I’ve re-written this about a hundred times. I don’t know how to phrase it. I don’t know how to pick the right words or string together the right sentences. I don’t want to have to explain myself, but I end up doing it anyway. And I really don’t want to feel like I’m writing words that are defending myself and my identity. Some people told me I didn’t even need to come out.

“It’s 2019, people shouldn’t have to come out anymore, just live your life and they’ll figure it out.“
And parts of me knows that’s true for some people. So for the entirety of 2019, I haven’t said anything publicly. Because the people that do know have been overwhelmingly supportive, loving, and accepting. And that’s all that I need, right?

But this morning I woke up to another report of a trans woman of color being murdered. In 2019, there’s at least six reported incidents of trans people being killed because of their gender identity. (All of which happen to be women of color.)
And I realized as I sat there reading, that I’m scared to come out.

I was scared to come out as bi a few years ago. I didn’t know how my parents would react, I didn’t know how my largely Christian community would react (both my high school and University.) But this fear felt different. This fear felt like the sinking feeling when a young man stared at my chest the first time I used the men’s bathroom in a public place. The pit in my stomach as I watched his mind work behind his eyes, wondering if he was going to say something. Wondering if he did, if it would be aggressive. Wondering if he would throw me out with physical means.

This is not to say that only trans people experience violence in the LGBTQ community. Just the other day, a lesbian couple was brutally beaten because they refused to kiss in front of a group of men.
We have seen violence, hate, and disrespect towards minorities since people were on Earth. And yes, 2019 is a year where people are safer, wiser, and more open than we ever have been. I mean, none of us want to go back in time, because it’s all downhill. But we still have so much farther to go.

And so because of the reports I see, because of the things I read on Twitter, and Facebook, and every social media outlet, I don’t want to talk about myself. Because of the harassment I hear about from friends and allies, I don’t want to come out. Again.
I want to stay in my bubble of people that care about me and not open myself up to a world who, from what I can tell, are pretty damn split about the trans community (even in the LGBTQ community as a whole, sadly.)

But that’s a privilege that I have. That’s a safety that I get that other’s do not.
And it’s fueling the ignorance and hate that some people have for the trans community. It’s a lack of pride on my part, for a community I felt scared to be a part of for the past 20 years of my life. But I can’t let fear hinder my pride and love anymore. I have to step up for the people that have died, who were brave enough, to be who they are, and the people that are scared just like me.

Hi. My name is Jay Chapman Curtis, and I identify as a trans-man.

There’s a whole f*cking lot to unpack with that statement. There’s a lot to learn, especially if you don’t know (or think you know) anyone that’s trans. I’m still learning a lot about the community, about my community. We’ve grown up in a place that has largely hidden the history of trans people. Negative words have been attached to us for years and years. We were taught to think of trans as “other” or “bad.” As a disease. As something that was wrong. Many of us, myself included, have been sitting, non-bothered, in ignorance about trans people.

But there is not enough time here on Earth to live like that anymore. There’s too many people dying, there’s too many kids committing suicide, there’s too many people living in fear for others to be happily ignorant about a group of people that have shaped your own community without you realizing. I have to speak up, and so I am.

It’s taken me a while to be proud of who I am, fully. I didn’t think I would ever come out again. But it’s time.

I don’t really know how to end all of this.
I know a lot of you who have known me as a female for most of your life maybe have questions. I can’t educate everyone on what it means to be trans, because it’s different for each person. And I encourage you to do some research.
But, I’m willing to talk. I would much rather you ask than assume anything. So I am willing to talk to you, whoever you are. If you know me, you know I like talking, and I’m too vulenerable for my own good.

I do know I can end this by saying thank you.
Thank you to the people who have welcomed me into their lives as Jay.
Thank you to my wonderful family who have shown nothing but unconditional support and love to me. Pat, Paige, Jared, Jack, and Erin, you are a blessing every day. Roberts and Curtis family, I love you.
Thank you to the people who this is hard for. I know it’s different, and I know it’s a change. I know you’re saying goodbye to a girl you’ve known and loved for many years. But I promise Jay has always been there, and hopefully he’s just as charming as she was.
Thank you to my two loves that sat on a California bedroom floor with me as we went through names. Laughing about “Kyle” and “Justin”, and finally smiling wide when we came back to Jay.
Thank you to my roommates for so readily accepting me and loving me. Thank you for being okay with living with another stinky boy (Joel, you actually smell really great so, just one stinky boy in The Castle.)
I know I have so many more I can thank, personally, by name. And I’m going to do it, because I cannot thank and love on each of you enough. I’m sitting in a tiny bedroom in the Catskills of New York, crying a bit because I know I am lucky. I know I am privileged to experience the love and support that I have this past year, and the love that will continue.

People are loving. Don’t be afraid to be yourself, in every capacity. It’s okay if it takes time. Everyone’s on their own walk.

I love you all.

-Jay