Marnina Miller understands the importance of visibility for many people living with HIV. As a Black queer woman sharing her life openly online, Miller has built a platform on and off social media rooted in honesty, joy, and community — challenging longstanding stereotypes about what it means to live with HIV today.
In this Q&A, Miller spoke to TheBody about why she chose to tell her story publicly, how she confronts stigma, and how she sustains hope and self-care while navigating activism in an increasingly stressful political moment.
Maria Elena Perez: What motivated you to start sharing your HIV story online, and what was the moment you realized people were really listening?
Marnina Miller: I started sharing because I was tired of silence. As a Black queer woman living with HIV, I did not see myself reflected in the narratives that were out there. HIV stories were either overly clinical or overly tragic. I wanted to show that you can be joyful, ambitious, sexy, political, and still living with HIV.
The moment I realized people were really listening was when I started getting messages from other Black women saying, “I’ve never seen someone talk about this like you do,” or “You make me feel less alone.” That is when it clicked for me that visibility is not vanity; it is service. It is survival. When people see you thriving, it disrupts the lie that HIV is the end of your story.
Perez: There is still so much stigma surrounding HIV, especially in Black and Brown communities. How did you navigate around that stigma, and what can we do to combat it?
Miller: The stigma is real. It is layered with racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia and medical distrust. I navigated it by grounding myself in community. I did not try to carry it alone. I found other people living with HIV who were honest, brilliant and unapologetic. That changed everything.
Combating stigma requires more than awareness campaigns. We need accurate education about U=U [undetectable equals untransmittable]. We need faith leaders, family members and cultural influencers to speak truth publicly. We need to stop whispering about HIV like it is a moral failure. And we need to invest in people living with HIV as leaders, not just as testimonials. The more we are in positions of power and visibility, the harder it is to dehumanize us.
Perez: For people living with HIV who worry about dating or long-term relationships, what would you want them to know based on your own love story?
Miller: I would want them to know that you are not damaged goods. You are not a burden. You are not “lucky” if someone loves you. You are worthy of deep, intentional, healthy love and multiple orgasms.
There was a time when I wondered if my diagnosis would make people hesitate. I questioned whether I would always have to overexplain myself or prove my worth. What I learned is that the right person does not see HIV as a flaw to tolerate — they see you as a full human being.
In my relationship, what matters is honesty, communication and mutual respect. Yes, disclosure is important. Yes, education matters. But what mattered most was that I showed up confident in who I am.
When you do not shrink yourself, you give other people permission to meet you at your level. The love I have now is rooted in truth. There is no hiding. There is no walking on eggshells. There is peace.
I am happy because my relationship is not defined by diagnosis. It is defined by partnership, laughter, shared vision, and choosing each other every day. HIV is a part of my life, but it is not the headline of our love story.
So, to anyone scared that a diagnosis disqualifies them from marriage, intimacy, or long-term commitment, I want you to hear me: You are not damaged goods. You are not a burden. You do not have to accept crumbs. You deserve the kind of love that feels steady and expansive. The kind where you can exhale. And it exists; my partner and I are proof.
Perez: How do you balance activism and self-care during politically stressful times for people living with HIV?
Miller: I used to think rest was a reward. Now I understand it as a strategy. Burnout helps no one. If we are fighting systems that want us exhausted, then rest becomes resistance.
I balance activism and self-care by building rhythms instead of waiting for a crisis. Therapy. Time offline. Movement. Herbal support. Laughter. Reality TV. Real conversations with people who know me beyond my title. I also delegate. I do not have to carry every fight personally. Collective leadership is protective. The work is long. We have to treat ourselves like we plan to be here for decades.
Perez: What gives you hope when the political landscape feels overwhelming, and how do you turn that hope into action?
Miller: What gives me hope is my people. I have seen what happens when people living with HIV organize. We have changed laws, shifted funding and forced institutions to listen. History reminds me that progress has never come from comfort — it resulted from collective pressure. When things feel overwhelming, I zoom out, and then I zoom in. Zoom out to remember the bigger arc of justice. Zoom in to ask, what can we move this month? This quarter? Who can we mobilize? Hope for me is not passive. It is tied to strategy. It looks like training new leaders, writing policy demands, showing up at hearings, [and] building community spaces where people feel powerful again.
I believe deeply that thriving while living with HIV is revolutionary. And I am not interested in surviving quietly. I am interested in building a future where the next generation does not have to fight the same battles.
This interview has been edited for clarity.
Marnina Miller is co-executive director of the Positive Women’s Network-USA. She also works with the Southern AIDS Coalition, The Well Project, Youth Across Borders, NMAC, and Health Not Prisons (HNP) Collective. This column originally appeared on TheBody.com and is a project of TheBody, Plus, Positively Aware, POZ and Q Syndicate, the LGBTQ+ wire service.