Newsletter

A coming-out story

How joy and support helped me find how I fit in
Rey Katz 4 min read

I appreciate you! I also appreciate my partner, friends, family, clients, and Kokikai Aikido classmates. (Some of you are reading this, hello!) You give me a lot of love and support and I couldn’t do it without you.

I want to briefly express how heartbroken I am about the recent death of Nex Benedict, a 16-year-old non-binary teen in Oklahoma. They were bullied for months, and died the night after an altercation with bullies in a school bathroom. I am so sad and angry, for Nex, and their family.

Ducks and a swan float on a pond where the clouds are reflected on the water

I’ve been practicing telling a 5-minute story, since I attended a speaker training last fall with SpeakOUT Boston, the nation’s oldest LGBTQ+ speakers bureau conducting peer-led training programs since 1972.

I’m learning to tell a coming out story, to give audiences—schools, companies, community organizations, etc—a sense of what it’s like to be LGBTQ+. Yesterday, I attended another speaker training workshop and had the opportunity to share my story with a room full of LGBTQ+ folks. It was a lovely experience to share and to hear others’ stories.

I crafted my story to be one of trans joy. You can find many trans stories that inspire rage, frustration, and grief, but I believe it’s important to realize what’s possible when trans people are loved and supported. This is not the only story I could tell, but I hope I’ve chosen a beneficial one.

Here’s my story:

I was scared to come out as trans.

I thought being trans would:

  1. Break up my relationship
  2. Be unprofessional / stigmatized at work
  3. Mean my friends and family would stop speaking to me when they realized I was trans

These fears were subconscious, ingrained in me from our culture.

So, I tried hard to fit in as a woman.

I wore dresses and makeup.

I used my old, feminine name for everything: email addresses, usernames, websites.

I attended women’s events in my industry.

On the outside, I looked like a happy, successful woman in my 20’s.

But on the inside, I felt bad.

I’m 33 years old now. I grew up in the ‘90s, with zero representation of transmasculine or non-binary people who looked like me.

I didn’t have the words or concepts to express how I felt: I was uncomfortable being a girl.

One swan hisses, mouth open, as they swim towards the dock. Another swan and some ducks look on
If this picture had sound, it would be, “HISSSSSSSS.” And no, we did not provoke these large swans, other than sitting on the dock near them.

The first time I met a trans man, in my 20’s, he looked so masculine to me that I assumed I could never change my name and appearance like he had.

When I met a non-binary person who wore dresses and makeup sometimes like I did, they blew my mind. We became friends. I saw myself in their fashion choices but also in their discomfort if someone referred to them as “she” or “a woman,” which was wrong.

I started trying on new clothes and new names to try to find a better fit.

But I was worried what my transness would mean in my relationship with my partner. We had been in a close relationship for a few years.

I tried to warn him, “Something is wrong with my gender,” but I didn’t know how to explain any further at the time.

Two swans swim slowly away together from the dock

One day, my partner asked me what I see when I look in the mirror: what identities are important to me.

I answered honestly, “When I look in the mirror, I see myself as male. I see a men’s haircut, even though it’s not. [I had longer hair back then.] I see a version of myself no one else sees.”

My partner was not angry or upset. He was curious.

He asked, “What does that mean, you see yourself as male?”

I said, “I don’t want to change my body, but I don’t think I can pass as a guy.”

He asked, “How about with a beard?”

I laughed, because growing facial hair was so far outside anything I had considered. But I felt a big relief at my partner’s open curiosity and support.

The next time we went to the beach together, instead of wearing a bikini I wore a binder (like a tight tank top) and swim trunks.

My partner looked at me and said, “Wow, you look so hot!”

I felt very happy—loved and supported—and more comfortable in my own skin.

Free to expand into a self that fit me better.

I chose a new, gender-neutral name: Rey.

I actually came out at work with my new name and identity before I came out to a lot of my friends and family, but that’s another story.

Ducks and two swans float on a pond with ice nearby and clouds reflected
Decorative yellow, purple, white, and black hearts

Thanks so much for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments.

We Shine Consulting. Let's Grow Your Business. Digital marketing strategy and Salesforce Consulting.

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Take care,

Rey

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