Pride and Protest: Why Being True to Yourself is the Ultimate Act of Both

As many of you are likely aware, today, June 1st, marks the start of Pride Month, a celebration of the LGBTQIA+ community. In the past, I’d be wishing everyone a happy pride. This year, however, things feel darker than they have in quite some time. Over 520 bills have already been introduced this year, targeting the overall community, with more than 200 of those directly attacking the transgender community.

The narratives we continue to hear are, frankly, disgusting. We are not groomers. We are not pedophiles. We are not mentally deranged humans looking to turn your children gay or trans. The only agenda we have is to help your children who are born gay and transgender reach adulthood.

As someone who’s known I was different since the first time my parents told me “That’s not what boys do,” I can assure you it wasn’t seeing other people like me that made me transgender. Because, in the mid and late 80s when I was three years old, there was absolutely no representation of transgender people in media. In fact, the first time I remember seeing a trans person on screen, though I didn’t have words for it at the time, was when Ace Venture Pet Detective was released in 1994.

If you aren’t familiar, the main antagonist was a trans woman. She was portrayed as a disgusting murderer and thief, and it certainly factored into me taking 34 years to come out. I looked at her and thought, “Wow, I wish I could do that and become a girl,” but not only was that not what boys do, it was also something that society was repulsed by. Even with the “cis heteronormative grooming” that attempted to make me cisgender as opposed to transgender, nothing can change the fact that I’ve always been who I am.

All that said, as a parent, I can empathize with other parents worried about their children coming out as lesbian, gay, bisexual, pansexual, queer, or transgender. We as parents never want our children’s lives to be harder than they must be, and we live in a world where being a part of the LGBTQ community makes our lives harder. I’ve been refused treatment by a doctor. I’ve been spit on in the streets. I have friends who’ve been assaulted. I’ve even had friends, both domestically and internationally, who’ve been taken from us far too soon because of the hate and bigotry that runs so rampant in today’s global society.

There’s also a stat that is well publicized that says 40% of transgender people will attempt to take their own life at some point during their time on Earth. I, unfortunately, fit as part of that statistic. But, did you know that according to the Williams Institute at UCLA, that number plummets to 6% if a transgender person has access to trans-inclusive medical care, a support system of family and friends that loves, validates, and supports them, as well as access to a living wage? Those were all things that I didn’t have access to as an adolescent. I grew up in a house where hate crimes against my community were cheered.

Still think 6% is too high? As someone who’d like to see a world where the number is zero, the likelihood climbs to 8% for all high school-aged students. Being allowed to be ourselves makes us less likely than other children to put our parents through what I can only imagine is the worst thing that could happen to one of our kids. If you want your children to grow up safe and happy, you need to honor and support them.

These problems aren’t exclusive to the United States. Countries around the world have taken part in the active erasure of LGBT people. The UK, as an example, has been front and center of what’s called the “Gender Critical” movement. Many of the ideas that debuted there have moved around the rest of the world. That’s to say little of the countries where being LGBT is illegal and punishable by death. It feels like a truly terrifying time to be a part of the community. You shouldn't have to be brave to hold the hand of someone you love. You shouldn’t have to be brave to be yourself. In today’s world, it often takes bravery to present ourselves visibly. Yet, we still do.

The fact of the matter is, as much as the news circulates the trauma that comes with being gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, or queer, the joy that comes with being ourselves often supersedes the trauma we face. The first time my oldest daughter met me after transitioning, she asked me when I got dimples. My five-year-old was observant enough to recognize she’d never actually seen me smile before.

I spent my whole life wondering if I’d ever experienced true happiness. I thought it was something most people wondered about until I first posed the question to my now ex-wife. Apparently, that was a strange question. Even so, I can now say, without question, I know what it’s like to be happy, and it’s something I experience regularly.

It’s important to note here that I can only speak on behalf of myself, a remarkably privileged white, binary, cis-presenting transgender woman with access to a wonderful job, trans-inclusive healthcare, and a supporting chosen family (remember those numbers I quoted from before?). I do not speak on behalf of trans people of color, those who are nonbinary, or those without the remarkable privileges I’ve been afforded. I can only share perspective that’s been shared with me.

That said, while it’s no one’s business what procedures a transgender person has had, I’ve made myself purposely visible for the sake of working to destigmatize a transgender person’s experience. When the anesthesia wore off after I was lucky enough to have gender-affirming surgery, I started crying. The nurse asked me if I was in pain. I wasn’t. It was the opposite.

While I couldn’t yet recognize or notice any change to my physical body, there was a sense of calmness I’d never felt before. It was at that moment that I asked her, “Is this what it’s like to feel happiness?” The lack of testosterone that had been in my system for as long as I can remember allowed me to answer the question that had eluded me my whole life. She grabbed my hand and we cried together.

Today, I have the remarkable privilege of having a platform that allows me to educate and advocate on behalf of the communities I claim. I’ve been published by AdAge, ADWEEK, and Campaign. I’ve been featured in Forbes, Digiday, and Business Insider. I’ve been lucky enough to speak at SXSW, Out & Equal, and the Cannes Lions Festival. I’ve been named the top future leader of the LGBT community in the United States and number six in the world. I was even the first out transgender woman to have the privilege of being named one of AdAge’s Leading Women.

I’ve been able to develop lifelong relationships unlike any I ever had before I came out. I play in a pinball league, a pool league, and manage a women’s softball team in an LGBT-centered league. All of those things have brought me joy, but waking up as myself, looking like myself, and having people see me as myself is what has meant the most and why this pride is so much more important than any I’ve had the pleasure to experience.

Regardless of the joy we experience as ourselves, we must remember a critical truth this month: Pride is more than a parade or celebration. Pride is a protest where we demand the rights that we rightfully deserve, because we deserve far more than the trauma the world projects on us. We deserve the joy that comes with being ourselves, and no one has the right to take that away. It’s why my tone this year is different than any other. I recognize a fundamental, important truth. My words are my way to protest. They’re the bricks I have to throw. Be ready, as I have a lot of them stacked up and ready to be hurled in defense of all my siblings.