Jessica's Story

In 2017 I had a conversation that changed my life.

It is difficult to describe my state of mind as I showed up to an Equity and Diversity workshop on a February morning. A dear friend had unexpectedly died the week prior and I was in deep - feeling all the feels. I was in pain, and my existential musings had left me examining my relationships with people.

I have a family member who is transgender. Several other family members won’t acknowledge the name this person has chosen or the pronoun this person identifies with.

I approached the speaker after the workshop to ask her some questions. I wish I could say I started the conversation by asking how to be an ally. Instead, I am embarrassed to say the conversation started with me describing how awkward my family situation was and asking for advice on how to cope so that I could feel more comfortable; I was primarily concerned about my own feelings. I had married into the family and had resolved to stay out of the family drama for fear of disapproval. I told myself it wasn’t my fight. I had believed that silently supporting transgender people was enough.

I believe people ought to be able to show up as their true selves and everyone deserves access to the same comfort of safety, respect, and opportunity regardless of gender, gender identity, and sexuality.

When I approached the speaker, I was essentially asking how I could cope with the awkwardness I was feeling. My actions in that moment and up to that moment did not align with the values that I believed I held.

She did not indulge my question. Instead, she asked me some questions that challenged my position and changed my perspective entirely. She asked me to imagine how this person feels every time the wrong name is used. Every time the wrong pronoun is used. Every time a longtime girlfriend is introduced as a friend. How uncomfortable this person must feel. And to have this coming from the people who are supposed to care for them the most - family.

And then the real kicker; she asked me, “Could you spare a little of your own comfort to be an ally?”

Absolutely. I absolutely could. It was remarkably simple and obvious. That was a powerful moment of insight. The right thing to do was actually lean into the awkwardness, to make myself uncomfortable and risk disapproval by some in order to be an ally.

Sharing this story is embarrassing. My actions weren’t in line with the values that I thought I held. I was ashamed.

I no longer question what name or pronoun to use. I no longer speak in terms that allow me to avoid using pronouns. I no longer shift the name or pronoun based on who I’m talking to. And I acknowledge I still have a long way to go to being an ally.

Using the proper name and pronoun is not big or brave. I practice courage by being vulnerable and owning this story about my missteps and processing my shame in failing to live my values. I take comfort in knowing that courage is a skill, and like any skill, we can learn, practice, and build as we go.

2017 gave me the gift of insight. 2020 gave me the gift of introspection.

Since the killing of George Floyd I’ve been thinking deeply about my values, my actions, my biases, and my blind spots related to race.

What do I value? Do my actions align with my values? What biases do I hold? What don’t I understand about Black experiences? What would I do if I were confronted with a situation that challenged me to spare my own comfort? Would I give it freely? Would I have the courage to act in a way that aligned with my values? What would I be risking, and would it be worth risking? Would I be able to look back and feel proud? Or upon reflection would I regret my reaction, or inaction?

Confronting my biases and contemplating my shame feels bad. This is awkward. This is uncomfortable. This is practice. This is growth. And I am here for it.