A Reflection: 2 Years After Coming Out as Transgender
By: Nia Chiaramonte
Tags: LGBTQ, Gender Identity, Family, Transgender, Coming Out

A Reflection: 2 Years After Coming Out as Transgender

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

Two years ago today, my life forked. I’m not sure if the path I took was meant to be taken on that specific day at that specific moment in time, but it happened. It wasn’t how I envisioned coming out as a transgender woman. That vision involved a wonderfully thought out elucidation of who I was, along with immediate support from my family. And while I did write a letter that I thought was very clear, it was spur-of-the-moment, moved forward by my disappointment in the way our country, specifically our leaders were treating us (just google Trump, October 22, 2018, and Transgender). And by us, I mean trans individuals.

Except before that moment, I hadn’t said I was a trans individual and didn’t feel like I could speak up about what was happening honestly and genuinely. So I came out. Not planned, not eloquent, but out of necessity. The pressure had built and the valve blew. I came out to my immediate family that day in an email, and my life changed forever.

“Losing family and losing friends is never easy. And leaving the church after 35 years was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made.”

The last 2 years have not been what I would classify as a breeze. (See my article titled Buried Alive: Digging Up My Gender Identity). In fact, 2020 has been much better than 2019 if you can believe that. Even amidst a global pandemic with everything in our world seemingly (sometimes literally) on fire, it has been a much calmer year for me personally. Because the end of 2018 and 2019 were rough.

Losing family and losing friends is never easy. And leaving the church after 35 years was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. And as an LGBTQIA+ individual, when relationships disintegrate, sometimes because you are holding the simplest of boundaries (such as “call me by my name”), you are the one who gets the blame.

You are the one who doesn’t get invited over for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

You are the one who isn’t allowed to see your nieces anymore. You are the one labeled a troublemaker. You are the one who’s labeled as lacking love and lacking grace.

Not owning those labels that other people have given me has taken time (and the occasional tattoo) to remind me every day that it isn’t mine to bear. It’s taken time to understand that I am an individual human being, differentiated from my family and those closest to me. And while someone might not agree with who I am (if that’s even something that can be done), I don’t have to bear the blame and the burden for the broken relationship.

All I can do is try to get better, try to understand myself more fully each day that I’m alive. And with everything that has gone on both personally and in our world in the last 2 years, I realize that being fully alive is a gift. Being fully present and fully myself is not something that I will take for granted. I am so grateful for those who have come around me and lifted me up in the last 2 years.

As a transgender person, having people around you who love you for who you are, fully, is such an important thing. To those people I say thank you. And because of that support, my wife and I are able to support others on similar journeys. We recently started a website called Love in the Face, where transgender and LGBTQIA+ individuals have access to free mentoring and support (including support in faith communities and workplaces), in the hope that no one will have to go through this alone.

You don’t have to be alone on Thanksgiving and Christmas. We are here for you and will be there with you.

And to the family and friends who I love, who I wish could see me and be in relationship with me as I am, I say: I am here. I know it’s been hard for you as well, but I love you, and I am here when you’re ready. I hope to see you again someday.

So today, I celebrate and I mourn.

I stop and reflect on all that was over the past 2 years, and I value it all. I include it all and I move forward. Because acknowledging that I’m sad and happy at the same time on this day isn’t an impossible juxtaposition; it makes me remember I’m alive. And that’s what truly matters.