Thoughts on a Day Marked

Yesterday was Trans Day of Visibility. It was a day of mourning and grief for many of us, grief for those who are no longer here to be seen—those who did not survive their visibility. Love and power to my resting comrades, young and old.

Today is the sixteenth anniversary of my coming out as gay.

I came out on April 1st, 2009. It wasn't pretty. I called my brother first—a test. If all went well, someone would be in my corner for the actual test.

I had not seriously considered telling my parents. I thought I knew how it would go: anger, punishment, and denial, so I avoided it at all costs. I would be mostly right for a time. My brother would be the one to surprise me.

Once the initial Abbott and Costello-worthy dialogue about how this wasn't an April Fool's joke subsided, he finally realized I was sincere and told me he had my back when it came time to tell our parents.

If you're interested in why and how I came out to my family, the story is below. This article isn't about that.

It sometimes feels like I've been evolving and introducing truer versions of myself ever since—almost. There was an early period of stagnation during which I continued to repress myself.

Immediately after the debacle that was my coming out, I struggled with expressing myself authentically. My community at the time had deeply wounded me for starting the process of self-discovery and expression. Even after relocating and allowing nearly a decade to pass, I still carried the weight of their reaction to me.

I ignored the whispers of my inner thoughts.

"Butch lesbian," I told myself, "I'm a butch lesbian."

But it wasn't true. I knew it wasn't.

The part of me that cherished childhood because I hadn't gone through puberty yet was ignored. The part that loved my flat chest and the fact that I didn't bleed was silenced.

Gaslit.

I became a master at quietly abusing myself. I internalized shame and carried it with me daily. It kept me in a state of denial.

I wasn't trans—just butch. And I would be just that for many years.

It wasn't until my mother died that I was able to appreciate my true self and open my world to the care, affirmation, and expression that I had been aching for.

If you're interested in that story, it's here...

and here...

I've changed so much over the years. I've opened myself up to rejection and critique by committing to vulnerability.

I feel sure that this is the path to salvation. Honest and authentic self-expression is the only way we free ourselves. However, I say this fully recognizing the danger we face by being our true selves. It is a painful double bind. One we must not overlook or underestimate.

I have come to feel that much of being queer is comorbid celebration and sorrow.

There is a popular quote from the AIDS crisis that I believe still embodies the queer spirit. It is a mantra to carry us through all hard times and a call to action when we need it most.

Bury your friends in the morning, protest in the afternoon, and dance all night.

Grieve, fight, and find joy, my dear friends.

We're still here.