Transgender Day of Visibility. A Personal Reflection

Today is Transgender Day of Visibility, and I’ve been sitting with how I feel about it, which, honestly, is a bit (very) conflicted.

The day is intended to celebrate trans lives and raise awareness around the challenges and joys of being transgender. I absolutely understand why it exists, and I fully support the intention behind it. Visibility can be powerful, especially for those just beginning their journey or feeling unseen in a world that still often misunderstands us.

But for me personally? I’m not sure I want to be visible.

It’s not shame. It’s not fear. It’s more about wanting to blend. To be read and received as the female I am, without the label attached. Most days, I don’t want to stand out. I want to walk through the world quietly, confidently, and comfortably. To just live. That, in itself, feels like a kind of peace I’ve fought hard for.

So while I can see why a day like this matters to many, and I understand those who stand proudly and publicly, it doesn’t quite feel like it’s for me. My relationship with visibility is cautious. My version of pride is quieter, more private. It’s in being myself, loving my kids, building a life with someone I love, and finding moments of joy in the ordinary.

There’s another layer to this too. The language.

Over time, “transgender” has evolved to become an umbrella term, often encompassing not just binary transitions, but non-binary identities as well. And I understand that the language is changing to reflect a broader, more inclusive community.

But personally, I’ve always felt a stronger connection to the term transsexual. Not in the clinical, outdated way, but in the literal, Latin-rooted sense of “trans”: across or beyond. My transition has been both medical and social. It’s about embodiment, about becoming, about moving toward something that finally fits. So when I say I’m “trans,” I usually mean it in that older, more specific sense. And while I support anyone finding language that fits their truth, I don’t always feel like the broader “transgender” label fully captures my experience.

Does that make me old-fashioned or critical? Maybe. Or maybe just honest.

So here I am, on this day of visibility, quietly reflecting. I’m not on a march. I’m not holding a sign. But I am here, a trans female, a transsexual female, a female, living, loving, working, laughing, and doing my best.

To those who are visible: I see your courage.

To those who are not: I stand with you, in quiet solidarity.

To everyone on their own path: you are valid, no matter the label.