It's Pride Month again. Protect trans people.
A rerun about protection and family at a dark time
Last year around this time, I published a post exploring my own journey from Intensely Shy Shieldmaiden to Gay Best Friend to Actually, I’m Bisexual, Who Would Have Guessed, and my place in the vast and expanding community of the magnificently queer. I’m reposting it below, but it feels important, too, that I comment on the current state of things in the LBGTQIA+ world that don’t directly affect me.
It was already true last year, more than true, that trans and gender non-conforming people were in grave danger in this country, and that danger has only intensified from that Pride to this.
Even as a therapist who sees trans and nonbinary clients, I sometimes despair as to what I can do to help, when states start passing laws that allow doctors to refuse life-saving care, that stop the supply of gender-affirming medications, that make being trans or gender non-conforming near a minor a crime, and then make such crimes punishable with the death penalty.
I’m choosing not to link sources for all of this right now because it’s very easy to find this information, and because I’ve (almost) learned after the past seven years that tapping into the hate faucet that is the internet does nothing for my effectiveness in helping people, nor for my mental health. But as my philosophy has been for some time, I’m hoping to help folks in an immediate, one-to-one way, as I am able.
Still, it hurts when I see friends and people in my broader circle suffering and terrified over who they are, having their rights systematically stripped in many places, and having a harder and harder time finding joy, connection, and acceptance. It’s near-impossible to organize and fight against the encroaching dark when fear for your very survival has you curled into a ball, waiting for the next boot to hit.
I feel like I need, once again, to be that protector. The tall awkward girl in 11th grade, who thought she was straight but let the bullies say she was queer if it would deflect attention from the visibly gay kid she loved. I’m still figuring out what that means, practically speaking. I want to be doing it more.
But for the moment, please know that if you’re in trouble, I’m someone you can ask for help. And as time goes on, I’m going to try and make that help bigger.
As people wiser than I have been saying since at least 2016: if you’ve ever wondered what you would do if you’d been there when the Holocaust started, you’re doing it right now. What ideas do you have, gentle readers, about helping moment to moment?