Andrea Gibson and the Power of Being Fully Alive
By Dr. Denise Renye
“Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.”
It has taken me a few weeks to be able to write this. The words wouldn’t come, not because there was nothing to say, but because there was too much. The weight of losing Andrea Gibson is immense, and I needed time to feel it. I needed time to let the truth of their absence settle and to honor it with the care it deserves.
Andrea Gibson was a singular force. A poet. A truth-teller. A warrior of words who cracked open hearts and stitched them back together with tender, unflinching honesty. As a psychologist and sex therapist, I often work with people who are trying to find the language to describe the fullness of their experience around gender, sexuality, trauma, mental health, love, and loss. Andrea did what so many of us try to do. They gave voice to the unspeakable. Again and again. They helped people feel seen in the places they thought were too messy, too painful, or too complicated to bring into the light.
Andrea’s work was deeply influential in the realm of sexuality and self-expression. Their poems did not just explore queerness and gender expansiveness. They embodied them. They gave language to the fluid, beautiful, and sometimes aching experience of being fully human. They offered an invitation to live with radical authenticity and reminded us that survival is, in itself, a kind of art. Their courage to speak about gender identity, the medical system, and the tender truths of love and grief created ripples across generations of queer and trans folks, and far beyond.
In one of their final reflections, Andrea shared that they believed if they had transitioned, they might not have gotten cancer. That statement is not only heartbreaking. It is a clear and painful reminder of how our bodies carry the costs of disconnection, silencing, and suppression. Even near the end of their life, Andrea continued to speak the truth with clarity and care. They never stopped showing up honestly.
Recently, I was speaking with someone who questioned whether the poignancy of Andrea’s work, their ability to speak the unspeakable and reach the depth they did, was because they were so close to death. It is a powerful reflection. Is there something about being in proximity to mortality that grants us access to a deeper layer of truth? Is there a way in which those who understand, in their bones, that time is finite are more able to tap into the felt sense of lived experience? I do not think it diminishes Andrea’s brilliance to consider that. If anything, it makes their work all the more vital. They reminded us, poem after poem, what it means to be alive. What it means to tell the truth even when it hurts. What it means to live like nothing is guaranteed and everything is sacred.
This is a profound loss. Andrea changed lives. Not in an abstract way, but in a deeply personal and tangible one. I have sat with patients and clients who found the words for their identities through Andrea’s work. I have seen their poems passed from one person to another like sacred offerings. I have heard people say, “That poem saved me.” And I believe them. Andrea didn’t just write poetry. They created lifelines.
To lose them is to lose someone who helped many of us understand ourselves. It is to lose a voice that dared to name the complexity and beauty of queer life. It is to lose someone who modeled vulnerability as strength.
Andrea Gibson’s legacy lives on. In their voice. In their words. In the breath of every person they helped stay alive a little longer. But right now, we sit in the space they have left behind. And we grieve. With gratitude. With awe. With deep and reverent love.
Rest in power, Andrea. Thank you for every word. Thank you for reminding us that expression is survival, and that truth, when spoken bravely, can save lives.
Journal Prompts:
When have I felt most alive, and how did that awareness of mortality shape me?
What truths about myself am I ready to express?
Whose words have helped me feel seen, and what truths of mine could offer that to others?
Note: if you are in the Bay Area Alchemy Community Therapy Center will be hosting a memorial/celebration of life event to make room for community to come together, recite and hear Andrea's poetry, and process grief. It'll be from 4-6:30pm on August 9th at Chapter 510.