It’s difficult to come to the realization you haven’t been living in a way that’s authentic to who you are. There are many aspects of our lives and our identities where we don’t get to make choices, but we do get the opportunity to choose to embrace who we are. Over the last 6 months, I’ve realized how extremely grateful and lucky I am to be able to exist in the world in a way that brings me joy. The part of myself that I was so afraid to share with the world has become one of my greatest assets, and an identity I feel empowered to embrace.
My name is Domenique, my pronouns are she/her, and I am undoubtedly a woman. And I always have been whether I recognized it or not. And I’m no longer afraid of that truth.
If you’re someone like me, or you’re someone that’s questioned your gender identity, you may have done what I did prior to my “egg” cracking. Countless google searches for information, lurking on trans reddit forums, and reading stories and personal narratives about people that have transitioned or have explored the space beyond the gender binary. My experience isn’t a unique one — In 2023, there’s no shortage of personal narratives from other trans people that have taken the brave, terrifying, joyful, deeply personal, and immensely rewarding step of choosing to live as their authentic selves. And it’s important that all of these stories are told. November 13–19 is Trans Awareness Week, and having the opportunity to share our stories and our experiences is incredibly important. I can’t express how important having access to these stories was as part of my process, having the ability to resonate with similar experiences, and to have feelings that I’ve held so much shame around — be validated by people who felt the same way I did. Sharing our stories — and being vulnerable — also puts us at risk. Especially when violence against Trans people is connected to dehumanizing them, in a year where 25 Trans + nonbinary people were murdered. It’s a lot easier to be afraid of something you don’t know or understand.
Transitioning has been by no means a panacea for all the challenges in my life, but it’s a lot easier to start addressing them starting from a foundation built on an authentic sense of self. I hope by sharing some of my thoughts on coming out and the early stages of my transition, someone who’s felt similar to the way I did can connect with my experience, or that I can provide information to anyone that’s genuinely trying to learn more about trans experiences. And provide context to the people who have been in my life that are seeking to understand.
On some level, I knew there was something different about me from a young age. I could never put my finger on it — it was never obvious or easy to define. I always struggled with self-confidence, making and sustaining social connections and feeling like I fit in as part of a community. Nothing ever felt quite right, but there was never anything surface level to explain why I was feeling this way. I really liked the matrix movies as a kid — initially for the action scenes and the cool industrial-dystopic aesthetic. As I’ve grown older and come out to myself I realize there was something else there. I didn’t have the tools or the information necessary to make sense of it until later in life, but Morpheus sums up the experience quite succinctly:
It turns out many other trans people had a similar relationship to this movie as well. The Wachowski sisters eventually transitioned after the release of the original three movies, and have since shared how the movies represent their own experiences pre-transition. Neo’s journey to choose the red pill and go further down the rabbit hole serves as a metaphor for choosing to pursue a path of greater resistance — because you ultimately come to realize you have to. There is no choice between blissful ignorance and going deeper down the rabbit hole once you know the rabbit hole exists. The gender binary is one of the prevailing assumptions that our systems and our society is built upon, and it becomes harder and harder to challenge how you’ve defined yourself under these systems the longer you’ve lived without questioning it. I didn’t do the necessary work of self-reflection and asking myself what was really going on until after I turned 30, but as I reflect back, the signs were there all along. It’s oddly affirming to go back and notice what I didn’t recognize in the moment, and the things I unwittingly gravitated towards now that I‘ve come to terms with who I am. Here’s a very small sample:
- The curious and attentive way I watched gender swap / body swap cartoons and movies as a kid (think The Hot Chick, She’s the Man, Freaky Friday, and of course, anytime Bugs Bunny dressed up like a girl).
- My mother noting how much I enjoyed going shopping with her when I was a kid, my general interest in fashion, the desire to grow my hair long and dye it, and getting my ears pierced as a 10 year old.
- My secret love for pop music (that started in childhood with Christina Aguilera’s debut album in 1999) that I was too embarrassed to share with anyone. And how I’ve leaned in to dancing and singing to Taylor Swift and Ariana Grande in my living room while I do my makeup now that I’m not holding anything back.
- My childhood obsession with mermaids I told no one about.
- Being drawn to electronic music and DJing in my early 20’s, and realizing how common it can be to run into a trans woman that’s a DJ. Is it a coincidence that one of the pioneers of electronic music and designers of synthesizers is a trans woman?
- Spending so much of my life wondering why it was so hard to make friendships and connect with people, then realizing how easy it really is when you’re being true to yourself.
I remember wanting to interact and be friends with other girls in my class when I was a kid, and I didn’t know how to verbalize that feeling so I did my best to fit in with the boys and adopt hobbies and interests that were socially validated and acceptable for me. I wasn’t always conscious of insecurities with my body, and found myself overeating and gaining weight as an adolescent as a subconscious trauma response, and often wore hoodies and baggy clothing so I could blend into the background, rather than stand out or be seen. It wasn’t until I came to terms with the fact that I was a woman, stepped out into the world as myself, and approached social relationships from an authentic gender identity that it became obvious to me why I struggled so much with social interaction. Now looking back on it, of course things felt off! I was approaching connection and entering community from an inauthentic standpoint. I felt like I had to deprioritize who I was in order to fit into the roles and expectations that society had placed on me based on my gender assigned at birth. I’ve learned what authentic female friendships look like, how women stand up for each other and provide support, and what it feels like to be accepted in community based on who you are and not who you are trying to be. I’ve gotten to experience all the ways femmes complement each other’s sense of fashion and style, how euphoria inducing it is to find a dress you feel cute and confident in, and realizing how right it feels to be a part of a world you never allowed yourself to have access to.
As a kid I remember the days I would fake being sick so I could stay home from school because I fundamentally felt uncomfortable and felt like I didn’t fit in. I would watch daytime TV and there were old re-runs of Jerry Springer that were played in the mornings. There were so many episodes where trans women were depicted through a shameful lens, void of dignity and basic human decency, and placed on a stage as an object of spectacle. And as a young preteen who was still trying to find themselves, if there was any doubt or question about the feelings I never had the courage to talk with anyone about, the message became clear: don’t you dare share these feelings with anyone. People will think you are a freak, and you can’t ever let anyone know about this if you want to be accepted by others. I internalized this message so concretely, and it was validated by a void of positive trans representation in my world. I had never actually met or seen a transgender person growing up in a majority conservative suburban neighborhood in the outskirts of Denver, which validated and reinforced this core belief for me. I remember having dreams wishing that in the future right before I died, I’d get the opportunity to live another life as a woman. Almost like a trans variation of the Black Mirror episode San Junipero, where there’s a retirement community where people live out their lives as young people before they die. It’s deeply sad that I was too ashamed to think I deserved to exist as myself, and I’m incredibly grateful that I get another shot to live authentically in this lifetime.
It wasn’t until I stepped out in the world for the first time and started interacting with people that I learned the lesson I needed to learn — I’m valid and worthy of love, simply because I exist. No other qualification needs to be added to that statement. Within the first couple weeks of accepting that I wanted to transition, I worked up the courage to attend a local support group and walked into a room full of people like me for the first time. I immediately recognized these were the people I’ve been looking for my whole life, and I felt immediately accepted in a way I never had before. Someone in the room said to me: "If you feel like you belong here, you belong here.” And it felt great to receive that unconditional invitation without prerequisite. We have to prove our worth so often, and it feels incredible to have my queerness validated solely on the basis of self-assignment. Conversations felt effortless, and I felt like I could relate with people on a deep level and connect over aspects of my personality that I’ve never given myself the opportunity to share with people before. Because no one really understands you like someone who’s gone through a similar experience. In a relatively short period of time, I’ve met many amazing, resilient, supportive and empowered women in the trans community, and have formed some of the most real, authentic friendships in my lifetime. I’ve seen firsthand how incredibly important it is to empower trans women to be themselves and live their lives authentically, and to eliminate as many barriers as possible that prevent it. It’s lifesaving. Trans people are special. They’re inherently agents of change — people who represent and embody the inevitable transformation(s) we all go through in life. People who had the courage to take the steps to evolve into the next iteration of themselves. I’m incredibly proud and honored to be a part of this community.
As someone who works as a City Planner, my background trained me to think about design and our environments on a daily basis. How do design requirements and regulations influence the way our community looks and functions? Are there streetlights, meaningful wayfinding signage, trees providing shade, and other elements that make spaces inviting and comfortable to be in? What materials are the building made of, how are the buildings designed, and what goes into making a project viable? Many of the policies that shape our cities directly or indirectly influence our experience when we walk out our front door, whether we recognize it or not. Many of them also unknowingly overemphasize cisgender and straight identities while deprioritizing queer people, because these voices historically weren’t in the room during decision making process. Many other structures in our society exclude through policies that assume heteronormative family and relationship structures as the only definition of normal. They indirectly (and sometimes directly) erase queer people from public life and create an urban landscape that reinforces the desires of people who have privilege and access to power. Going about the world as a gender nonconforming person, this fact becomes much more apparent when you start entering less welcoming spaces and get uncomfortable stares, experience microaggressions, get verbally harassed, or are told directly and indirectly that the system can’t help you. Coming out as Trans as a practicing planner has further emphasized for me how important it is to center the voices of those who have historically been overlooked, marginalized, and underserved. This requires challenging traditional power dynamics, engaging with communities directly and listening to their stories, and involving them in decision making processes. We can work to challenge existing inequalities, or continue to perpetuate them. Working to creating spaces that celebrate diversity and inclusivity isn’t just a matter of social responsibility, but a fundamental step towards the types of communities people are proud to call home and feel comfortable existing in.
As I’ve gone back and reflected on my experiences, I realize that I’ve always had some understanding that I was born into a world that was actively designed to minimize the existence of people similar to me. Every transfeminine person that I’ve gotten to know since starting my transition has shared the experience of having to prove and advocate for their identity in a world that’s filled with societal norms, expectations and unwritten rules that actively reinforce a gender binary. We still fundamentally live in a cisgender world, and while societal attitudes have recently started shifting, that increased exposure has also put us at greater risk and has many of us worried for our physical safety and basic rights. We’ve lived in a society that for the vast majority of time being cisgender was the assumptive norm and an insurmountable level of proof as a trans person was required to advocate for your own existence and convince others that your identity and experience is real. Whether it’s grappling with a legacy of gatekeeping in the medical community denying access to gender affirming care, or lawmakers developing legislation targeted to deny trans people of their humanity and limit agency to make choices for themselves, there’s still much progress that needs to be made to address this legacy, and for us to be fully accepted and integrated as a part of society.
Going against the gender binary and taking the step to truly exist as yourself comes with a cost. Many people in the trans community I’ve met have had to give up something significant to be who they were — whether that was relationships, family, privilege, a sense of security and safety, or all of the above. The inability for me to accept who I was, ignoring the signs and choosing not to engage with my emotions delayed the iterative and necessary journey of self-discovery I needed to gain clarity, leading to the end of my marriage. Unfortunately this isn’t an uncommon set of circumstances, and many partnerships and marriages fail when a transition is involved. Anecdotally, a majority of the trans women that I have had the opportunity to meet have gone through a similar experience. I couldn’t be honest with who I was, and in turn I wasn’t able to be honest with the person I vowed to spend the rest of my life with about how I felt, and who I eventually realized I needed to become. If I would have had the courage to pursue an approach that gave the proper time and patience needed to absorb the amount of change that transition demands, things could have been addressed from a place of love, understanding, and acceptance. At the end of the day, I’m accountable for taking ownership of the choices I didn’t make. I have to take responsibility for the conversations I was too scared to have, the decisions I put off, and the impact that those choices had on the people that I loved and embraced as family.
I have a significant amount of privilege to be able to step into my transition under the circumstances and the resources I did — in a relatively safe and accepting environment in Portland (which is unofficially serving as a safe haven for the trans community), and at a time where greater societal awareness of gender diversity and acceptance of trans people is increasing. I’m privileged to feel safe enough to come out at this point in time, because of the trans and nonbinary people before me that were brave enough to advocate for who they were. The people that made the choice to fight for a more equitable world, where people can live according to their true identity without fear of judgment. The “trend” of more and more trans people continuing to step out and start living their lives is only going to increase. Trans people have always existed, and we will continue existing — hopefully in a more equitable and inclusive world. We once lived in a world where people were stigmatized for being left-handed, and society eventually got over it.
Over the last 6 months, I’ve realized one of the most important obligations I have is to simply exist and be seen in the world. To be visible. Having impromptu conversations with random people you meet at the grocery store or a coffee shop. Being out in the workplace, existing as somebody’s coworker and being a familiar face in the office, and operating as part of a cohesive team. Being out in community making authentic friendships and connections. To actively work towards increasing the percentage of people that personally know a transgender person. To show people that our existence isn’t something to be afraid of. And to be the example that I didn’t have the opportunity to meet as a child. I wish I could go back and time and tell her things were going to work out for the best. It’s been amazing to see how accepting, inclusive, and receptive people can be, and to be treated like a regular person — when I convinced myself over and over that I wouldn’t be.
I’m incredibly proud of who I am, and proud to be one of many women who have stepped out of the shadows and made the choice to be visible — in a world where too many people still want us to remain invisible. And I’m forever grateful and thankful to the people in my life that were there and still are there for me as I go through this process.
* If you made it this far, thank you for being invested enough to hear what I have to say.*
Thank You’s
EB— Thank you for being my friend without judgement. For listening and being there and leaning harder into support when I was at my lowest point, and demonstrating what unconditional friendship looks like. For treating me like family, celebrating in my joys, and being there during my lows. For someone who I know will support me and will tell me how it really is. And for being a throughline in my life at a point of massive upheaval and change.
SC — Thank you for being my teacher, and for stepping into the role as a supportive friend and a guide at one of my most vulnerable points. I will always be grateful for your friendship, mentorship, and guidance. Thank you for opening up to me and sharing your story and experiences. I’m grateful to have someone like you to relate to, and to be able to support one another.
AA — Thank you for demonstrating what it’s like to value living in the moment each day. For living like you don’t know if there will be a tomorrow, and approaching life with curiosity and a “beginner’s mindset”. Thank you for bringing skating back into my life, for being a free spirit, for igniting creativity, and for all that you taught me. Thank you for being someone I can relate to in our simultaneous healing processes, and for not being afraid to confront the darkness to shine through in your light.
RK — Thank you for being an example of what leadership looks like. What it means to center authentic relationships, put people first and take chances on people. Thank you for trusting and empowering me on the days I didn’t feel like I could show up. And thank you for treating me as a person first, taking initiative to make me feel included in the workplace, and for continuing to support me like nothing had changed when literally everything had changed.
MF — Thank you for coming back into my life, at a time where we could both provide support each other through our shared experiences. Thank you for leaning in harder to our friendship when I had the vulnerability to show you who I really was. Thank you for showing up for me authentically as yourself as you always have, for teaching me about what it means to be a part of sisterhood, and for our never-ending chain of voice messages.
KS — Thank you for being a part of my life and being someone that I’m going through all the ups and downs with on a daily basis. I’m constantly amazed how quickly we’ve built a genuine connection and friendship, and are able to open up to one another. Thank you for being someone that I can confide with in my neurodiversity, and be open with about how I’m feeling and what I’m thinking without judgement. It's wonderful to have a friend that has a similar brain as yours.
SS — I know how much pain and heartbreak I caused. As difficult as I made things, I will be forever grateful to you for bringing me to the point where I could figure out who I am, being an example and a role model to me, and facilitating my existence in the world, when I so strongly resisted it. For demonstrating the importance of habits, structure, routine, and accountability to yourself and others. I owe you thanks more than anyone. I will never be able to repay what you gave to me, or how much I took from you that I can never give back.
Mom and Dad — It’s not your fault. You did the best you could with the information you had, and there’s no point in wondering “what if” or assigning blame. Thank you for committing to learning and understanding, and for the initial progress and effort I’ve seen you both make. I know things will take time. Thank you for recognizing your mistakes, and working to undo the assumptions you’ve held. Thank you for showing me love and continuing to be invested in my health and well-being, and realizing this wasn’t worth losing me over. I love you both so much.
The Trans Community — Thank you for existing, and providing the resources and opportunities for connection, information, friendship, support, and acceptance. The ability for us to connect, organize and empower one another is important now more than ever. It’s lifesaving.
