I Don't Want To Be In This Fear Alone

I started writing this piece a couple days before Trans Day of Visibility after a very jarring personal/family experience. I tend to have quick turn around on these things. Once I start, I do my best to get them finished fast, lest they fall into the “drafts folder of doom.” This time, though, I have been intentionally sitting with these thoughts a little longer, both because I’m still unsure if I even want to share them, and because I am certain that if I do share them I don’t want them to be swept up in the hustle and bustle of a “holiday” that’s quickly forgotten. I want these thoughts to stand on their own. I want the invitation to linger with you, until you accept. I don’t want this to burn up in a flash and be gone. I hope these words burn in you they way they’ve burned me, long and slow, until you’re left completely changed. So here we go:

I am trans. I am non-binary. I have been on testosterone for the last three and a half years. This is the first time I have publicly stated that last point. Of course this wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who actually knows me as I haven’t been shy about sharing this in my personal life. Choosing to undergo hormone therapy has been one of the best decisions of my life, right after marrying my wife and adopting my dog. I struggle to come up with an area of my life that has not been improved because of this decision. I haven’t shared about this publicly not because I’m ashamed or concerned I’ll want to “detransition” or anything like that. I haven’t shared this information because I’m afraid.

Now, it would be just as easy for me to say I haven’t shared about being on T because it’s none of the internet’s business. The fact that this information is none of the internet’s business is both true and sound justification for my actions, but it is not the reason for not sharing. I wish it were. I wish I were allowed to have privacy for privacy’s sake—especially around this issue. But, no. It’s fear. And more specifically, it’s fear of my own government that has kept me quiet.

Even when I started this journey at the end of 2021, in the Biden administration, I knew that living in Texas as an out trans person with a newly minted paper trail was a dangerous thing to do. And now it is even more so. There is at least one bill gaining traction in the Texas legislature that would charge me with a felony for identifying as trans, and several more that seek to outlaw gender affirming care for all individuals—children and adults (well, the trans ones, that is. Hair-plugs and jaw implants will still be protected for cisgender men of course). And let’s not forget how, while still under the Biden administration, the Texas Department of Child Protective Services was instructed to investigate supportive families of trans children for child abuse. What would they do if they realized that there are not just trans children, but trans parents as well? How easy would it be for them to remove me from my children? The answer is: too easy.

Hence the fear.

I don’t like that my motivation has been fear, but it is. I don’t want to be making large decisions about my life based on fear. But this fear is more real than any fear I’ve ever felt.

The question begs to be asked, though, why share this now, when undoubtedly this fear is at its highest?

Well, precisely because it’s at its highest, and I don’t want to be in this fear alone.

I can already hear would-be commenters piping up with, “Why do you stay in Texas?” “It’s much better/safer here in CA/VT/WA/CO/MI/OR/NY/MA etc. just move here!” Why don’t we just move? The short answer is: we can’t. Because of the custody arrangement my wife and her ex have with our children, we can’t change zip codes, let alone states. But the longer, more complicated, and more accurate answer is: I don’t want to. Sure, Texas’s government is a dumpster fire, but I love this place. My life is here. My community is here. I have lived here longer than any other place in my life. I have built a relationship with this land and its people. In every sense of the word, I belong here.

To suggest that someone could or should simply run away or escape to another state or country to be free from fascism makes no political sense (as fascism will surely only continue to expand if it is not fought where it lives now) but, even worse, completely disregards the value of place and our relationship to it. It is fundamentally a colonizer’s mindset that says, “This place is no different from any other in any significant way, so no one should mind being displaced or displacing themselves.” Our place has everything to do with our culture, lifestyle, and our ways of being in the world. Ignoring that fact has been a driving force in the climate crisis and has caused unspeakable harms against humanity. I have spent many years working to move myself out of that colonizer’s mindset, and I do not wish to make major life decisions from it.

Now, eventually, once our children are grown, my wife and I may choose to leave Texas. We have discussed at length the kind of life we would like to lead and there may well be other places that welcome and support said ways of life better than here. But this decision will be made in our own time, as dictated by our lives and how we want to live. It will not be taken lightly, and will not be rushed or made in fear. So, until the time is right, I’m here. In Texas. Afraid.

And this is my invitation to you: To Be Afraid With Me.

I don’t want to be in this fear alone. I don’t want to be told it’s not that bad. I don’t want to be told to uproot my family and life and flee the state or the country (because that’s reasonable advice when things “aren’t that bad,” right?!). I don’t want to be told it’ll be okay. I don’t want to be told I’m strong or resilient. I already know I am strong. I am deeply aware of how resilient I am. I share this because I want you to be here, in this fear, with me.

Throughout my life, I have deeply underestimated fear. I have considered it an emotion for the weak. People who can’t face life, or its consequences. But I have come to realize that it is not fear that makes people act cowardly, it is the inability to hold fear within themselves. This lack of capacity is what makes fear feel overwhelming, and poor decisions to be made trying to escape it. But if we can hold this fear, if we can hold ourselves while we are afraid, then we can do something different. We can face our fears, together, and watch the ghosts and ghouls disappear in the light of our connection and love.

The last several months have been a continued training camp for this kind of holding for me. Nearly every week there has been something new that warrants my fear, and the Universe has been gently asking me to hold it, and find life, joy, and connection anyway. I don’t know that I have ever felt so afraid. I don’t know that I have every felt so heartbroken. I don’t know that I have ever felt so beaten down. And yet, I am still finding joy. I am still connecting deeply with my family, friends, and community. I am finding life and love with a fierceness I’ve never felt before. AND I am still so afraid. The love and joy and connection doesn’t cancel out the fear. It doesn’t erase or cover it up. It’s still there in all its doom and gloom, and I’m holding it. But I can’t hold it alone.

This is the kind of relationship with fear and with me that I’m inviting you into. I’m asking you into this very real fear, because I don’t want to be alone in it. I’m asking you into this very real fear, because together we can truly face it. I’m asking you into this very real fear, because I believe we can build something new here. I don’t want to be in this fear alone. I hope you’ll join me.