In his bold and deeply personal new memoir, Yet Here I Am, Pulitzer Prize-nominated journalist and MSNBC co-host of The Weekend, Jonathan Capehart invites readers into the full complexity of his life—growing up Black and gay in America, navigating white spaces, grieving an absent father, and building a chosen family that shaped the leader and voice he is today.
In a recent conversation with GLAAD President & CEO Sarah Kate Ellis, Capehart spoke candidly about the emotional labor of telling his own story and what it means to show up, unapologetically, in a world that hasn’t always made space for him.
“Everyone keeps telling me the book is vulnerable, but for me, of course it was going to be,” Capehart said. “It had to be raw and honest.”
He credits two powerful autobiographies—Katharine Graham’s Personal History and Charles Blow’s Fire Shut Up In My Bones—as the spiritual blueprints for his own. “
Both of those books were so unflinchingly open. Graham could’ve written a sanitized version of her life and no one would’ve blamed her. But she didn’t. And Charles’ book gave me context for the fire behind every one of his columns,” he explained.
Capehart also shared a formative piece of advice from his friend Richie Jackson, author of Gay Like Me: “Jonathan, make sure you put yourself on every page.” Capehart took that to heart.
One of the most poignant threads in Yet Here I Am is his long journey toward understanding the silence surrounding his father’s absence. “It wasn’t just my mother not wanting to talk about him—it was the entire extended family,” he said.
“It was like they all had a meeting and decided, ‘No matter what, we’re not talking about him unless he asks.’ And if he does, say the bare minimum.”
Caphart also recalled how his mother mastered the art of “conjuring silence,” making even the act of asking about his father feel unwelcome. “Silence was like a bouncer at a nightclub,” Capehart reflected. “It kept everything out.” Writing about that silence, and what it masked, meant facing difficult truths: “It meant reckoning with what it’s like to be in your fifties and still grappling with the absence of a father figure—and realizing how that shaped the people I gravitated toward as mentors.”
Those mentors — often older men partnered with strong women — became surrogate family and vital guides. “They treated everyone with respect and dignity,” he said. “They were kind, yes, but they were also interested—in me, in the world, in politics. They made space for my voice.”
Capehart was especially moved when one former mentor, now in his eighties, told him, “Now that I’m older, my mentors are younger. You’re one of mine.” It was a powerful reminder that mentorship is reciprocal and often unspoken. “You could be a mentor to someone just by being you,” Capehart said.
Yet Here I Am also examines what it means to be seen as “intimidating” or “unapproachable” as a Black, gay man in predominantly white spaces. “It’s not up to me to decide how Black I am in any given room,” he said. “That’s in the eye of the person looking at me. I’ve been told I’m too Black, not Black enough, or that I shouldn’t bring up being Black at all.”
“There’s this unspoken agreement in white spaces that goes: ‘You don’t bring up that you’re Black, and we won’t either.’ But that erasure is exhausting,” he continued. “Even in Black spaces, that tension exists. I’ve gotten it from both sides.”
When asked about his role in today’s polarized and politically volatile climate, Capehart was clear: “We get through this by refusing to stop talking about it. About what’s happening in the country in general, and to us as LGBTQ people in particular.”
As a journalist and editorial voice at The Washington Post, Capehart reiterated that he views his platform as a responsibility.
“I’ve always seen myself as an ambassador, not the voice, but a voice, at tables where our perspectives are often missing. Whether it’s about hate crimes, civil rights, or LGBTQ policy, I bring my full self to the conversation.”
For Capehart, the book’s title, Yet Here I Am, isn’t just a declaration. It’s a meditation on resilience and self-definition. “Success is however you define it. For some, it’s wealth. For others, it’s impact. But you can’t have true success or a true sense of home until you know who you are.”
Asked what he might say to those still searching for that sense of belonging, Capehart shared: “What does home look like to you? Who is there? More importantly, how does your worldview make that possible? You find those answers by living—by surviving and thriving.”
He likened himself, and his beloved hometown of New York City, to an M&M: “Hard on the outside, soft on the inside. People say the city is mean and intimidating, but the ones who thrive are the ones who try. Same goes for me. If someone thinks I’m intimidating, fine. That’s on them. I know who I am. All they have to do is try.”
With Yet Here I Am, Capehart has done more than tell his story, he’s created space for others to step into their own.
