It’s hard to keep this mask up, and when it slips, people immediately notice. They engage less often, offer less support, or disappear entirely because I’m not living up to their expectations of how well-behaved disabled people are supposed to act. We’re supposed to push through and become feel-good stories for the able-bodied people around us, not actually complain about our woes. Where’s the joy in that?

I am angry because I don’t remember joy. I am angry because I’m in constant, terrible pain. I’m angry because I can’t support myself. I’m angry because all of this happened due to a bunch of asshole bigots who brutally attacked me for being queer (read The Rainbow Hat Attack here). I’m angry because my life as I knew it is gone, and it will be forever changed because of ignorant hatred. I’m angry that I can’t walk or move or stand or sit without pain. I’m angry that I’ve had to become a beggar to survive. I’m mad that I’m lonely, I’m mad that I’m trapped in my apartment, I’m mad that I’m slipping through the cracks of those “social programs” that are supposed to help folks when they’ve become disabled.

And yet I’m hesitant to share any of that because it’s not palatable. There’s nothing to “feel good” about. Disabled people deserve the right to speak about our struggles, not just our wins. But I’m afraid that bringing up the topic of my anger will only push people away because it doesn’t come wrapped up in a perfect, attractive bow. I’m worried it just sounds like ungrateful bitching. And I’m not ungrateful for the help I’ve been receiving from the amazing people in my life, but I can simultaneously be furious that I’m in a position where I have to rely on that help for survival at all.

So many people don’t understand dragging your disabled body down the street to the bodega to buy 1 roll of Scott Toilet Tissue with pennies because you’re waiting months on end for your Disability Hearing after being denied twice, or that when money comes in, the entire amount goes right back out again, nothing left over. No “spending money.” No “little treat money.” My life didn’t used to be like this. And I’m angry that it is.

I don’t want to keep living this way, but the only thing that will get me out of it is a miracle. Sadly, I don’t believe in miracles. So today, I’m angry at everything that was taken from me. I’m also angry at the current administration and at my life changing without my permission and Elon Musk and at the people pretending Mitch McConnel is still alive and about climate change and about some billionaire shutting down part of New York City so she can have her fucking wedding and at anything else I goddamn well happen to be angry at. People try to police each other’s anger because, again, anger seems scary. But it’s literally part of the process. And anger can fuel change. In fact, I think more people in this country benefit from some fury right now. Maybe then we’d be on the road to fixing all the broken things happening here.

So today, I am an angry, disabled man wondering how many people I’ll alienate by posting this. Who knows? Maybe by tomorrow I’ll be more palatable again.

Grief doesn’t just mean sadness. Let disabled people process and support us in doing so no matter what step we’re in. We deserve to feel all of our feelings, not just the ones that look good to you.

I know I have so many friends who care about me deeply as a trans human. Friends who get angry for me when I receive horrific comments online, and friends who worry about me when anti-trans legislation is brought up.

I know these friends were horrified to learn that all trans people in Kansas had their driver’s licenses revoked with no warning. I know they’re scared that trans people are being targeted by this administration. I know that they think it’s unfair and torturous that trans people - kids and adults - are losing access to live-saving healthcare, and that they worry about me being able to continue to access my hormones. I know they want me to not only survive, but thrive as a transgender person in this country. I know they hate bigotry and transphobia, and I know that they consider themselves allies.

And yet there are some of you who are going to watch the new Harry Potter show anyway. I know this. It’s just a simple fact. And it absolutely breaks my heart.

J.K. Rowling used her wealth attained from the Harry Potter series to create an organization dedicated to removing transgender people’s rights “in the workplace, in public life, and in protected female spaces.” She has not only stated this outright, she created the J.K. Rowling Women’s Fund to do exactly this. She posted about it on X in her own literal words. There is no denying this reality. It’s not a matter of opinion, it’s a fact.

She donated £70,000 (roughly $88,200) to the anti-trans group For Women Scotland in 2024. She is using the money she gets from you consuming her HP media to fight as hard as she can to erase transgender people from existence.

That’s me. I’m transgender people. The same person you consider a friend, a mentor, a peer. The same person you worry about, and offer support to after a bad day, and would punch a transphobe in the mouth for if you ever heard someone say something evil to my face. I know you. You’re good people.

But I know your nostalgia for a children’s book is going to win. And that hurts. I won’t pretend it doesn’t.

Being an ally is more than just saying “I’m an ally.” It’s represented by the actions you do, and the decisions you make. It’s an activity, not just a phrase. This new HP show is a litmus test to see just how much empathy you actually have for the trans community. Is it more important to stand on your morals and support a marginalized group from being eradicated, or do you need to watch a TV show because you liked the stories when you were a kid? Is giving money to a well-known TERF worth violating your personal values? You can’t have it both ways. I’m sorry, but you just can’t.

And if you can’t deny yourself - if you absolutely *must* watch this show - I need you to understand that your allyship is conditional. You offer it until it somehow inconveniences you, and then you take it away. You can disagree with me all you want, but being half an ally isn’t good enough. Trans people are suffering, dying, losing our rights, losing access to public spaces. We are 7 months into 2026, and there have already been SEVEN HUNDRED AND FORTY SEVEN anti-trans bills introduced in 42 states. Not hyperbole. Another fact. We are targeted, and if you genuinely care, you have to act on it. Allyship means action. And sometimes that action is sacrifice.

It’s easier to not watch a show than it is to watch it. All you have to do is nothing. Don’t put it on. Don’t share the trailer. Watch one of literally thousands of other available shows instead.

If you don’t understand why this is so important to me, maybe we aren’t meant to remain connected. And that’s terribly sad. And I’d hate to see you go because I care so much about you. But I have to draw a line. Actually, trans people have to draw many lines. This is one of mine. It isn’t fair to me, but if you can’t make the sacrifice, then I have to.

I really hope you’ll take my words to heart. I know some of you won’t. But I really hope you do.

According to a study done by the Williams Institute, of the 2.1 million adults who identify as transgender in the United States, 34.2% (730,500) are transgender men while 32.7% (698,500) are transgender women. Yet there are hardly any (if literally any) studies done on transgender men. Why?

Trans Man Invisibility refers to the phenomenon where transgender men and transmasculine people are underrepresented in media, public discourse, and social awareness. This results in the general public oftentimes having no idea trans men even exist, and certainly doesn’t lend itself to addressing concerns about our rights, health, well-being, or the importance of our involvement in the queer community. Our concerns are often dismissed, and worse - pitted against the lives and experiences of transgender women. We can acknowledge the incredible adversity trans women face while also acknowledging the issues that are unique to trans men and transmasculine people, and we should feel comfortable doing so without any caveats.

Trans men and transmasculine people have nuanced needs for birth control, fertility options in the context of gender-affirming care and family planning, as well as access to safe abortion. These can remain true regardless of whether the individual is on gender affirming hormones or not. Tampons, pads, condoms, birth control, and Plan B are all things folks at different places on the transmasculine spectrum need to consider and/or acquire. Because I’m on testosterone, I no longer need to worry about period-related products, but because I have a uterus, I still have to worry about the potential of an unwanted pregnancy, though my advancing age does work in my favor there. I am also prone to UTIs, so that’s always something to look forward to as well.

Trans men and transmasculine people who have not had total hysterectomies are still at risk for ovarian and uterine cancer and pregnancy complications, and must continue to be seen for pap smears and what has always been unfortunately called “well-woman” exams, though many - myself included - choose not to engage because of the tremendous dysphoria it causes. Others do not participate because trans people are more likely than cisgender people to lack health insurance. Cost is often a barrier to care, as is discrimination in the medical community.

Trans men or transmasculine people who haven’t had top surgery are at risk of breast cancer at the same rate as cisgender women, and should undergo regular mammograms when recommended. And although it is less common, trans men who have had top surgery are still at risk for breast cancer as well as tissue is often left behind to sculpt the chest into a visually pleasing aesthetic.

Clinics that do screenings and treatments predominantly for cisgender women are often painted pink, staffed by cisgender women, with lobbies full of cisgender women who would balk at the sight of a man in the room. Trans men and transmasculine people, some of whom may have flat chests and facial hair, often don’t feel comfortable in these spaces (many times due to the negative reactions/behavior of the staff and other patients) and as a result, elect not to access the healthcare they need. In the 2022 US Trans Survey, trans men reported the greatest proportions of negative experiences with healthcare providers.

Research from a rare, inclusive UK study indicates that transgender men have a 2-fold and 4-fold increased rate of myocardial infarction compared with cisgender men and cisgender women, respectively, likely due to testosterone therapy and chronic stress resulting from discrimination and minoritized status. The Minority Stress Model posits that chronic stress due to repeated exposure to violence, discrimination, and economic and social marginalization results in greater vulnerability to poor health outcomes and mortality among transgender individuals globally. This is the same for trans men, trans women, and nonbinary individuals.

Hate crime reporting is inconsistent, confusing, and often ignored. Federal agencies, like the Bureau of Justice Statistics, are also removing mention of gender identity from their survey work. There is no official “exact count” of how many trans men are murdered every year which is often in part due to trans men and transmasculine people being misgendered after death. When trans men aren’t seen as men, our deaths are often looped in with femicide numbers and considered violence against women. Trans men are often victims of “corrective rape.” We are often sexually assaulted if we are outed to the wrong people because once violent offenders realize we’re “really women”, we are immediately in danger. Many trans men choose to not report the violence they experience due to distrust of the police and fear of being outed.

On February 13, 2025, the body of Sam Nordquist, a Black transgender man, was found in Yates County, New York. Investigators said stated that Sam was killed after suffering months of prolonged physical and psychological torture. Sam was 24 years old, and worked as a group home aide. Lucas “RedBeard” Knapp was a 39-year-old transgender, nonbinary farmer, chef, and educator fatally shot on April 18, 2026, in New Mexico. He was killed after stepping in to defend another person during a confrontation. These may seem few and far between, but when you consider again the fact that trans men and transmasculine people are often misgendered after death, you’ll understand why the numbers seem so small. We’re also less likely to be covered by the mainstream media because of the previous mentioned Trans Man Invisibility issues.

Trans men and transmasculine people deserve spaces to be able to talk about the issues facing our health, safety, and physical well-being, and we also deserve to be able to discuss issues affecting our mental health, and the isolation from the queer community that many of us have experienced after coming out. We deserve to have our voices heard, and to not be ignored by society in general. I can tell you from my own personal experience that feeling invisible has led to increased depression and anxiety. Conversations often happen on topics that involve me - abortion care, bathroom bills, etc - but without my voice being included. I’ve asked medical questions to my doctors who have responded, “Huh. I don’t have an answer for that.” simply because there aren’t enough studies done on trans men and the information doesn’t exist.

Trans men and transmasculine people are your neighbors, your family, your friends, and a part of your community. Please keep us in mind. We matter.

Gender-affirming hormone therapy is not only life changing, it can be life-saving. It can help align a trans person’s physical characteristics with their gender identity which can help to alleviate gender dysphoria. The Mayo Clinic simply defines gender dysphoria as “a feeling of distress that can happen when a person’s gender identity differs from their sex assigned at birth.”

I always knew I was a boy, but growing up as a kid in the 1980s I didn’t have the language to express it, nor did I have any exposure to transgender people through media or in my family’s personal circle. I was always confused when adults insisted I use the girl’s bathroom or play on the girl’s softball team. I was a pretty rough-and-tumble little kid, so my parents called me a “tomboy” and I latched onto that terminology like a drowning person to a life raft. It didn’t fit quite right, but it was better than being a girl.

When I got older and realized I was attracted to women, I thought maybe I’d just been a lesbian the entire time and didn’t know. In my 13 year old brain, lots of lesbians probably felt like men, right?

As I continued to get older my body continued to develop into someone I didn’t recognize. I had this image of what I looked like in my head, and when I was confronted with reality there was a severe and upsetting disconnect between what I thought I should be seeing and what I was actually seeing. Walking past a mirror or a reflective surface was not only jarring, it would shock me every time - like an awful surprise over and over and over again.

When I started performing as a drag king in my late twenties and saw myself with my chest flattened (let’s hear it for Elmer’s adhesive spray and Gorilla tape), and with facial hair, I started to see the person in the mirror that I’d always seen in my head. Things started to click into place and I realized…I didn’t want to be a man. I was a man, and had been one my entire life.

When I started testosterone, I was so tremendously excited. I couldn’t wait to see the changes I was promised. Perhaps it was because I was already 31 years old, or perhaps it was just my luck, but those changes took FOREVER. I know some trans men who were able to grow a full beard after just a few months on testosterone whereas it took me nearly three years to grow more than a couple of scraggly hairs on the underside of my chin. Not connected, just in each corner - it was pretty sad.

My face shape did change as the fat was redistributed, and I got freakishly strong without even trying. I had more energy and pep. I started snoring as my larynx started changing and my voice got lower. I couldn’t sing as high as I used to. My libido tripled.

But the biggest changes I noticed were in the way I felt about myself. It was like this voice that had been shouting, “This isn’t right!” in my brain for 31 years was suddenly quieted. I felt calmer. I felt more even-keeled. Small things didn’t bother me as much, and I was able to handle big things without feeling overwhelmed. My self-confidence improved. My mood improved. I used to say that testosterone was the best anti-depressant and mood stabilizer I’d ever been on. The feelings of frustration and suicidal ideation and desperation that I’d felt since even before puberty hit started to be replaced with feelings of hopefulness and comfort and just a sense of things being right.

Eventually, I did grow facial hair and I did start to fully recognize my face when I saw it in the mirror. In 2017 - five years after starting testosterone - I had top surgery and finally recognized my body as well.

I think most cis people take for granted the congruence that comes from seeing the same person in their brain as they see in the mirror. It doesn’t occur to them how distressing it could be for someone to have a different experience because their experience just feels so right. When that experience feels wrong, it can cause such pain and anguish. It’s proof that we intrinsically know who we are even when the world tells us otherwise.

Clinical research shows that gender-affirming hormone therapy reduces stress. It improves the quality of life for trans people. It certainly did for me. I’m beyond grateful to have had access to safe and reasonable healthcare 14 years ago, and that I continue to at this point in my life, especially with the state of the country being what it is. Trans healthcare saves lives. It’s important that we continue to be able to access it at whatever age we need it.

I’m not really able to do anything to celebrate this year because of my chronic pain, but I’m happy to have reached another milestone. Even though it’s only been 14 years, it feels like forever and I think that’s a good thing. Happy Manniversary to me.

That’s like looking at someone who can’t use their legs and saying, “My legs also hurt sometimes. Get up and get a job!”

You shouldn’t have to be in a horrible accident and lose limbs for people to accept that you’re disabled. Disability comes in multiple forms, and some of those disabilities are invisible. And when people use mobility aids - canes, walkers, rollators, wheelchairs - to accommodate those disabilities and/or make them visible, they’re often looked down on for needing them. It feels like a lose/lose situation.

The Invisible Disabilities Association defines invisible disability as “a physical, mental or neurological condition that is not visible from the outside, yet can limit or challenge a person’s movements, senses, or activities. The very fact that these symptoms are invisible can lead to misunderstandings, false perceptions, and judgments.”

I’m sure there are people in my life who either don’t believe my disability is as bad at it is. I’m not saying they’re bad people, but I am saying they’re dead wrong. Assuming someone is “faking it” just because they don’t look a certain way causes irreparable harm and invalidates that person’s reality. Disabled people are the leading experts on our own bodies, lived experiences, and needs. Discounting and dismissing us means ignoring the most accurate information available about our health and capabilities.

In my case - I want to go back to work. I want to have a social life, see and participate in theater, go out with friends, and enjoy walks on beautiful days. But I can’t do that. I can’t stand up for 2 minutes without excruciating pain that forces me to sit, lie, or fall down. It’s not a matter of, “O no, poor Donnie’s back huwts, he doesn’t wanna work” - it’s a 100% complete inability to function in a way that allows me to participate in society in any way at all. I spent my entire life performing, being the reason people gathered, being in the center of things - and now I can’t do any of it, and people somehow think I’ve chosen that for myself? That truth is that I’m miserable. This is not the path I would have gone down just because I’ve got “some back pain.” I’m sad and lonely, and not enjoying any of this.

I feel like people think those of us with invisible disabilities are just being lazy. It’s as if they believe I’m just trying to mooch off the government as if I want to be stuck in my apartment 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. My life as I’ve known it is over. A little empathy would go a long way.

Their indifference makes me feel like I’m going crazy. “Well, that person’s back hurts really bad but they still work, so how can I possibly be disabled?” It makes me doubt yourself, my sanity, my reality. Other people’s misconceptions about me make it harder to accept that I’ve become disabled. People deny an entire aspect of your very existence, and why? What does it hurt to be understanding? Nothing.

Disability isn’t something that hardworking people can somehow avoid. You can’t be “too good” or “too moral” a person to outrun disability. Whether it’s age, injury, or health, at some point in your life, you will not be able to do the things you once did. Pretending that disabled folks *did something* to get that way and if you don’t you’ll just be able-bodied forever is foolish. That’s not how it works.

And if you are in pain and miserable all the time, maybe take that up with society. It’s capitalism’s fault you’re in pain. Your work is exploiting you. Your healthcare and income are tied to your job so you can’t stop working to take care of yourself. The whole point is for them to work us to death. You have every right to feel angry, but don’t misplace your anger and frustration on disabled people. We haven’t done a thing to you.

I am fighting to get Disability, fighting to stay alive, fighting for my right to be seen as I am by the government, and you want me to have to fight your internalized ableism too? Because you don’t believe I’m in constant, chronic, terrible, life-ending pain while mourning the life that I’ve lost? That hurts almost as bad as my body does.

It costs nothing to believe disabled people, and it can make all the difference in the world to us.

I used to wait all year long for the Tucson Pride Festival which was just one day in October (because it was too hot to have in June.) It took place in a park adjacent to the Zoo, and was the only time all year I could watch drag performances. I got to be surrounded by people who looked like me and felt like me. It made me feel like I was a part of something greater than myself.

Pride Month fosters community, promotes visibility, and advocates for equality. It makes people feel less alone. It gives people a sense of belonging. It may be 2026, but if this administration has taught us anything it’s that there is still so much hatred out there toward LGBTQIA+ people. Folks would rather see us die than live happy, healthy lives. That’s one of the reasons why Pride month continues to be so important. It’s a celebration, yes, but it’s also activism.

GLAAD reports that anti-LGBTQIO+ incidents spiked in 2025 making it one of the most dangerous years on record for the queer community. Trans people were the primary targets making up more than half of the incidents. This is proof that policy affects perception, and when the administration comes after trans folks, citizens feel like they’ve been given permission to be violent toward us as well.

My first Prides were spent fighting for the rights of openly queer people to serve in the military and to do away with the ridiculous Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy of the Clinton years. Eventually the fight became for gay marriage, and now the fight continues for transgender healthcare and the right to exist safely and happily as a trans and queer person in the United States. There were several other battles along the way - gay adoption, the right for gay people to be welcome in certain churches, housing equality, healthcare for those living with HIV and AIDS, etc. Pride can be a party, but it’s also always been a fight. As the saying goes: The first Pride was a riot.

My own appreciation of Pride has changed over the years. In the mid 90s when I was first out as a lesbian teenager, I was always so shocked to see a company like Bud Light sponsoring a Pride event. It was like, “We made it, mom!” When big box stores started selling Pride merchandise, I was through the roof ecstatic. It felt like acceptance on a grand scale, and a big, giant FUCK YOU to all the homophobes out there.

Now, I’m much less impressed by corporations who slap a rainbow on some product for the month of June in order to make more money, but who ignore the queer community the other 11 months out of the year. If you’re making money off of us, you damn well better be investing some of that money back into our community by making substantial donations to queer organizations and being an active ally, not just looking out for your own bottom line.

In 2019, World Pride was in New York City to mark the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Uprising. It was a huge weekend, and I marched in the NYC Pride Parade for the first time with Actors Equity Association. In the years since, I’ve marched in smaller, more grassroots events that aren’t focused on rainbow capitalism. This year, because of chronic pain, I certainly won’t be marching and honestly, I probably won’t be able to go anywhere to celebrate any Pride events and that makes me sad. It’s no longer the only time of year that I can be surrounded by other queer people - I do have community as an adult that I didn’t have as a kid - but I do wish I had the freedom and autonomy to go celebrate one way or another. Being disabled can really bring me down sometimes, and I definitely feel it in June.

Pride is a joyful celebration of love, diversity, and the human experience. It is advocacy and can help facilitate change on local and national levels. It can help open hearts and minds. It can help make a 13 year old lesbian feel like they aren’t the only lesbian on the planet. It connects youth to the giant tapestry of history that comes with being a part of the queer community. It can educate those who may not know any queer people in real life. And it can be very, very fun.

I hope you all are having a wonderful Pride Month. If you are one of my heterosexual allies reading this, please consider making a donation to an LGBTQIA+ org this month, or to a queer person directly through mutual aid. Or go to a Pride event yourself and be an active ally!

Happy Pride, everyone. Be gay, do crime, stay hydrated.

That all changed when I made the following post:

“Hey folks! Just a quick reminder that when you use the phrase Girls, Gays, and Theys you might be accidentally excluding a good percentage of trans men. If it’s on purpose, that’s totally fine, but if you’re attempting to be inclusive, perhaps there is a better phrase to say!”

All hell broke loose. An hour later I had over 600 comments from members of the LGB community screaming at me as if I had threatened to murder their cats. There were several comments telling me to kill myself, many telling me how stupid and selfish I was, a lot calling me the r-slur, and tons calling me some of the most vile names I’ve ever been called in my entire life. And that’s saying something.

I was accused of attempting to center MEN (dun dun dun) in spaces that weren’t created for them when that is most certainly not at all what I was trying to do. I think it’s wonderful that there are spaces for women-identified folks/women only, and would never want to smash my way through the door like the Kool-Aid MAN (dun dun dun) to be somewhere I was not welcome. I just think that if you’re hosting a queer karaoke night, a drag performer on a microphone at a show, the emcee of a queer comedy event where everyone is supposed to be welcome, etc, perhaps using a different phrase would better include everyone in the room. Those are situations where you want to build community, not divide it, right? So maybe put the cutesy phrase down and talk the inclusive talk.

I didn’t respond to any individual comments because I was so taken aback. I figured out how to limit comments, and then I responded to my own post by saying, “This has been a fascinating conversation. I am limiting comments because the casual cruelty, though not entirely surprising, is not good for my mental health. Thank you to everyone who responded in good faith and led with kindness. You’re good people.” I immediately had people start commenting on other posts - posts I made days earlier about completely different topics - to continue telling me that I was an asshole, “insufferable,” and “annoying.” Someone told me, “Since English obviously isn’t your first language, you should probably know that ‘gay’ means ‘queer’ these days.” They didn’t really think that English wasn’t my first language, they were just being cruel (and also somewhat xenophobic and racist.) And I don’t know for sure, but I don’t believe “gay” means “queer” for everyone and if it does, that was the first I heard it. I think they can be interchangeable for specific people, but I don’t think it can be painted with that broad a brush. I know a lot of people who identify as “gay” but not as “queer,” and vice versa.

And no, these weren’t bots or trolls. These were real, living breathing members of the queer community. This was a billion times worse than any transphobia that’s ever been sent my way from idiots online. That I can brush off, or eventually forget about. This isn’t that. This was a new level of trauma. It felt violent. It still does. A friend said, “Being bullied by your own community, by ADULTS, is a violent experience.” My nervous system was shot, and I crashed into a very bad place for several days.

It’s not the first time I’ve tried to speak up for trans men and gotten very negative reactions, but it was by far the worst. I should have known better and just kept my mouth shut. I feel like I was allowed to speak from the ages of 13 - 31 when I was still moving through life as a lesbian woman, but now that I’m out as a transgender man, it seems my opinions and feelings aren’t considered valid anymore by a good number of people in the community. All of the life experience I’ve accrued up until now just doesn’t seem to matter. It keeps being reinforced over and over just how much people like me should be seen and not heard, and barely seen at that. It’s like I grew a beard and no longer have the right to speak to my own community, or for my own well-being.

A lot of people assumed I was straight, which I am not. I am queer. A lot of people also assumed I don’t use the pronoun “they,” which I do. I wasn’t necessarily talking about ME when I posted what I did - I was just trying to raise some awareness for the sake of the people who felt left out. And I know that there are many people who do because I see it/hear it so frequently in trans man spaces. I don’t mind being the mouthpiece for those who feel like they aren’t being heard. Well, I was heard all right, and a few days later I deleted my entire Threads account because the bullying never stopped.

Transmasculine people will say, “Hey, when you care about LGBTQIA people, can you include us too?” And folks are immediately like, “WHY ARE YOU MEN ASKING US TO CENTER YOU!?” Well...we’re not. We’re a part of the community. We also face oppression and need support. And you can include people without centering them. It shouldn’t matter if that transmasculine person identifies as straight or if they “pass” (which is a term the community proclaims to hate, but it sure gets weaponized and thrown at trans men an awful lot), they’re still trans/queer and should still be supported and lifted up as part of a marginalized community.

And sure, some trans men are assholes, but that can be said for any group of people. That’s not the point here. And it isn’t fair to treat every trans man like they’ve somehow magically become an asshole just because they’re living their truth.

There are so many different people in the LGBTQIA community, and those differences should be what makes us great. It should strengthen us, not divide us. “I hate men, and that includes trans men” (which was said to me several times on Threads) is, imho, a little problematic, but hey - if that’s how you feel, fine. I don’t know your life. But to bully someone over it like this? Just completely unhinged, unacceptable behavior. I spent my whole adolescence being bullied for being a lesbian/butch woman, and that continued into adulthood. Usually it was by people outside of the queer community. Now that I’m living authentically, I get it from non-queer and queer people alike. It’s really devastating.

Having had this experience simply for asking for more inclusive language was wild. People don’t want to put much thought into what they say. They want to use the fun, easy phrase that rhymes cause it’s cute and then not think about their own biases. Trans man invisibility is a real thing, and when we speak up, we often face circumstances like the one I’m describing here. It’s very disheartening. I think the entire community needs to do better, and I know I’m not the only one who feels that way.

Trans men are men. That doesn’t make us bad. There are people in this community who need to take a good, hard look at themselves and their biases. I hope they do.

That was until I received the Drag King S.O.S. when I was about 27 years old.

I had some friends - all of whom identified as lesbian women at the time, myself included - who were part of a small drag king troupe, and they had an upcoming show scheduled at one of the local lesbian bars in Phoenix, Arizona. The day prior, several performers dropped out of the show for one reason or another and they were suddenly left with too few people to put on a decent show. One of them said, “Donnie, you’re an actor - do you think you could jump in just this one time and help us out?” And me being the people pleaser I was said yes.

We stayed up late that night coming up with my drag name, practicing taping my DDs to my back, and putting on facial hair (which was fake hair you purchased in braids that we’d cut up and glue to our faces with spirit gum.) And thus, drag king Anson Reign was born.

I was hooked after one show. Hooked. And the performance opportunities kept coming, so I just kept on accepting them.

Not long after that first performance, I was co-hosting my own show with the current reigning Miss Gay America, Mikaila Kay, at a Phoenix bar called Club Vibe. Drag kings back in 2008 were vastly different (at least in Arizona) than they are now. In the circle I performed with, it was about looking as masculine as possible - granted, we were frequently covered in Swarovskis and sequins, but we didn’t paint our faces in the way lots of performers do now. It was just about shadowing and facial hair.

Someone snapped a picture of me after one of my shows. I was still bound (meaning my giant boobs were still duck taped to my back), and I was wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, with a backwards hat on. My facial hair was awful because - even though I had my own show - I was still learning. But hey, it was facial hair. When they sent me the picture, it was like sirens started screaming inside my head.

That wasn’t just Anson. That was me. The real me. It was the first time I’d ever seen a photograph that represented who I knew I was on the inside - the person my brain always expected to see when I looked in the mirror. Bells rung. Angels sang. And I knew.

And boy, did that scare the shit out of me. But it was also kind of exciting. I leaned heavily into drag and started making a career out of it by hosting multiple shows, starting my own drag king troupe (Reigning Men, lol), participating in pageants, traveling around the country - all sorts of wild shit. I loved the way people called me “he” and “him” and “bro” whether in or out of drag, and “Anson” instead of my birth name. It all just clicked and made sense in a way that I’m still struggling to put into words all these years later.

It was through accidentally discovering Anson Reign that I discovered Donnie Cianciotto. I know that’s a bit cliché - drag performer realizes they’re transgender, what a shock! Hell, 19 out of the 20 people I used to perform with identify as trans men now. But it certainly changed my life, and I’ll be forever grateful to Anson for helping me figure it out.

I’ve had chronic back pain since I was about 14 years old and a friend ran into me as hard as she could from behind. I remember falling down in the parking lot we were walking through and feeling an explosion of pain in my lower back. That’s probably the beginning of when my back problems started, and they have gotten consistently worse as I’ve aged. Being 45 is a lot different than being 14.

But the thing that pushed me over the edge - making life nearly physically impossible - happened to me in 2023.

I live in a very safe area of NYC. I’ve never, not once, ever felt scared walking around my neighborhood no matter what time of day or night. On this particular day in June, I was on my way to work. It was bright and sunny, and I was wearing a hat with a rainbow on it. Not really a Pride flag, just rainbow colors above the brim. See below.

I was walking past a restaurant on my way to the subway that always puts out an enormous Pride flag every June. I don’t believe it’s a queer-owned space, but they celebrate anyway and it’s always nice to see. The colors were so pretty against the beautiful blue sky that I hardly noticed the five men walking toward me.

They surrounded me and called me the f-slur, and started pushing me back and forth, hitting me in the stomach and on my arms which I’d put up to protect my face and head. I ended up falling down to the ground and slamming onto the left side of my butt, jarring my spine. They kicked at me while I was on the ground, but a few men came out of the restaurant and started shouting. The assailants ran down the stairs into the subway - the stairs were literally right beside us - and disappeared.

I was crying. The men help me stand up and asked if I was okay, but they were speaking Spanish and I was speaking English and we weren’t really able to communicate very well. I did not continue on my way to work. I limped home and my back felt like it was on fire the entire time.

I did not call the police. I do not trust the police and would rather never have an interaction with them again for as long as I live, especially as a queer trans person. Plus, the guys who did this were long gone. The idea of trying to pursue anything was completely overwhelming and felt pointless.

I also did not go to the hospital. I was banged up, but had no cuts or broken bones. I used to be an EMT, so I took stock and decided I wasn’t injured enough for an ER trip. I also did not want to have to out myself as a queer transgender man to a roomful of strangers after what had just happened. I wanted to protect myself. I can’t tell you how often trans people experience transphobia in medical settings, and I’ve had it happen to me several times. I didn’t want to put myself in that situation.

So I called out of work, got into bed, and cried myself to sleep.

My body was never the same after that.

I was working as a an actor, and also as an usher at an off-Broadway show - Blue Man Group - at the time. It was a surprisingly physical job because of the unique nature of the show, and I was struggling to bend over, squat, reach, climb ladders/stairs, and carry anything heavy - all of which were part of the job. I stayed at Blue Man Group another 4 months until it became obvious that I was simply no longer physically able to do it. I worked on and off for the next year, but it became increasingly apparent that I’d passed the point of “this is challenging” and moved onto “this is impossible.”

I’ve had an MRI that shows bulging discs, pinched nerves, and bone spurs in my lumbar and sacral spine. The pain has continued to get worse. Much worse. I have nerve damage in my right leg, and my right hand has a tendency to go numb when I am using the computer mouse, writing, or typing. I am unable to stand up for more than 2 or 3 minutes at a time, and I can only walk about 10 steps before I have to stop. I use a rollator to move around now, but it helps only a little bit, and the pain is constant and excruciating. It hurts my back and hips to sit down for any length of time. I can’t take public transportation because I can’t even walk to the subway station.

In truth, I’ve been homebound 98% of the time since early 2025. My life as I’ve always known it is over.

I see an orthopedist, a pain management doctor, and go to physical therapy. I’ve had a steroid epidural and have been on muscle relaxers, but so far nothing has helped. I was told at my most recent pain management appointment that we may have to start thinking about surgical options. I don’t want to have surgery on my spine, but I don’t want to be in pain like this anymore either.

In 2025, I applied for Disability and was denied. Because of the country we live in, nearly everyone is denied the first time. I appealed the denial with the help of a law firm, but unfortunately just found out on Friday that my appeal was denied as well. This is absolutely devastating news. The next step is an Administrative Law Judge Hearing which will take months, and I’m waiting to hear back from my lawyer to get guidance on how to move forward. All I know is that I can’t afford to stay alive in a capitalist society without some kind of income coming in, and that it gets harder every day.

My life path was drastically altered by 5 bigoted men, and I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to to get back what I lost. So much was taken from me. I try not to spend a lot of time mourning the life I used to/could have had, but I do. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. And there is no end in sight.

I wish this had a happier ending. Maybe the future will provide me one.

If you’d like to make a donation to help me stay alive, housed, and keep the lights on, you can do so here. You can also become a paid subscriber to this Substack. Thank you for reading. Stay safe out there.

I knew I wanted to be a professional actor since I was about 8 years old. Southern Comfort is what gave me that opportunity.

Southern Comfort is a bluegrass musical based on the 2001 Sundance award-winning documentary by the same name. It tells the true story of Robert Eads, a transgender man who is dying of ovarian cancer, and his (mostly) transgender friends and chosen family living in the rural town of Toccoa, Georgia. The musical focuses on the last year of Robert’s life, and his final trip to the annual Southern Comfort conference in Atlanta, one of the largest gatherings of the transgender community in the country.

I wasn’t familiar with the documentary when I started getting emails from everyone I knew telling me that The Public Theater in New York City was holding nationwide auditions for a transgender actor to play the role of a transgender character named “Sam.” I was living in Tucson, Arizona at the time making my own performance opportunities, but this was a huge deal. I contacted The Public and they emailed me the audition materials, and that November I filmed my audition and sent it on over to the casting directors.

I really, REALLY wanted it. I’m from NYC originally and went to school for musical theater at The American Musical and Dramatic Academy and had been performing my entire life, but after coming out as transgender I assumed that part of my life was over. I’d started testosterone and my voice was in the process of changing dramatically, and besides, who wants to cast a trans actor anyway? Especially in Tucson, Arizona.

In November, I was elated to receive a call from casting inviting me out to New York to audition for them in person. I was going to be able to stay with my brother and his husband, but I had about 2 weeks to figure out how the hell I was going to get there. My partner at the time and I set up a GoFundMe to help raise money for an airline ticket, and before I knew it I was flying up to New York in early December to audition.

I was nervous, but mostly incredibly excited. The 2 casting directors were very friendly, as were the 4 other trans guys there who had been called back for Sam. It had a very jubilant atmosphere. It felt electric.

I was so worked up after it was over, I left Chelsea Studios and decided to wander around the city after the audition. I was only in town for 3 days - just a quick jaunt in for the process - and I wanted to see some of my favorite sights. I ended up downtown in the cemetery at St. Paul’s Chapel, of all places, when I got a phone call from one of the casting directors asking me to return the following day for another callback.

ABSOLUTELY!

The folks in the room that next day - the director, writers, casting directors, and producers - were all incredibly warm and welcoming. I read a scene from the script, sang a song from the show, sang another song of my selection (I can’t even remember what it was now), and then sang some scales. I felt ridiculously confident for someone who’s voice was changing so drastically, lol. I left feeling like I had done my best and really left an impression on the team.

Of course, everyone in the room was cisgender, but that’s a story for another time.

I flew out of NY the following day and wound up with a layover in Texas. It was early in the morning, and I dragged myself into one of the restaurants to grab a bite before the next leg of my trip when I received a call from an unknown NY number. It was the casting director.

He offered me the role right then and there. The turnaround time was going to be QUICK - it was early December, and rehearsals began in mid-January, and he knew I didn’t live in NY, so he wanted to give me as much of a head’s up as possible so I could figure out accommodations. So I found out I was going to be making my off-Broadway/professional New York City theater debut in an airport cantina somewhere in Texas.

It was shocking. I mean, I’d given up on my dream of acting professionally the first time I put a needle full of testosterone into my leg, and here I was getting cast in a show at the world-famous, historic Public Theater (where A Chorus Line, Hamilton, and Fun Home got their starts!) in my home city because I was a transgender actor - what were the odds??

My partner at the time was thrilled for me and tremendously supportive. We both wanted to leave Tucson, so we sold off pretty much everything we owned, found a sublet in Brooklyn, and picked up and moved to NYC so I could start rehearsals. It was a whirlwind and I can’t believe we did it, but we did. It’s been 10 years, and in a way it feels like yesterday.

Southern Comfort became a New York Times Critic’s pick (they called me “vibrant”, lol) and overall got very good reviews, though there was some outlets that didn’t care for it. I tend to think those folks couldn’t get over their transphobia long enough to actually give the show a chance. The run was extended twice, and when it was over there was a lot of buzz about us making the jump to Broadway, but it never happened. It’s a shame because I loved the show, I loved playing Sam, and I loved the cast, plus I would have gotten to make my Broadway debut. But there were also some issues that needed addressing - there were 5 trans characters in the show, and only 2 of them were being played by trans actors, and most of the creative team were cisgender people. Not a lot of folks trusted a trans musical to do well on Broadway, so I think getting money became a problem. If anything, I think we were just a little bit before our time. I’ll definitely write another article that delves into these topics a bit more in the future.

I got to meet and work with some incredible people, and the show brought me home to New York. It opened a lot of doors for me, and for a lot of transgender actors after me. I can’t say I’m the first trans man to have starred in an off-Broadway musical because we don’t know for sure, but I do know I was one of the first (if not the first) out trans men to do so. I’m glad I did it. It was one of the best experiences of my life.

A huge thank you to literally everyone who saw that casting notice online, thought “Trans + actor = Donnie!”, and sent it my way. You helped change my life forever.

I came out as a lesbian in 1994 when I was 13 years old because I knew I was attracted to girls, but I didn’t come out as transgender until I was 28 because it took me so long to gain an understanding of the entire concept. I also didn’t know any trans people, and when I first started to figure it out, I was also in a little bit of denial. But this is all a story for another time.

It was 2007 and I had just begun dating a woman. We’ll call her E, which is her real first initial, because she’s earned it. E and I had dated in high school a decade earlier, and she was the first real love of my life. I truly believed I’d found “the one.” Then again, I was 16, so what did I know? Nothin’.

We broke up shortly after high school when I walked in on her with two of her male classmates (and they weren’t studying), and I spent nearly a decade pining for “the one who got away.”

Who waltzes back into my life in 2007 but E. I was ecstatic. What a miracle! We reconnected, now both as 27 year old women - I was still identifying as a cis butch lesbian at the time, and she identified as a cis bisexual woman.

We reconnected (if you know what I mean) when she happened to be at a Pride event that I was hosting in my drag king persona, and made plans to see each other again a few days later at another drag show I was doing. That second night I told her I was transgender. I explained that I was still at the beginning of figuring it all out, but that I felt confident and strong in my truth, and I was excited to finally tell someone about it. I thought she’d be happy for me.

The first thing she said was, “That’s not fair.”

What? What’s not fair?

“That’s not fair because I just spent 10 years dating men, and I finally start dating a woman again and now you’re telling me you’re a man?”

A wiser person than I would have realized right then that this wasn’t going to work, that she had just taken a very personal piece of information I’d given her about myself and made it all about her. But I was blinded by love and what I thought was a second chance with the girl of my dreams. You know. Stupid.

Then she told me, “I think you’re confused. I think you just really enjoy the attention you get from being a drag king, and that has confused you into thinking that you’re a man. But you’re not actually a man, you just like the attention.”

Mind you, this conversation was happening in the dressing room right before the show I was about to do. I thought it’d be something quick and easy due to her immediate support and excitement, but instead we kind of had to put a pin in it so I could hit the stage and “enjoy the attention.”

When I tried to bring it up again after the show, she doubled down and told me, “I want to date a woman, so you’re going to be a woman.” That was the end of the discussion.

So you know what I did?

I delayed my transition by almost 4 years.

I had no mentors, no trans peers to go to for advice. I felt alone, scared, and confused. The first person I’d come out to - the one I thought was the love of my life - had reacted negatively. I was afraid to come out to anyone else because what if E was right? What if I really did just like the attention? I doubted myself, my authenticity, and my reality. I was SO SURE that E and I were meant to be together, and because (at the time) I believed that love was the most important thing in the entire world. If I just stayed a woman for her, we’d be happy.

Narrator: It did not work.

When I was 31 years old, I saw a psychiatrist behind E’s back. Since I was in Arizona and the laws differed state to state, I was supposed to see this psychiatrist for at least 3 months before she’d even think about diagnosing me with gender identity disorder (now known as gender dysphoria or gender incongruence.) However, this woman was extraordinary and told me she believed in Informed Consent (which states like NY were already embracing), and wrote me a letter right then and there. I never saw her again. She changed my life. She told me, “You know yourself better than I ever will.”

A week later, I was at my first endocrinologist appointment getting blood work done, and a few days later I was receiving my first Testosterone shot. The entire process took less than 2 weeks. I didn’t tell E until I’d had my first injection.

In the 3 and a half years we’d been together by that point, she’d cheated on me at least a dozen times. She often blamed me for it, or she justified it - she once wrote me a letter (which I still have) in which she told me she was so excited to “be a lesbian again” that she just had to sleep with her female boss at her restaurant. Just had to. And that I should understand and support her. Unfortunately, I thought that by sticking with her through her infidelity, I would prove to her just how much I loved her and eventually she’d see that and her cheating would stop.

That’s not how it works. And we’ll talk more about that another time.

I had simply reached a point where I was dying on the inside. I hated what I saw in the mirror. I hated my chest, my high speaking voice. I hated being called “she” and “her.” Every time I saw myself in drag I thought, “Yep, this is how it’s supposed to be.” But it had nothing to do with the attention I was getting from other people. It had everything to do with me and how I felt in the space I was taking up.

Obviously, E was upset with me for going behind her back. She was clearly angry, and struggled with using my new pronouns and name. She didn’t even try to hide her disgust unless other people were around in which case she put on the disguise of a supportive, loving partner. By that point, I knew our relationship had run it’s course and it was only a matter of time before we’d be over for good. A few months later she started cheating on me with a cis man named Todd. Todd is his real name because fuck that guy.

When I started Testosterone, it was like everything fell into place. My body, my mind, my mood - everything improved. And I put it off for nearly 4 years for a woman who didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve it. I’m grateful that my idea of a healthy relationship has evolved over the years, and that I don’t date people like E any more.

When you know who you are, you KNOW. You are the most important person in your life - not your partner, your parents, your best friend - just YOU. And you have to do what you can to make your life as happy and authentic as possible. Don’t put off your transition for anyone else’s sake. You deserve to be 100% yourself. Change your life for the better. The people you leave behind are the ones who aren’t meant to come on your journey. After all, you know yourself better than they ever will.

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Hi folks! Thank you so much for taking the time to check out my brand new Substack!

Why this, why now?

In 2023, I was the victim of a homophobic attack. Not long after, I became disabled due to chronic pain and have been unable to maintain steady employment. I filed for Disability, and was denied - BUT I am currently in the process of appealing that denial! It just may take quite awhile because the wheels of bureaucracy turn slowly.

I’ve been trying to find ways to make ends meet, and I’ve always got a lot to say so starting a Substack makes a lot of sense, even if I did have to have someone twist my arm for me to actually do it, lol. Having paid subscribers will help me survive while I navigate disability and adjust to this New Normal.

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This will be a space where I share stories of my life - topics will include (but are certainly not limited to) growing up in the 1980s and 90s, living my authentic life first as a lesbian woman and now as a transgender man, my experiences as a professional actor and performer, stories and resources about surviving domestic partner abuse, what it’s been like learning to live with chronic pain, and random and hopefully amusing anecdotes about my time on this planet. I will also share my opinions on everything from world politics and Broadway musicals to horror movies and food - maybe you’ll even get a recipe or two!

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Subscribers will receive at least one post a week, but there will certainly be weeks where I will have more than one post in me - there’s a lot to say! You’ll also see images of my artwork, samples of my song-writing and screenplays, and plenty of pictures of my cat. I promise lots of pictures of my cat.

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Thank you for being here. I’m looking forward to starting a community and having conversations with you, and am very grateful for your support!