think they were expecting the pushback, but our second day went much better.

I had no idea that these events and moments would add up to wanting to be a voice for queer architects (and architects in general). Zero idea that I would grow in how I saw myself as a gay man. And certainly clueless that a more encompassing queer community was on the way. Growing up, you were gay or lesbian, and that was it.

As I said, 28 years ago, I wasn’t thinking about advocacy. I was just happy to have a job. However, nearly three decades later (and a part of me just died typing that), I find myself more aware of what being an architect and being an advocate means. And with current governments in place that are working to suppress the queer community, advocating for yourself and others will be an important role for architects to play—whether you’re The Big Gay Architect or not.