Creating a Community: The Road to Diverse City

Is a community something you’re born into? Does it form naturally as you grow up in one, or is it something you need to go out and discover? If the latter is true, I should fit into several communities. Yet, despite having ties to different worlds, I often feel like an outsider in all of them.

I was born in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, in 1999, so I’m undeniably Haitian. But the only Haitian I really know is my sister, Rosie. Growing up, I never quite felt Haitian—or even fully Black, for that matter. This might be because I was raised in a predominantly white, middle-class LDS (Latter-day Saints) community in Utah after being adopted in 2001. While I appreciated certain aspects of that upbringing, I couldn’t ignore the feeling of being different.

In 2018, after a series of challenging personal experiences, I faced a crossroads. The crisis I experienced wasn’t just about faith but identity as well. I found myself asking: Should I stay within the LDS church, where I felt increasingly like an outcast, or should I walk into the unknown and try to find something more authentic to who I was becoming? Six years later, I can say with confidence that I made the right choice in leaving. I’ve found peace in that decision, and new doors have opened that I wouldn’t have even seen had I stayed.

Yet, even after walking away from the church, something always felt like it was missing. I sought out friend groups, support circles, and social networks—most of them tied to my various jobs—but none ever felt permanent. They seemed to dissolve the moment I wasn’t paying attention. It was like trying to hold water in my hands, always slipping away when I thought I had a grip.

That’s when I realized: maybe the problem wasn’t in the communities I was seeking, but in how little I knew about myself. How can you find where you belong if you don’t fully understand who you are? Searching for a community is like trying to fit a puzzle piece into the right place. You have to study the piece first—know its edges, its shape, its colors—before you can figure out where it belongs.

I went on many spiritual and sacred journeys on the long road to self discovery. I am now at a place where I can accept myself as I am (mostly on the inside) and be proud of where I’ve gone and where I’m going. So why am I still having such a difficult time finding a community?

I had a friendship over the past year that made me put this one person on a pedestal. Placing her before my needs and wants. We should have talked about boundaries, but by the time I could, it was far too late. I erupted after one I have suppressed for so long stepped out of the dark corner of mind. This was when our friendship came to an end, and I had to put myself first again. I thought I’d be alone. I always cling to someone who makes me feel as if I am never enough for them. Or, that I am never as appreciated as I appreciate them. But I got extremely lucky.

After leaving a friendship that wasn’t serving me, it felt like the universe immediately opened up new doors. Almost as if in exchange for what I’d let go, I was given more—people who understood me better. I began meeting others who were just as lost, confused, and afraid as I was. One of the most meaningful reconnections I made was with someone I met when I was 12, someone I had lost contact with at 19. Now, we’ve found our way back to each other.

As a caregiver and peacemaker—roles I believe I’ve been spiritually assigned—I feel compelled to look out for those wandering in the same desert of loneliness that defines much of adulthood. It’s a place of empathy, a desire to provide the support I never felt in many of my past friendships. But there’s also a delicate balance between helping others and protecting your own energy.

Going from having one person to suddenly being surrounded by many was overwhelming. I didn’t want my friendships to turn into some kind of tiered system, where connections felt ranked or graded. But it was hard not to notice how different friendships brought different levels of fulfillment. I started realizing something important: everyone in my growing social circle had been going through the same struggles. Loneliness, religious trauma, heartbreak, dealing with mental health challenges, and physically living with family but mentally living in dispair—these were shared experiences.

That’s when it finally clicked. After all this time and all these years of searching, if I couldn’t find a community that felt right… why not create one myself?

At the start of this year, I found myself diving into a new hobby almost every week. Unemployment gave me a lot of free time, and with that came discovery. However, none of these hobbies seemed to last. Doing things by myself often felt overwhelming, and without anyone to share the experience with, I lost the motivation to continue. This made me realize that if I was serious about creating a community, I couldn’t do it alone. I would need help—lots of it. But as always, the hardest step was asking for it.

About a month ago, I decided to share this “silly little idea” of starting a support group with a friend. Like me, they had attended support groups in the past, and we both had the same issue with them: the “one size fits all” structure. These groups never seemed to address our individual needs, which got me thinking: What if there was a group where people could meditate after heavy discussions, participate in fun activities, and eat food together afterward? A place where no one felt hungry—physically or emotionally.

What if we created a space where people could form real bonds, where they could be their authentic selves and connect over shared experiences while celebrating diversity? This wasn’t just about support; it was about belonging. Now the only question that remained was, what should we call it?

One month later, and after three powerful sessions, I can confidently and proudly say that Diverse City is a monumental success. What began as a simple idea has snowballed into a living, breathing community. The possibilities are endless when a journey is just beginning, and I’m filled with excitement to see where it leads us and who we might discover—and save—along the way. I truly believe life doesn’t have to feel as lonely as it has for me over the past 25 years, and I refuse to accept that I’m the only one who has felt the weight of loneliness. It’s a darkness that manifests in countless forms, wearing different masks for each person.

If we can save just one person, whether they’re a friend, a neighbor, or even a stranger, by showing them the light in their darkest moments, we will have succeeded. I’m eager to grow and expand this group with the friends who have stood by me, offering their unwavering support during this new chapter of our connected journey. I love them—and the ones I haven’t even met yet.

Diverse City opens its arms to those struggling with mental health, self-esteem, identity, and individuality, offering a space where everyone can feel seen and supported. Because life does not have to be so lonely.

If you or anyone you know is struggling, please reach out and take that first brave step of asking for help. Here are some resources that might make that step easier:

• National Sexual Assault Hotline: (800) 656-4673

• National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: 988

• Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration National Helpline: (800) 662-4357

• National Domestic Violence Hotline: (800) 799-7233

• National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

• The Rape Recovery Center: (801) 467-7282

• Utah Coalition Against Sexual Assault (UCASA): (801) 746-0404