Copyright Image: Chrisjo

Transgender Day of Visibility is on Monday, and I’m disheartened when I hear hostile conversations about the trans community. I’m not trans or nonbinary, so I’ll never fully grasp what that experience must be like, but I’ve been fortunate to walk alongside friends on their journeys; many of them I met long before they transitioned. Getting to witness them discover their truth, and seeing the courage they express, has profoundly shaped the way I see the world.

Every trans (or nonbinary) person I know has a unique story. For some, their awareness began as early as childhood. They knew immediately that there was a deep disconnect between the gender they were assigned and the one they knew themselves to be. For others, it emerged in adolescence or adulthood. Some spent years searching for language to name an experience they had always felt but couldn’t articulate until they finally found it, or they met someone else who was living boldly. Some explored different names and pronouns, trying them out like puzzle pieces to see what fit, while others didn’t change their name at all. Every journey is different.

When I was growing up in Florida, I also had a very particular idea of who I was supposed to be – an image shaped by my family, my church, and my culture. When I had questions, I pushed them down in my desire to be good – a good daughter, a good Catholic, and a good person to those around me. I wanted to belong, and for a long time, I believed that belonging meant fitting into the roles that were laid out for me.

In college, my questions became harder to ignore. I started feeling the weight of living a life that didn’t fully align with my inner experience. Yet, I still tried to shape my life according to external expectations rather than my own truth out of fear of abandonment from my community, and from God. That kind of dissonance takes a toll, and for a while, I numbed it with alcohol.

One of the only people I trusted at that time was a professor of mine. He is a former Catholic monk who was different from any other Catholic I had ever met. Rather than lead with teachings, he led with his heart. I shared my struggles, my doubts, and my questions, and he met me with compassionate presence. He never told me what I should do or should believe, nor did he try to “fix” me. What he did do was encourage me to sit in the discomfort of the unknown, let go of my need for control, and trust that things would unfold in their own time. He also knew I loved theology and offered to write a recommendation letter for me to study at the Franciscan School in Berkeley. That opportunity changed everything. Meeting people who lived differently from the world I knew allowed me to see parts of myself that I didn’t realize were waiting to be seen. My life path changed directions in ways I didn’t expect.

To me, this is part of what it means to evolve – not just to change, but to come home to ourselves by growing into greater authenticity and love. Everyone is a mirror – sometimes that mirror is more surface level when we connect with people over what we have in common. While others draw out the deepest parts of who we are. The better we know ourselves, the better we can show up for others in a compassionate way. When we deny our experiences to fulfill who we think we should be, the truth we try to hold back eventually spills out sideways. Sometimes we inherit toxic behaviors that run in our family, like substance abuse. Sometimes the truth abruptly finds a way out later in life – like we’ve spent years trying to hold a beach ball underwater. Eventually we run out of strength.

The journey of coming home to ourselves often isn’t an easy one. It requires questions, possibly doubts, maybe even heartache. I think that’s why the symbolism of a butterfly’s transformation can feel so resonant. When a caterpillar reaches the cocoon stage it completely turns into mush. And when we truly question who we are, it can make the pillars of our identity feel like they’re turning into mush too. But with patience and being true, we eventually emerge. The essence of who the butterfly was never changes, although what others see might look different. Our stories invite us to grow in compassion so that we can extend it towards others on their own journey. For me, it helped enormously to meet other Catholics who were doing their own questioning, yet the core of their faith stayed intact. Because of this, I never felt like I needed to choose between being true to myself or my faith. There are just some aspects about my faith that I don’t hold as tightly as I used to, and others that mean all the more to me – such as Jesus’ compassion towards others.

When it comes to my trans friends, I’ve also witnessed them sit in their discomfort as they reflected on what their experience meant to them. I’ve also seen them carefully navigate how and when they would share their truth with loved ones, knowing what might be at stake. But there is a beauty in the unfolding. I saw excitement when they wore the clothes that felt right, like I do. I saw affirmation when they heard their chosen name and pronouns spoken by those around them. I saw peace when they were at home in their bodies. There was always intention – this is their one and only life too. I still see how being true to themselves brings out the best of who they are.

The trans community’s courage and commitment to truth shows me what it means to live with integrity. At our core, we are love. Love calls us to evolve – not away from ourselves, but ever more deeply into who we truly are. I think the most beautiful part is that this journey never ends.