Content Note: This post discusses anti-trans discrimination, legislation, and violence, as well as stories of resilience and love.

When I think about courage, I think about my sister Desiree. Long before Transgender Awareness Week became a trending hashtag or a moment on the calendar, she was living the kind of truth that most people only talk about in theory. She came out to me not with fanfare or dramatic declarations, but with the quiet steadiness of someone who had already survived every battle that mattered. I remember the way she said, “I just wanted to live a life where my reflection finally matched my soul.” Those words were not just about transition. They were about liberation. About choosing authenticity over approval. About living despite fear, not in its absence.

Desiree taught me that visibility is not a privilege—it is a risk. Each time she walked into a room, each time she used her real name on a form, each time she corrected someone who misgendered her, she was taking a risk that most of us never have to imagine. Yet her grace in doing so transformed my understanding of what it means to live freely. Watching her find her way in a world that too often punishes difference reshaped how I see identity, family, and faith.

Transgender Awareness Week 2025 is more than a period of recognition. For me, it is an act of remembrance, education, and resistance. It is a week where we celebrate the living and honor the lost, where we recommit to the unfinished work of equality. It is a moment when personal and political overlap so completely that the line between them disappears.

The history of Transgender Awareness Week itself is relatively recent. It grew from community-led efforts in the 1990s to bring visibility to transgender people, culminating each year with the Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDOR) on November 20, founded by activist Gwendolyn Ann Smith in 1999 to honor Rita Hester, a Black transgender woman murdered in Massachusetts (GLAAD, 2024). Over time, what began as memorial observances evolved into a week dedicated to education, advocacy, and empowerment. Today, organizations like the Human Rights Campaign, GLAAD, and the National Center for Transgender Equality (NCTE) coordinate national awareness campaigns that highlight the lives, challenges, and triumphs of transgender people across the United States.

For those of us who have watched loved ones walk through transition, this week carries a special kind of weight. It is not theoretical. It is not abstract policy. It is family. It is the memory of late-night phone calls, of whispered prayers, of unlearning old habits and prejudices that we did not even realize we carried. It is the reminder that progress does not happen in speeches but in living rooms, in conversations where we choose to listen rather than debate, and in small acts of daily respect.

Growing up, Desiree and I were taught that faith was about love, yet for a long time that message was distorted by dogma. When she began her transition, some family members stopped speaking to her. Church pews that once felt like sanctuaries became places of exile. I struggled to reconcile the faith we had been raised in with the cruelty masquerading as righteousness. Eventually, I realized that it was not God who had turned away—it was people. The problem was not faith itself but how people used it as a weapon rather than a guide. Watching Desiree rebuild her sense of spiritual belonging helped me reclaim my own. Today, she leads an affirming Bible study group at a community center. Every time she tells me about it, I think about how faith, when stripped of judgment, becomes an act of radical love.

The cultural and political climate of 2025 has made that kind of love more essential than ever. Across the United States, more than 400 anti-LGBTQ+ bills were introduced this year alone, with a large percentage specifically targeting transgender people and youth (ACLU, 2025). In Florida, legislation continues to restrict access to gender-affirming care, with harsh penalties for healthcare providers who support trans minors. In Texas, state leaders have pursued investigations against parents who affirm their children’s gender identity, equating support with “child abuse.” Meanwhile, school boards across the country are banning inclusive books, silencing trans authors, and enforcing policies that prevent students from using bathrooms that align with their gender identity.

These are not just political maneuvers—they are acts of violence disguised as governance. They send a message to every transgender person that their existence is a problem to be legislated out of sight. I have watched Desiree face that message every day and respond with something stronger than outrage: endurance. She once told me, “They can try to erase me on paper, but they cannot erase the fact that I exist.”

Her resilience is not isolated. It mirrors the spirit of countless transgender Americans who have built community under pressure. From the Stonewall Riots of 1969, where trans women of color like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera stood at the front lines of resistance (Duberman, 2019), to modern-day leaders such as Raquel Willis and Bamby Salcedo, the transgender community has consistently fought for visibility in the face of systemic erasure. Each generation has carried the torch a little further, forcing the nation to confront its contradictions.

Education remains one of the most powerful tools for change. Transgender Awareness Week invites schools, workplaces, and faith institutions to move beyond token gestures and engage in real learning. That means addressing myths about gender identity, acknowledging intersectionality, and confronting implicit bias. It means understanding that “transgender” is not synonymous with “transitioning” and that identity is not a linear process. It means recognizing that healthcare for transgender people is not elective—it is essential, affirmed by major medical associations like the American Medical Association and the American Psychological Association (AMA, 2024).

When I talk to younger people about Desiree, I try to emphasize that her journey is not defined by surgery or pronouns but by humanity. Her story is about becoming, about the lifelong process of aligning inner truth with outward reality. For many trans people, that process is hindered not by personal doubt but by systemic barriers—limited access to healthcare, employment discrimination, housing instability, and safety concerns. According to the U.S. Transgender Survey (NCTE, 2023), nearly one-third of respondents reported experiencing homelessness at some point, and over 70 percent faced workplace discrimination. Behind those statistics are human beings who are simply trying to survive in a society that too often denies their basic dignity.

Desiree and I talk often about safety. She keeps pepper spray in her bag when she walks home at night. She avoids certain neighborhoods because of past harassment. She has had slurs shouted at her from passing cars. And yet, she refuses to shrink. She insists on joy, on community, on showing up. Her laughter is an act of protest, her presence a declaration of belonging.

Transgender Awareness Week is, in part, about celebrating that joy. It is about reminding the world that trans lives are not tragedies—they are testaments to perseverance and creativity. From music and film to literature and politics, transgender voices have enriched every field of American culture. Elliot Page’s advocacy in Hollywood, Laverne Cox’s visibility in mainstream media, and Sarah McBride’s work in the Senate each demonstrate the breadth of trans influence and leadership. These figures serve as visible markers of change, but they also remind us that representation alone is not liberation. True progress requires systemic reform.

In healthcare, that means expanding access to affirming services and protecting providers from political interference. In education, it means inclusive curricula that tell the full story of America’s diversity. In the workplace, it means nondiscrimination policies that actually carry enforcement power. And in faith spaces, it means embracing theology rooted in compassion rather than exclusion.

The conversation about allyship has evolved over time. It is not enough to wear a pin or post a hashtag. Real allyship requires ongoing action—correcting misgendering when it happens, supporting trans-led organizations, advocating for policy change, and voting for leaders who recognize human rights as non-negotiable. It also requires humility: understanding that listening often matters more than speaking. I have made mistakes in my own learning process, but Desiree’s patience and humor have been my teachers. She has reminded me that allyship is not a title—it is a verb.

As I reflect on this week, I think about the Transgender Day of Remembrance. Each year, on November 20, names are read aloud—names of people murdered simply for being who they were. In 2024, at least 36 transgender and gender-nonconforming people were killed in the United States, the vast majority of them Black and Latina women (HRC, 2024). Behind each name is a story, a family, a life that mattered. When I attend TDOR vigils, I am struck by the duality of grief and gratitude. Grief for the lives lost. Gratitude for the courage of those who continue to live openly despite it all.

Desiree once said something that stays with me: “I do not want people to just mourn us. I want them to fight for us while we are still alive.” That, to me, is the essence of Transgender Awareness Week. It is not just about remembering—it is about recommitting. It is about making sure that remembrance translates into reform.

This year, I encourage everyone to take at least one tangible step toward advocacy. That might mean donating to local organizations that provide gender-affirming care, volunteering at community centers, or contacting legislators about discriminatory policies. It might mean having uncomfortable conversations at home, in churches, or at workplaces. Awareness is the first step, but action sustains the movement.

For me, action begins in conversation. When I write about Desiree, I am not writing from a distance—I am writing from love. Our bond is proof that transformation can heal entire families. I have watched my sister rebuild not just her life but the lives around her, showing us what courage looks like in practice. Her authenticity has pushed me to be braver in my own work, to speak out against stigma in every form. In many ways, her journey mirrors the national one: painful, imperfect, and unfinished, yet grounded in resilience.

Transgender Awareness Week reminds us that history is still being written. The arc of progress is not automatic—it bends only when people are willing to apply pressure. That pressure comes from activism, from storytelling, from policy advocacy, and from ordinary people choosing to stand up for justice even when it is uncomfortable. The transgender community has always led the way, often at great personal cost. The rest of us have a responsibility to follow with integrity.

As this week unfolds, I will light a candle for those who are no longer with us, including names I may never know. I will send a message to Desiree, telling her how proud I am. And I will remind myself that awareness alone is not enough. The true measure of this week’s success is not how many people post on social media but how many lives are made safer, freer, and fuller because we refused to stay silent.

When Desiree smiles now, it is not the nervous, tentative smile she once carried when she feared judgment. It is confident, luminous, grounded. It is the smile of someone who knows she belongs. And every time I see it, I think to myself: this is what freedom looks like.

References
American Medical Association. (2024). Health policy on gender-affirming care. AMA Press.
American Psychological Association. (2024). Guidelines for psychological practice with transgender and gender nonconforming people. APA Publishing.
American Civil Liberties Union. (2025). LGBTQ legislative tracker. ACLU.org.
Duberman, M. (2019). Stonewall: The definitive story of the LGBTQ rights uprising that changed America. Plume.
GLAAD. (2024). Transgender Awareness Week: History and resources. GLAAD.org.
Human Rights Campaign. (2024). Fatal violence against the transgender and gender non-conforming community. HRC.org.
National Center for Transgender Equality. (2023). U.S. Transgender Survey: Key findings. NCTE.org.