Joy and Grief Walk Hand in Hand on Trans Day of Remembrance
Reflections on the weight of today, and a piece of my own personal story.
One quick reminder before we jump in: tomorrow evening, I'll be hosting a free live event via zoom called "Home for the Holidays" for LGBTQ+ folks and allies looking for additional tools for support and sanity at upcoming family gatherings. I'd love to see you there! Here is the link to RSVP.
As you've likely heard, today is Trans Day of Remembrance; a deeply somber day for the transgender community to reflect on those we've lost to many forms of violence.
This year, we are mourning the loss of at least 30 trans folks from around the country to anti-trans violence, many of whom are Black trans women or other trans women of color. While their families, their communities, and their local media outlets may not give them the respect they deserve in death by using the correct name and pronouns, our community gathers today to hold each other close, read their names, remember their stories, and hope that there will be far fewer names to read next year.
Out of trans day of remembrance came one of the most beautiful slogans in the movement for trans rights: GIve us our roses while we're still here. The slogan was created by Black transgender artist B. Parker.
Rather than just waiting to mourn people dying largely preventable deaths and then memorializing their beauty and their contributions, we should take every available opportunity to celebrate, uplift, and protect the beauty of trans and nonbinary people while we are still alive. Further, we should work to build a world where our chief concern isn't whether we'll make it to next year.
There will always be a place for trans day of remembrance, and true joy must coexist with pain and grief, otherwise it's just blissful ignorance. But in doing the work I do and fighting to build the word I want to see, I dream of a future where TDoR looks a bit different. I dream of a trans day of remembrance that focuses on honoring our trans elders and their contributions rather than needing grieve our trans youth and the futures they didn't get to see. Where honoring someone's memory doesn't have to come hand in hand with fear. I am steadfastly optimistic that we will continue pushing forward towards that world.
My own personal TDOR story
Heads up: the rest of this piece will focus on my own experiences with suicide. While it's always important to push the boundaries of our comfort zones to move towards growth, we cannot and should not do that at the cost of our safety or wellbeing. Engage in whatever way feels right for you.
Around this time of year, I spend quite a bit of time reflecting. In a different world, I could've been another name read off at a community vigil—a young life cut short too soon. Nine years ago (on November 15th, to be exact), I was a depressed, petrified trans kid. I had hardly come out to anyone, and I felt completely isolated. I didn't know whether anyone was going to accept me, and it felt wholly unrealistic to imagine any kind of a future for myself.
So I called my best friend, one of the few people who knew who I truly was, and told him that I didn't want to be alive anymore. I was scared. In his infinite wisdom, he called my parents despite my inevitable rage at his betrayal of my trust. I'm so, so fortunate he did it anyways. My parents brought me to the hospital late that night to get more of the resources I needed, and I was brought to a small room to await a doctor.
Eventually, they came in to ask me what'd been going on. I explained that I was transgender and terrified and didn't think anyone would ever support me and I just couldn't do it anymore. The doctor thanked me for my honesty, took a few notes, and left. After a moment, a cool-seeming young man in a leather jacket came into my room. He smiled at me, and he said "hey, I heard what you said, and I just wanted to let you know that as long as you stay true to who you are, everything is going to be alright for you in the end."
He left after that, and I never learned anything about him. But I hold that moment deep in my heart as one of my most important, life-defining memories. I took that moment to be a sign from the universe: you're on your second chance now, buddy. You got lucky, so what are you going to do about it? I decided that I would try to live my life as authentically and joyfully as possible, because I was so fortunate to get another try. I had found my "why", even if I was years away from finding my "how". A year later, I came out to all my peers at school—many of whom waited for me with open arms.
"Better" is not a finish line that you cross when everything is perfect from here on out. "Better" is not a linear, easily explainable increase in quality of life. Sometimes the room is far, far too dark to see any glimpses of "better". Sometimes things get worse before "better" arrives. But when we say "It gets better", we mean it. When I say "better", I mean that a scared 15 year old trans kid wondering if anyone would ever bother to call him Ben wouldn't believe a single fact about my life today. Not the work that I do, not the woman that I married, nor the book that I wrote, nor the community I built.
It won't always be easy, it won't always feel good, but the world trends up. Even if you don't quite believe me that better is possible, stick around to be able to surprise yourself, at least for a little longer.
Thank you all for being here with me. Thank you for the kind words you continue to send me, for the stories you share about the ways my stories have impacted your life, for the joy you bring to me. You all make my world better every day, and for that I am eternally grateful.
With all the love in my heart,
Ben