By Dash Lemons

I’ve had the experience of coming out twice, and both were vastly different. The first time, I was 19 and living in Boise, Idaho. I wanted to come out in high school, but never felt safe enough to do so. Homophobia was everywhere, and I didn’t have the language or community I needed.

Even though I’d known I was Trans for as long as I could remember, I first came out as a Lesbian. It felt easier to navigate at the time. I didn’t have access to positive Trans representation, and most of what I knew came from the movie “Boys Don’t Cry.” If you know that film, you can probably understand why I hesitated.

When I finally came out, the reactions were mixed but mostly kind and supportive.  My family said they already knew; I’d been asked if I was Gay since I was a kid.  My friends who didn’t know were generally receptive, though there were still moments of ignorance. The homophobia I experienced mostly came from men who believed my identity could be fixed with the right man.

I was comfortable enough to live that way until I turned 30. Honestly, one of the biggest reasons it took me so long to come out as Trans was The L Word. The representation of Max on that TV show had a real impact on me because the creators made it seem like taking testosterone turned people into someone who would be angry or cruel, when that isn’t the case.

I loved women deeply and held such reverence for them. It made me feel like coming out as Trans would somehow betray them, or the community that had made me feel safe for so long.

After a painful divorce and moving back home to Seattle with my family, I was left sitting with myself. I had to take a hard look at myself, and I realized I couldn’t live in the way I had been anymore. When I finally came out, it felt like I was returning to myself rather than becoming someone new. But that’s not how the people in my life saw it. 

Many who were supportive of me the first time around were not supportive when I came out as Trans, or they had to warm up to my new identity. And this time, no one said they knew. I was met with a lot of confusion. I lost a few friends and the support of family members I was very close to. People acted like I wasn’t myself or that I had died, which was very painful, given that this was the most alive I had ever felt in my entire life. 

To this day, my family still struggles with my pronouns and just the concept of who I am. 

When I came out in 2020, it felt like the world was becoming more accepting. But as Trans people have become scapegoats for the political right, it’s grown increasingly frightening to be out and visible.

Trans representation matters now more than ever— it’s lifesaving. It isn’t about trying to make anyone Trans; It’s about giving Trans kids the chance to see a future for themselves, to grow up into trans adults who feel safe and loved.

I wish I’d had even half the resources and visibility that exist today, without the surge of bigotry and ignorance that’s followed in recent years. I hope my story reminds someone that they’re not alone, and that they have the right to exist exactly as they are.

Coming out stories matter. Honest information matters. They save lives. Every time we tell the truth about who we are, it makes the world a little safer for someone else to do the same.

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