Fighting a Thousand Cuts: The Pain of Being Trans in America and A Slightly More Inconvenient Speed Bump: Why I Won’t Give Up

A Thousand Cuts: Refusing to Be Silent

For anyone who’s been reading my blogs, you’ll know I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and writing lately—most of it about the Trans community.

Not gonna lie, since November, it’s been difficult. Personally, and I’m sure for every other Trans and nonbinary person out there, this has been a time of dread, frustration, and exhaustion. Trump ran on a campaign of hatred toward the Trans community, on a promise of erasing us. And here’s the thing: those who voted for him must have known. Whether they supported his agenda or simply didn’t care, the result is the same—and both possibilities are devastating.

"You Can’t Control How People React"

For some time now, there’s been this message floating around: “You can’t control how people react.”

While there’s a grain of truth to that statement, the implication it carries is toxic. It suggests that because we can’t control their hateful reactions, we should just accept their hate quietly. It tells us we should be polite in the face of cruelty, extend respect to those who deny us ours, and quietly fade into the background.

Let me make one thing perfectly clear: that implication is a lie.

Fair enough, I can’t control their hate. But I refuse to accept it. I refuse to be quiet. Fading into the background is exactly what they want, and I will not give them that satisfaction.

The Tactics of the Loud Minority

They’ve been loud since Trump first got into office, emboldened by his open bigotry. They’ve shouted their hatred from the rooftops, drowning out reason and compassion with their noise.

Here’s the thing about bullies: they thrive on volume. They believe that if they shout loud enough, they can drown us out, bully us into submission, and force us back into the shadows. It’s the same tactic they’ve always used—make enough noise, and they’ll get their way.

Unfortunately, it’s worked, particularly when it comes to businesses.

They shout about Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) policies. They rail against companies they view as “woke.” They organize boycotts and flood social media with outrage. And far too often, businesses cave to their pressure.

Every time a business gives in, it does more damage to the Trans community than if they had never supported us at all. It shows the vocal minority that they can win if they shout loud enough. It emboldens them to keep pushing, to keep hurting us.

A Thousand Cuts

For the past several years, this has been our reality.

It’s like a thousand little cuts. Every single attack escalates, but it comes one cut at a time. At first, it stings. Then it builds, until the pain becomes overwhelming.

And the worst part?

They demand the respect they refuse to extend to us.

Refusing to Be Silent

So you know what? As much as it hurts, I refuse to stay silent.

To be silent is to let them win quietly and easily. To be silent is to promote intolerance. But let me be clear: I’m not here to ask for tolerance. But I am most certainly against intolerance.

Who the hell wants to be tolerated? Tolerance is a cheap, half-hearted gesture that says, “We’ll put up with you, but we’d rather you weren’t here.” It sucks. It feels dehumanizing. It implies that my existence is something wrong.

This isn’t about being tolerated. This is about shouting, loudly and unapologetically, that I have the right to live, to exist, and to define my own identity. I’m the only person who knows who I am, and I won’t let anyone take that from me.

Social Media: To Leave or Not to Leave

Since I've decided not to be silent, let’s talk about social media for a minute—specifically, Facebook.

Facebook has rolled back fact-checking and protections for Trans people, making the platform an even bigger breeding ground for right-wing abuse. It’s exhausting. Am I tempted to leave? Hell yes.

I’ve expanded into Bluesky, but it’s not the same. It doesn’t offer the same opportunities to share posts, blogs, or links. And let’s be honest: if droves of people left Facebook tomorrow, would the right care? Probably not. They’d happily turn Facebook into another version of X/Twitter, a playground for their hatred and stupidity, where they wouldn’t have to deal with anyone pushing back.

But then it hit me: maybe that’s the point.

If we leave Facebook, many of us lose our support networks, our communities, and the groups that help us get through the daily grind. These groups are vital—sometimes, they’re the only lifeline we have.

And if one platform goes alt-right, what’s to stop others from following? If that happens, the LGBT community—especially Trans people—could lose the spaces that give us hope, connection, and solidarity.

Giving Up Is Not an Option

Leaving Facebook would feel like admitting defeat, and I can’t do that.

Giving up without a fight is not who I am. I won’t let them spread their lies, their hatred, and their ignorance without at least trying to push back.

Yes, it’s difficult. Yes, it’s exhausting. There are days when I feel like I’m screaming into the emptiness, and no one is listening.

But I have to keep going.

Maybe it’s because I’m Scottish. I often joke that fighting a losing war is in my blood. Just look at Scottish history: we’ve lost battles we should have won, won battles we had no business winning, and no matter what, we always get back up and keep marching on.

It’s the same with the Scottish football team—always losing when they should win, crashing out of competitions in the qualifying stages. But we keep supporting them. We never give up.

That stubbornness is part of who I am.

A Slightly More Inconvenient Speed Bump

So I’ll keep pushing myself. I’ll keep being loud. I’ll keep being obnoxious to the right, just to make sure they feel the bump when they run me over.

Because they will try to run me over. But if I can make myself an inconvenient speed bump, if I can make them feel it, then that’s something.

Even when it feels like I’m making no progress, I’ll keep going. Because the alternative—staying silent, fading into the background—is unthinkable.

And if you’re reading this, maybe you’ll keep going, too.

And if you're reading this and need a shoulder - I am here to listen.

And I don't mind being the voice of the unheard, being the voice for those that cannot or dare not speak up.