Letting My Light Shine Again

Those who know me and interact with me probably noticed that I’ve been in a bit of a funk the last few days. Okay, that doesn’t quite cut it. I’ve been utterly down—short-tempered, irritable, and a real pain in the ass to be around, I’m sure.

I’ve had people—people who care—try to talk to me. My wife. My boss. Friends. They’ve checked in, offered support, tried to lift me up.But the thing is—I didn’t know how to let myself feel better. Nothing felt like it would help. Nothing would fix it.Not for the next three or four years, at least.And so I sat in that space, angry and exhausted, letting it fester.

I was tired of waking up every morning and wondering what else Republicans were going to strip away from trans people.I was tired of seeing cis, straight people complain about the constant “trans stuff” in the news.That part especially frustrated me.Because the only reason we’re in the news is because right-wing radicals are hellbent on legislating us out of existence.Trump, his cronies, and his party of buffoons put us there.We didn’t ask to be the center of attention.We don’t want to be political talking points.

We just want to live. To be free. To be ourselves.

But that seems like too much to ask, doesn’t it?

I Don’t Want to Be the Center of Attention Because I’m Trans.

I do want to be the center of attention—But for my writing. For my dreams. For being imaginative and brilliant and bold. I want to be known for creating entire worlds with my words, not for the one I happened to be born into. I want people to read my stories and see adventure, beauty, and wonder—not politics and pain.I want to inspire because of my craft, because of my creativity.Not because I have to fight for my right to exist.

But right now, I don’t get to separate those things. Right now, I have to do both. I have to fight and I have to write. Because I can’t build new worlds if I’m not free to live in this one.

Carrying the Funk Around

Over the last few days, I’ve had plenty of chances to vent, to talk it out.But honestly?I didn’t want to.Partly because I saw no fix.And partly because I just wanted to stay pissed. I wanted everyone around me to know I was pissed. To feel it, because that’s where I was—stuck in that ugly, swirling storm of frustration.

My wife tried. She tried to talk to me. To pull me out of it.And last night, I finally let her in. It didn’t fix anything, but sharing is necessary when you love someone.Even when you know there’s no solution.

My boss—who is incredibly supportive—checked in, as she does.I usually shrug it off. Give the old, “Yeah, fine,” even when we both know it’s a lie.But yesterday?I didn’t.When she asked if I was okay, I told her the truth.“Not particularly.” And then I quickly added that it wasn’t about work. She knew that. So we had a joint bitching session about the state of crap.

She empathized.She listened. She said I should keep using all this as inspiration for my writing. She was trying to remind me of my fire, and I love her for that. And yes, I was tempted to snap back with, “What’s the point? No one reads my crap anyway.”But I didn’t. I respect her too much to say something like that. Especially when she’s trying to support and inspire me, which she always does. And especially when she is right - which is often and she was completely correct in this case. I needed to hear it, to be honest.

But even then—nothing felt better. No conversation or reassurance could shake the weight off my chest.

And Then, of All Things, Cobra Kai.

This morning, I woke up still in the funk. Still feeling like I was drowning in it.

And then I watched an episode of Cobra Kai. And it stopped me in my tracks.

It was the episode where Johnny Lawrence and Carmen’s baby is born. And seeing that moment—seeing all their former enemies and people with differences come together—hit me like a gut punch.

Because Cobra Kai isn’t just about karate. It’s about redemption. It’s about people with pasts that haunt them—people who’ve made mistakes—choosing to change. Choosing to be better. And in that hospital scene, all those rivals—Johnny, Daniel, Robbie, Miguel—they’re together. They set aside their pain and their history for the sake of something greater. For love, for hope, for family.

And the part that really stuck with me? Bobby—the pastor. Once a Cobra Kai bully, now a man of faith, offering compassion. I’m not Christian, but damn, what a transformation. And seeing him tap Daniel on the shoulder with a smile, seeing them share that unspoken moment of understanding—It stopped me cold.

Because it made me realize: People can change.People do change. And I can’t give up hope just because the world feels heavy.

I Won’t Let Them Dim My Light.

Recently, I had started to believe there was no hope. I had started to feel small, to feel like my voice didn’t matter. I had started to wonder if sharing my truth was even worth it.If it even made a difference.

And I was angry at people I know personally—People who hadn’t even stopped to consider what all these new anti-trans executive orders were doing to me. People who knew a trans person—me—and still didn’t think to ask if I was okay. That cut me deep. Because if the people who know me can’t even imagine what this is doing to me, then how will anyone else?

I was starting to lose my fire. To feel like it was pointless.

But that Cobra Kai scene made me stop and think. It reminded me that hope still exists. That redemption is real. That people still come together for the things that matter. That we still bring children into this world because we believe it’s worth saving. And those children deserve a future free from this hatred.

So I can’t let them dim my light. I can’t let them silence me. If I want the world to be better—It starts with me.

I Will Keep Shining.

I won’t stop sharing my truth. I won’t stop writing, creating, and dreaming. I won’t stop being a light—even when the world tries to smother it.

Because those coming after me deserve better. And if I can shine a light, even for just one person, then I’ll keep shining.

Yes, I will slip up. I will get tired. I will fall into funks again. But I will get back up. Every. Damn. Time.

Because I refuse to let them win. I refuse to let my light go out.

I am trans. I am strong. And I will not be dimmed.