I Never Wanted to be an Activist

The author’s altar sits on a windowsill contains a purple vase with a grape emblem that has a trans and lesbian flag sticking out of it, a small chunk of Labradorite, a dogtooth amethyst crystal, a small chunk of an amethyst geode, and a set of amethyst mala beads. (Photo by author)

As a child, I changed my career path on a dime, switching between astronaut, ship captain, paleontologist, and teacher. In middle school, I finally settled into the idea of being an environmental scientist because my public school system made us take a career placement questionnaire at an early age, and I didn’t see any reason to push back against it. In high school, I began to realize that I was transgender, and I came out to various people during those turbulent years. By the time I was in university, I had socially transitioned, though I had not done anything medical at that point. College life was complicated, and I found myself as the only trans woman in a sea of cis men. The atmosphere was tense at best and wildly uncomfortable at worst. I had to learn on the fly how to advocate for myself under Trump’s first presidency. Then the pandemic happened. 

In the fall of 2020, I took an elective called “Hope and Joy in Queer and Trans Lives,” and had the privilege to be taught by a wonderful woman who helped me find something other than constant misery. She showed me that there was more to the lives of trans people than just ostracization and depression. With the risk of failing out of Environmental Science, I made what felt like the only logical choice: switch my major to Women’s & Gender Studies. 

There was a running joke among my friends: “3000 years ago, I would have been a temple priestess, but now I’m forced to work at Chipotle.” This idea of devoting myself to a god who accepted me because of my queerness rather than despite it was radically appealing. Furthermore, my spirituality was very much a coping mechanism developed from the lonely nights in a cramped room, fearing everything was out to get me.  

“This idea of devoting myself to a god who accepted me because of my queerness rather than despite it was radically appealing.”

Ever since then, I have been continuing to develop an understanding of the way systemic issues are so heavily intertwined. I’ve learned the ins and outs of different feminisms, settling on a thoroughly intersectional approach to my activism. The capstone of my experience in undergrad was taking a series of courses that taught me about womanist and liberationist theology. No longer did I view my spiritual side, my academic side, and my activist side as separate parts of me. 

The burgeoning wholeness of my identity was the reason I chose to attend Union, for beyond its legacy of activism, I felt like it was the only place where I could authentically explore every facet of my identity, between my queerness, my Pagan beliefs, my Buddhist beliefs, and the furthering of my role as both a scholar and an activist. In addition, I was afraid that no other seminary would fully appreciate my identity. Even here, though, I occasionally fear that others don’t see me for who I am. 

I have spent the past several years tuned into the political landscape because my body has been made into a political statement. I thought I would have more breathing room here. Yet I am still so terrified every time I go to the restroom, petrified that this will be the time someone decides I don’t belong here. I walk through these stone halls and see all these friendly faces, and then a guy in a food truck misgenders me. I’m passing by Columbia's campus, and their private security guards seem to point and laugh. Could it be a coincidence? I don’t know, but I feel so hyper-tuned to vigilance that I struggle to write it off as one. My partner comes up to NYC to visit me, and we have to walk through a sea of redcaps in Penn Station coming out of Madison Square Garden so she can board her train back home. 

I am so incredibly tired, and I just want to live my life. Every choice that has led me here felt less like an actual choice and more like a necessity to keep living. I have had to put myself in a box for survival. I wish I didn’t have to keep myself on the front lines to ensure my rights don’t get crushed under the boots of fascists. I don’t want to carry this burden alone as we enter a second Trump presidency. Would you be willing to carry it for a while?