Allegra's Trans Experience

Imagine you’re hanging out with your best friend, or your child. You’re getting into a deep conversation, or mentioning something important to you or them, and then they come out and tell you they’re trans. They ask you to use new pronouns for them, and to call them by a new name. You care about this person (or at least they hope you do), and you might have the instinct to tell them “I don’t care that you’re trans, whatever you are I love you.” But that’s where many well-meaning cis people go wrong.

“I don’t care that you’re trans” may seem like support, but it’s really negligence.

“Not caring” about transness is problematic towards trans people for the same reasons “I don’t see color” is problematic towards Black people. It ignores an essential part of who we are. If you don’t care that someone in your life is trans, then you also don’t care that they’ve had to fight harder than you can imagine just to live as the gender they know they are. Or that they currently face violence in several countries just by daring to be themselves.

Plus, a lot of people who say they don’t care will use that to cover up their bigoted views. They will still deadname and misgender their trans loved ones, and complain that we’re “indoctrinating kids” and “shoving it in our faces” when we talk about our identities and express ourselves. They’ll also likely buy into common transphobic right-wing talking points about sports, bathrooms, or “biology”, or ask us invasive questions about our bodies. Or try to frame transness as a “choice” rather than a lived identity. At the very least, they’ll do nothing when we get attacked or kicked out of our homes and safe spaces by transphobes. That’s the same as siding with the oppressor.

In other words, not caring also means not listening.

If you’re reading this and your first instinct is to get defensive, and say something like “But I’m an ally!” or “But I’m not transphobic!” ask yourself why. Think about where your defensiveness and your urge to disregard someone’s differences come from. They probably come from what you were taught as a kid.

It’s easy to think you’re a good person. It’s harder to step up and do good things.

In school (or at least in American schools), we’re taught to discard other people’s race, gender, sexuality, disability, etc. and just see people. But you can’t see someone as they are without seeing what makes up their identity. And disregarding these differences only keep people from really learning about them, and encourage people to frame them as bad things. People are afraid of what they don’t know.

It’s easy to think you’re a good person. It’s harder to step up and do good things. Especially when so many others don’t approve of it. But that’s what being an ally means. It takes courage.

So what should we say instead?

Give them a hug. Thank them for trusting you enough to tell you. Tell them you’re so proud of them. Ask them what new name/pronouns to use for them. Do whatever you can to make sure they feel as loved and safe as possible. Respect their boundaries surrounding coming out. Support them however you can in reaching their transition goals. And keep celebrating them. All the time. Not just when it’s convenient for you.

Trans people are being attacked from all sides now. We can’t afford for it to “just take time” for you to accept us or get used to us. We need support and action NOW. If you’re too afraid to support us, or if you make it about yourself, or if you try to be neutral or take the easy way out, you’re a coward.

We need to be loved and cherished while we’re here, not just when we’re gone.

Not long after coming out, I had to cut ties with my then-partner, my father, and half my family after they attempted to manipulate and guilt me into detransitioning. And they were people who said they “weren’t transphobic” and “didn’t care” that someone they knew was trans. Yet they made me feel more hurt and alone than any run-of-the-mill Internet bigot ever could. Because they were afraid of losing their privilege. Their behavior was bigotry disguised as concern and grief over the older version of me, the one that they thought they could control (or in my ex’s case, the “man” she thought would replace her father).

But you wanna know who did show up for me? My friends.

My friends were the ones who hugged me and welcomed me. They celebrated me. They asked me continually how they could make things better. They were there for me when I started transitioning, when I cut off my family, when Trump got elected and I was devastated, and through all the challenges that followed. And they were there because they chose to be. Not because of some legally binding contract, romantic partnership, or fear that I would leave them. But because they wanted to be there. I’ll never forget them and I’ll always be grateful for them. My friends are my chosen family.

And yet, after last year’s election, I had never felt more scared and alone. Because I was still so new to being trans, and I was manipulated and abandoned by people who signed up to support me. And on top of all that the new president and half my home country’s government wanted everyone like me dead, and most of the other half didn’t even care about us at all. When I traveled to Spain earlier this year for an English teaching abroad program, I only did so because I wanted to escape the States. All I wanted to do was run away.

But even so, my friends supported me in any way they could. They cherished me for me, and they continue to do so today.

Every trans person needs a loving family and home. Whatever form it may take, we need to have people around us that love us and help us rest. We’ve been fighting just to be seen for so long, only to come home to unloving, or worse, hateful, environments. That needs to change, and we can’t afford to wait for that. We need to be loved and cherished while we’re here, not just when we’re gone.

This took me a lot of vulnerability to write. But it needed to be said. We, as a vulnerable community of people, need you. As allies, you and your friends/loved ones can provide us with consistent love and understanding, and safe and loving spaces that we need. Own up to your past mistakes and become safer people. Don’t get weird about using our chosen names and pronouns or dating us. Be our friends. Make it normal to love us. Make us feel important. Be loud in your support of us. And love us BECAUSE of our differences and the things that make us who we are, not in spite of them. Whether your love is platonic, romantic, or familial, we will appreciate it more than you know.

You have more power than you realize. Use it for good.