Hi, my name's Emma. As you'll find with this bio, I'm a pretty open book. I started my Telecom career back in '98 with MCI as a Translations Engineer and eventually moved into VoIP where I currently lead a team of VoIP Engineers. I spent six years in the Marine Corps, served in Desert Storm and obtained my BA in Psychology from the University of Dallas. Like many Transgender women, I first began to experience my gender dysphoria as a child. It would manifest itself by a desire to wear lipstick, nail polish or panty hose. As a teenager it went dormant for a bit and did not really manifest again until I was getting out of the Marine Corps. Being Transgender has cost me two marriages and I did not finally decide to embrace who I am until I was about to turn 50. Like so many in the community, I found my validation through and from others. This kept my fear of being my authentic self high, and my self-acceptance low. I had attempted to come out once in my late twenties and every time I tried, I lost friends. So I went back into the closet. I have been living full time as Emma now since October of 2019, I know, not very long. It took over 18 months of therapy for me to finally start to understand and accept my feelings and more importantly, to embrace who I am and find my validation from within instead of "out there". This concept of self-validation is not unique to the Trans community. I believe everyone, at one point or another in their lifetime has or will encounter a situation where they allow others to define them. In all of this I've remained positive: embracing the wins, getting to know the real Emma, and standing tall - I mean, literally standing tall as I'm 6'2".

Since embracing who I am, I've seen a noticeable difference in my confidence; my openness and my willingness to share and help others. Many of the things that are happening in my life right now would not have been possible as my previous self. But I still have a long way to go. The dysphoria is still prevalent. My voice it's so frustrating because it's probably the single most obvious marker that I wasn't born a female. That's the other aspect of being Transgender, we're always in a hurry up and wait mode. Hair growth, voice training, hair removal via electrolysis or laser, surgeries - all very private, sometimes painful, time consuming, wait listed and necessary. I wouldn't have it any other way. As you can probably tell from some of the other stories you've read, we're all a little different in our journey. Some of us don't experience dysphoria like others; some of us care a little more or a little less about proper pronoun usage; some of us pass better than others, some of us pass less than others; some of us for fear of losing a job or being mistreated stay hidden; and some of us embrace being Trans because it is where our journey is taking us. I'm looking forward to where this journey takes me and I'm happy to finally be living life as my authentic self.

It was my birthday, in 2017, when I made a Facebook post coming out to the world and sharing with everyone the new name I'd chosen. I'd left Yahoo! for another company, leaving a place where I'd had so much personal context to find a new place to transition free of preconceived notions. After a year and a half of hormone replacement, three years of therapy, years of medical consultation, and countless hours of introspection, I chose to finally make the jump and start living fully as myself for the first time in my life.

I'd already shared the change with a few people very close to me. As I expected, there was a mix of overwhelming support, confusion, and a couple of people (who still work here and about whom I still care deeply) knew me as being a jokester and even doubted I was being sincere. Everyone came around, and my closest friends had all been supportive for some months. I had told my boss at the new company. I'd told my boss's boss. You do everything you can to prepare, but at the end of the day there are always a few heartbreaks to go along with the joy.

"Who is Sarah Foster?" from someone who sat immediately behind me. A few people on Facebook unfriended me wordlessly. My parents, who are great allies now, reacted with a combination of disbelief, horror, and denial. There were obligatory uncomfortable questions about my biology. All followed by months of people quietly avoiding me in the cafeteria, leaving a visible radius around me. This other company was putatively progressive, but acceptance can't be manufactured. The soil you tend decides what you can grow, and the attitude of a place is dependent on the local pipeline from which you recruit. What stung the most was being undermined when I suggested that moving might be the only way to improve my cultural fit. "I don't see why you'd imagine California would be any different."

When I left there, I did move to California: to rejoin the company I thought I needed to leave. The move to California has been great, but it's been so much more than that. There's a reason why I came back to Verizon Media. I found out that some of my old cohort at the datacenter had corrected my name tag on my old empty desk, months after I'd left. They encouraged each other to use my correct name and pronouns. I was more scared of my own past there than they were of my self-determined future, and the friends and family I built at Yahoo! continued to be just that. Some reacquaintances have been awkward, but for the first time I feel like I can share my love for my coworkers as myself, directly and without the filter of an artificial identity with which I never connected. And like no other workplace, this has been one that accepts that and truly encourages me to bring my whole self every day. I fight, hard and bitterly sometimes, to help us be our best self. Because I know we should and because I know we can, more than we ever allow ourselves to believe.

Transgender Day of Visibility is this month, and I have a story to tell you. It’s about how I came out at work, and it’s important. Yes it’s about me. But really it’s about those around me. It’s about the proper way to be an ally and to open your hearts to the people in your lives. It’s about life and the fact that we’re all just trying to make it the best we can. This story is about how I came out to my TechCrunch family.

In May 2015, almost the entire TechCrunch team flew to New York for Disrupt NY. The night before the show began, we attended the customary (required, really) all-hands meeting. And by all hands, I mean all hands. The editorial, video, product, events, sales and biz dev teams attend to get briefed on the week’s logistics, receive our badges, and go around the room and say our names. There is good food to eat and good drinks to drink and it’s generally a meeting that I quite enjoy, because I love my team. That year, I thought a lot about that meeting in the months that preceded it, because it’s where I chose to come out as transgender to my whole team.

There are very many different ways people choose to come out. I kept coming out, day after day, over and over to friends. Sometimes over a video chat. Sometimes in email. I had told a few colleagues I worked closely with and communicated with every day. I told my then-boss Alexia Tsotsis and current chief Matthew Panzarino. The responses were overwhelmingly positive. Every single person reacted with either a beaming smile, by jumping for joy at happy hour, or by shaking my hand and saying, “It’s nice to meet you, Henry.”

The weeks kept flying by and it would soon be time for me to make my announcement that I still wasn’t certain I could do. Either way, I had to prepare for the moment. So a few weeks before the show, I set the plan in motion. It started with Jason, one of the events managers and a guy I had said all of a hundred words to at that point. At lunch one day, I stopped him in the kitchen.

“Hey Jason, I’m coming out as transgender and want to make sure I have the badge with my new name on it.” I recall feeling totally exposed. I barely knew the guy, hadn’t told anyone else in the office at that point and I had just spit out this major life event piece of news in his face. I braced for a reaction — negative or otherwise. I watched his face for discomfort and hoped that I hadn’t just burdened him with this too-personal information. But in the most nonchalant, non-judgmental way he possibly could and without moving a muscle on his face, he said, “sure, but ask JaNelle. She takes care of badges.” He didn’t flinch; it was no big deal. These are the things you never forget. Hugs, Jason. (We talk much more now.)

So I put my food on my plate and went back to my desk. Unwilling to gin up the courage again in such a short amount of time, I decided instead to email JaNelle, the events manager (of course I saved the exchange):

So I have a question for you. I am in the process of coming out as transgender (yay me!). Still wrapping my head around all of it and then we have this big show coming up where I’m gonna have to wear a badge. So I’m wondering if you wouldn’t mind making me two badges: one with Catherine and one with the name I’m going to change to - Henry (99% sure ;)). I’m not sure if I’m gonna make a big announcement at the all-hands so just want to keep my options open.

Nineteen minutes later, came her reply:

Oh my goodness how exciting for you! Truly courageous :) Yes, of course you can have two badges. Just submit both names and I’ll make sure both badges get to you.

Her response wasn’t surprising. And yet it was even though nothing up to that point led me to believe that I would be anything but supported. The continued validation began to take hold in me. But also the reality. Once I would say those words, I wouldn’t be able to take them back. And finally, after having thought obsessively for weeks about what I would say in front of the 60-plus people who would be gathered, it was time.

That night at the back of a restaurant in New York City ahead of Disrupt NY began like all the other meetings that came before them. Editorial, fresh off our own meeting, had already been tapping into the beer and wine, which I had probably been drinking faster than usual. One by one, the rest of TechCrunch began to file in. The newcomers grabbed their own food and drink and we all went about the business of mingling.

I had been standing by the food alone, surveying the spread, which included chicken skewers, raw vegetables, hummus, salami, cheese and everything else that looks good on a table. But my stomach was in knots and had been unsettled the entire evening, so no food for me. And that’s when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find JaNelle standing there, holding two badges — one with my old name and one with my new one. She handed them over in the protected space between us and smiled. I returned the smile, thanked her and gave her a hug. My insides immediately felt like they were liquefying. I put the badges in my pocket and looked skyward for some respite. Nothing. My nerves began to fire all over, my heart started in on me hard and the only thing I could do was breathe in and out deeply, slowly. And that’s when I heard our COO Ned Desmond call the meeting to order. We meandered about to form somewhat of an oblong oval around pillars and tables, food and beer. There was nothing orderly about this moment. It was just time for the introductions.

As we went around the room, each person saying their name and title, my heart began to beat faster and harder. I could feel it pound against the inside of my rib cage, and I could hear the sound of it fill up my head. I kept breathing. I looked at the floor. I began to rock side to side slowly, holding my hands behind my back, looking down at my name badge that I had just put around my neck. A few people in the room knew what I was about to do. The majority didn’t.

It was my turn. Susan, our Disrupt program director at the time, had been standing next to me and knew what I was about to do. She put her hand on the back of my shoulder and gently pushed me forward. I took a step, breathless, and said “I have some personal news.” And then, out of nowhere and without warning, I started to cry. So many tears started to slowly fall down my face. I hadn’t even said anything yet, and there I was crying. I don’t cry very often, and I certainly wasn’t prepared to start crying in front of that many people. My throat seized up. I tried to choke out more words, but nothing came. Just big, warm, surprising, somewhat unwelcome, tears. I tried to catch my breath to form a word, any word, but the only thing I did was start wiping the tears from my eyes. It felt like an eternity but it was probably just a few seconds. Jordan, one of the editors, was standing to my left and she started to look concerned. I whispered to her (I could whisper!) that it was a good thing. And with hers and Susan’s hands on my back, I finally found the words to utter through the tears that were still falling.

“I’m coming out to you tonight as a transgender man.” I managed to get them all out, albeit slowly, and held out my badge while still wiping tears. “My name is Henry.” The room immediately filled with applause. Jordan hugged me. Susan hugged me. Others came over to hug me. This weight that I hadn’t realized I was crushed beneath had just suddenly begun to ease. My insides righted themselves and my breathing slowed. I felt light. I would realize later that the tears were the result of feeling safe in that room that night as I introduced myself as a transgender man named Henry. I was around people who cared about me not just as an editor and colleague but as a friend whom they had come to know and care about. A human being. Everyone should be so lucky.

In this climate of political dysfunction that has seen an administration attempt to reverse every civil right granted to trans and gender nonconforming people, including the very definition of “transgender,” awareness isn’t enough. Every single transgender person’s story is as important as they are different — those who have come before me and those who will come long after.

Mine is one of privilege, because I have a job, health insurance, a rent-controlled place to live, and acceptance of friends and family. And yet, I still have fear: How much of a pat-down will I get at the airport and what could it lead to? What will this trip to the bathroom be like? Could someone love me? When I die, will the authorities treat my body with respect? Will the media?

And my fears are mundane, and so Transgender Day of Visibility isn’t for or about me. It’s for those who live in real fear every day. Fear of being outed, fear of being rejected, fear of being bullied, fear of being murdered. Fear of being.

Acknowledging the existence of transgender and gender non-conforming people takes on many forms. One is about being a loving, vigilant ally as a cisgender person. Another is about taking up the mantle of defense and doing the hard work because trans people are under attack right now. And another? You can go figure that out. Every day when I step outside of my apartment, it’s a political act. And for you, caring about my civil rights, every trans and gender nonconforming person’s civil rights, is also a political act, but one as easy as closing your eyes at night.

While we still have a long way to go for trans rights and acceptance, there are many things that make me hopeful. I love seeing the transformation (pun intended) of what it means to be trans and the acceptance of that. While many trans individuals still choose surgeries, hormones, and other medical treatments to fully realize the best version of their selves, many are also opting out. We also have a broader spectrum and understanding of what it means to be trans and evolving language that strives to be more inclusive than ever. We see the trans family and their allies growing bigger and stronger every day, and soon, you won't be able to ignore us.

As for my personal story, I'd love to talk about being the partner of my lovely fiancé Jeanette, who many of you have met or heard about, who identifies as non-binary. Around 5 years ago (when we were still "just friends") Jeanette decided to start using they/them pronouns. All through their childhood and early 20's, the label of "woman" never felt right. Being forced into dresses and purchased Barbies instead of trucks brings up painful memories. But where they had always struggled was in who they were if they did not identify as a woman, did this make them a man? They had no desire to transition, but also felt stuck in between. It started with getting short haircuts, buying and trying out binders (an undergarment meant to safely compress your chest), and then when we met a new friend in our LGBTQ+ marching band who proudly identified as non-binary it illuminated a new path. It was soon after this that Jeanette and I had a conversation where I agreed to help them try out these new they/them pronouns and "spread the news."

For Jeanette, these changes have remained enough to finally feel comfortable as their authentic selves. While they feel lucky standing at 5'10" with a size 10.5 mens shoe size to pass as who they choose, many other non-binary and trans individuals do not feel the same. Jeanette will never correct someone who misgenders them or uses the wrong pronouns, but I see their eyes light up every single time someone tries to use them. And while it's endlessly frustrating to be chastised for being in the women's room or be patted down on their chest every. single. time. we go through security at the airport, they still manage to find the humor in watching the TSA agent realize he is feeling up some boobs and not a bomb.

We're still exploring what it means for each of us in this new paradigm, and what's great is that it is uncharted and you are allowed to define yourself how you choose. I can still call myself a proud Lesbian while dating Jeanette, and while we're still exploring more romantic terms than "spouse" for our hopeful upcoming nuptials, we're also okay with just saying wife for a while, because that still feels radical on it's own. And I love the support I get every day from my team on BUILT BY GIRLS and Prism family when they use Jeanette’s pronouns and help me feel safe being my true authentic self with my true authentic partner every day at work.

I am a transgender man from London. I now live in New York City. I came out as transgender when I was 13, and started hormone replacement therapy as directed by my medical provider for almost a year and will be getting a double mastectomy in 6 weeks. I have been with my medical provider for over two years and I have been diagnosed with gender dysphoria by three different experts in the field, as well as gender identity disorder, an older term used to classify people as transsexual(which relates to an advanced status in ones transition) rather than transgender. I live with my parents, my brother and my dog in an apartment in midtown Manhattan. I enjoy reading, playing guitar, playing with my dog and laughing about some stupid joke with my close friends. I like to cook and I’m pretty good at it. I have various mental and physical issues that affect my every life, but who doesn’t. I am a normal person. I am not a fragile, vulnerable child as you so often describe, I am a strong, secure person with my own thoughts.

Following your recent actions, I’m sure your stomachs at least knotted at hearing how far I am in my transition. I know that if I were in South Dakota or Colorado or Ohio or Idaho or in any other state with these bills popping up everywhere, your words discouraging kids from transitioning would be directly towards me. If I were in your states, the therapist or endocrinologist or psychologist I have seen throughout my transition would be at risk of locking up. I know that if I were in your states, I would feel great relief at your bill being defeated, but also feel great fear for what may happen next. Great sadness for the fact that the healthcare I needed so desperately when I was younger is still at risk of being ripped away. Great anger at the thought that I still needed to sit with people still debating whether I could go to gender therapy, receive treatment that kept me from committing suicide. Great anger, frankly, at you. I know many people in your states are incredibly fearful for their wellbeing, or the wellbeing of someone close to them. I know they are sad to see their healthcare being tossed around in the hands of politicians and lawmakers like yourself.  However, I want my message to be filled with concern and education rather than spewing insults at you, which many people have done, because that is unproductive.

First of all, I am sure your recent proposals were not out of malice. I do not believe (or at least do not want to believe) that you wished to hurt kids within your state, or anywhere else. I have read your comments in the bill, and some I wish to believe are true. I believe that you are scared, which may be from a good place, but is misguided. Fred Deutsch, we all know your comment comparing transgender healthcare to experiments in the Holocaust was just appalling and atrocious, but you have apologized for that so I don’t wish to hold it against you. 

However, I highly question the research you did into fueling these various bills. Any professional research one could possibly do is directed towards the importance of offering at least some kind of gender therapy for kids to allow them to explore the feelings they have surrounding their identities. I have attached a few if you wish to read up on another perspective. I hope you take some time to look at them.

https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/gender-dysphoria/

https://www.psychiatry.org/patients-families/gender-dysphoria/what-is-gender-dysphoria

https://www.ama-assn.org/delivering-care/population-care/ama-takes-several-actions-supporting-transgender-patients

https://childmind.org/article/transgender-teens-gender-dysphoria/

https://sciencebasedmedicine.org/gender-dysphoria-in-children/

Fred Deutsch, in your statements, you mentioned you spoke to teenagers who had suffered from these issues and therefore I must assume you spoke to people who have "detransitioned". While this is a perspective worth noting on this issue, referring to it as of central importance is unproductive. Studies show that the rate of people detransitioning in the US is less than 8%, and 62% actually later re-transitioned. If you wish to look at studies pertaining to trans people committing suicide after getting surgery, I can give that to you as well. "[A]t the time that puberty begins — that means between about age 10 to 12 in girls, 12 to 14 in boys, with breast budding or two- to three-times increase in the gonads in the case of genetic males — by that particular point, the child who says they are in the absolute wrong body is almost certain to be transgender and is extremely unlikely to change those feelings, no matter how anybody tries reparative therapy or any other noxious things."(Dr. Norman Spack).

Another argument pertaining to these various bills was the concept of "giving children hormones". No proper medical professional is giving children hormones. I was a rarity at almost 16 as I had persistent signs of gender dysphoria as a child, I had already lived as male for a long time before going on hormones and I had been diagnosed with gender dysphoria by several different doctors, which would not be allowed under your law. If I had been made to wait till 18 after discovering my identity, I can tell you with confidence that I would not be writing this email to you, I would be six feet under. By 18, it would already be too late for me to go on any kind of hormone blockers such as depo-provera. This, again, would not be allowed under your law.

I am aware however that pure research will likely not have an effect on you. Statistics don't change people's hearts, personal stories do. Therefore, I have attached a couple of stories, partially from research and partially from my friends and families:

Here is a story about a parent who helped defeat your bill out of fear for their kid's wellbeing:

"[Mark]Geary made [his child], who is 15, stay home for the hearing because he was worried about what was going to happen. He expected the worst, fearing that families like his would soon be forced to make an even longer drive to a neighboring state to get their children the care they — and growing list of experts in the medical community — say they need. Instead he was met with a “wave of relief” as the votes were tallied. 'I just felt such gratitude for [senators that voted against the bill]. I shook a couple of their hands, and I was almost crying. I don’t cry very easily.'"(NBC News)

Here is an article featuring a transgender guy of similar age to me:

"One 17-year-old South Dakota resident, Andrew, told The Daily Beast, he had to go to eight sessions with a psychiatrist to get recommended for HRT, then had to undergo blood tests and talk with his doctor about the effects of HRT and learn how to inject himself with testosterone. He said the process took six months and required parental consent at each step. “It is not a simple process by any means,” Andrew said. “Doctors aren’t prescribing HRT to little kids.”"(Rolling Stone)

Here is a few words from a friend of mine who is a trans guy:

"I don't feel that you're advocating for these bills is based on logic and arguments, I think it’s based on your internal bias that you have and you're not doing a very good job at masking it. I think you aren't very educated about trans healthcare because puberty blockers, for one, do not actually do anything permanent and I know you retracted your statement about the Auschwitz comparison, but those experiments were very obviously non-consensual. 

As someone whose life has been improved since starting hormone therapy and since coming out to everyone and being accepted(mostly), I know you won't believe me when I say that people who are trans need [trans healthcare] but I will say that if you care about the life of kids, if you consider life at all to be valuable, then this is something you have to trust people for. If you have a kid who says "I will kill myself if I do not get [trans healthcare]", then I think saying that kid can't have what they're asking for(to a reasonable extent) is murder. It's murder and it's evil and it's gross and I think that you need to start thinking about what people need, not just what you need. Think about how much you personally will be affected by trans kids getting access to healthcare versus how much trans kids will be affected if they don't. 

I did not go on puberty blockers but almost every day of my life I wish I did, and I wish I knew about them and I am pretty sure that puberty blockers decrease the risk of suicide in kids who go on them, and have similar mental health to cis people afterwards. Puberty blockers are completely harmless in basically every way for anyone who has not started puberty yet, or are in the early stages. I know that people have different ideas about things, but people like you need to stop thinking that they know all the answers and they know all of everyone else's experience."

Here is an email from my friend who is not trans, edited to redact some fruitful language:

Hi lawmakers,

I don't support the American bipartisan system and how it draws people to anger against each other. However, it is very difficult to maintain any respect for you if you neglect to do your research for legislation that will allow Big Government to control people's lives. Look at what you're doing. 

I am writing this email because I am scared. Us transgender people already are standing on one leg in terms of the rights we have, and I fear for my transgender siblings across this country. I wish to emphasize the fact that trans people are not fragile, vulnerable, confused people who are on edge most of the time. We are people. We are social workers, therapists, bakers, politicians, students, construction workers, personal trainers, deli workers, doctors, nurses, soldiers, generals, lawyers and judges. We have jobs, we attend universities, we raise children. We procrastinate over essays and binge watch Netflix shows. We work hard, we travel, we perform and we push boundaries. We attend therapy and take medication. 

Trans kids are the same. We are students, some of us have jobs, we take care of our families, we win awards, we put on plays, we cook, we clean, we work, we play. We are secure in our identities and we know who we are. We are perfectly aware of making our own decisions and lawmakers like yourselves dictating what decisions we can make will do nothing but hurt people. The therapists, endocrinologists, psychologists, and medical providers we see along the way are there to help us, and do not deserve to be persecuted. Please consider re-reading this email until you understand the point I am trying to make, because it matters. 

Thank you, 

A concerned, angry, proud transgender teenager.

Coming out stories are as unique as those who make the decision to come out to their family, friends, and/or at work. Depending upon the organization for which you work, coming out in the workplace can have significant implications. We are fortunate to work at Verizon that believes diversity and inclusion is how we achieve success. By celebrating diversity across all spectrums, including but not limited to race, national origin, religion, gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, disability, veteran/military status, and age, we are a stronger company and culture. So, in the spirit of Transgender Day of Visibility along with Verizon’s celebration of diversity – here is my coming out in the workplace story. 

In 2017, I came out to my manager and a close co-worker as transgender. I had known each of them for a number of years and we had established great friendships, but it had become increasingly difficult to maintain the relationships as they had been defined. It became imperative for me to let them know who I am and what it would mean for me to “be seen” as transgender in the workplace. I was full of fear but knew it had to be done. I explained my gender identity to them and they patiently listened. They asked what they could do to support me and I asked if they could avoid using certain words when referring to or speaking to me. My hope was they could eliminate gender aligned words like “sir” or “mister”. For nearly everyone words like these are inconsequential. In fact, many people feel using words like “sir” or “ma’am” means you are polite or you have manners. For me and others, hearing masculine pronouns and other gender aligned words feels toxic and insulting. I had come to the conclusion that for me to bring “all of me to work” I needed them to know my preference to be spoken to in a different way and they agreed to support me. 

Coming out for many is not a “one-time thing.” Long had I presumed if someone were to self-identify as LGBTQIA+ then that’s it, right? Well, no. Not for me  and I have learned a “one and done” coming out experience is not the case for many. People find themselves coming out again and again as they join new teams, get new managers, meet  new clients, and when new co-workers join the organization. For me I hadn’t considered my “coming out” in the workplace experience would consist of dozens of one on one conversations with managers, teammates, and co-workers. Since those initial conversations in 2017, I have had over 50 one on one discussions at work in regards to my gender identity. And, while each of the conversations may have been a bit different, each and every one of them have ended with encouragement and support. Evidenced time and time again was Verizon’s corporate posture on the acceptance of diversity embraced and  embodied by each and every VTeamer with whom I spoke. Each of them live “the credo” making it effortless for me to bring my authentic self to work and give all I can to be a part of the diverse tapestry that is Verizon.  

When my best friend, J, came out as trans to me in 2016, after coming out as a lesbian just the year prior, my first reaction was of happiness and optimism. I had watched them struggle for years with a slew of issues that doctors had consistently misdiagnosed as complicated disorders and illnesses. The answer, however, was always there, just packed a little bit deeper down - J was and is non-binary. 

I like to think that I had a pretty seamless reaction to the news. My mind was buzzing with optimism because I was hoping this would be a gamechanger for J. J and I met in college in 2011. We were both sitting in the common area of one of our freshman buildings, and it happened to be Student Wellness Week. If I’m recalling correctly it was a bright, cartoonishly perfect weekday afternoon in early September. On this particular day, the school had arranged for massage chairs to be set up and accompanied by an attending masseuse. As I sat oscillating back and forth between my phone and studying, I noticed that there was one masseuse who was…really getting into her work. To paint a simple picture - her body was overflowing over the back of a skinny, 18 year-old boy, and she was going to town on his neck. I looked around thinking, is anyone else seeing this? I noticed that someone else was. We looked at each other, began hysterically laughing, and have stayed laughing together ever since.

To me, J has always been that same person since that day, regardless of how they look or who they love. But, I can’t say the same for some of J’s other friends. When J came out as trans, immediately questions like the one above started bubbling up in their minds - how does having a trans friend affect me? How will people look at me when I’m with J? Will people think that I’m their girlfriend or boyfriend? Will they think I’m trans too? 

It’s funny how someone’s most vulnerable, intimate, and personal declaration can immediately be sidestepped to make way for another person’s insecurities and ego. I want to make a statement, and this applies to any declaration - gay, straight, bi, trans, vegan, libertarian, flat Earther, nudist - this is not about YOU. And, I can promise you, what you’ll go through is nowhere near what they will. You will never have to go to a restaurant and have crippling anxiety about if they’ll have a gender neutral bathroom, or if you’ll have to go to the bathroom and risk a nasty comment or being glared at. At that same restaurant, you won’t have to worry about the waiters in the corner who are poorly hiding the fact that they are debating whether you were born a male or female. You’ll never have to hand a driver’s license to a bouncer who will judgingly look up and down at you because you haven’t had a new driver’s license issued because it takes forever to change your birth certificate. 

Everyone has their own issues. I’m not asking you to change. I’m asking you to stop making this about you, and start making this about them.