I came from a small school in a Christian-dominated area. My middle school was behind a church, and I had classmates who wore “Let’s go Brandon!” shirts, who sneered at anything they perceived as different. When I came out as female-to-male transgender, I got a lot of pushback from peers and teachers, so moving to Albany gave me hope. Here, I could put down a preferred name and pronouns, and be someone I wanted to be. West Albany High School and the Greater Albany Public School District, in general, were very open and made it clear they were accepting of everyone. I was so happy I could be somewhere where I felt like myself. Then I got here, and all of that crumbled.
Last year, I was a freshman in a still unfamiliar area and was still adjusting to things, so when people misgendered me, I ignored it. I wasn’t comfortable enough to correct them. It was worse with teachers; I was constantly scared they’d judge me or say it was inappropriate, so I didn’t say anything. That’s on me.
This year, I decided I was tired of letting it go unnoticed. I told people more openly and clearly, corrected people much more often, and I was even more firm about using my preferred locker room, and I thought it was going a lot better. But of course, some people can’t accept it. I’ve been told I don’t know my own pronouns, I don’t belong in the boys’ locker room, and I have had my identity questioned constantly. Some people treat me like I’m not a person, like I’m so much less than a human because I don’t have the same comfort in my body that they do. It gets exhausting walking around with the weight of everything. It’s even worse when correcting adults who disagree with it, give the slow nod and stare that tells you they don’t approve. At least when I tell a teacher what I go by, they don’t look at me like a freak and ask a million questions, or drop comments that my identity, how I define myself, is weird and disturbing. There’s a certain level of disrespect that comes with that kind of behavior.
West Albany High School prides itself on being inclusive and welcoming. Yet when I got here, it was everything but. Of course, as with any situation, there is a good side, but the people who make up that good side have been just as hurt as I have. Everyone in the world has a story of how they were judged and ridiculed. What good does it do you to be the perpetrator and not the hero, the one to tell them it’s okay? Why be so ignorant that you opt to bring someone down, when respect has always been on the table?
