“It's easy to fictionalize an issue when you're not aware of the many ways in which you are privileged by it.” - Kate Bornstein, "Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation"

I am not complaining, or bashing Christianity. I am telling my story, one queer story singled out from thousands of untold queer stories — stories of people whose lives are often slightly more difficult. From a young age, I knew something was different with my life, but I didn't know how to speak up.

I grew up in Charleston, South Carolina, a black Christian in the Holy City. I spent the first 20 years of my life attending a predominantly black African Methodist Episcopal Church and a predominantly black Catholic Church. I lived to please my family. I never completely felt at home at either church. Even when I went from my Sunday best to more casual dress, I still felt alien in my body. I didn’t know what to expect as a queer black Christian living in the South. Because of this, I was afraid to say anything to anyone, so I stayed silent.

Almost three years ago, when I went away to college, something changed: I found my voice. I am a queer person of color (POC). The churches I went to preached that homosexuality was a sin, a cause for eternal damnation: I am bisexual. The churches I went to preached that God made no mistakes, transgender people are committing sin, and this was also cause for eternal damnation: I am transgender, I am gender fluid. I couldn’t say anything. I wanted to please my family, and I could not possibly tell my family who I am. But Salem College changed me.

One of my best friends since arriving at Salem was Milo, who was also queer. Milo changed and challenged me — Milo inspired me. Milo taught me the way that I was feeling, and still feel, was OK. In fact, Milo convinced me that my feelings are completely valid. Through his mentoring and his ability to push me, I am now a queer activist, and I am completely out as a transgender and gender non-conforming person. In the south, as a Christian, that has been one of the hardest things to deal with. When I go to church, people still call me by my birth name despite hundreds upon hundreds of corrections. People still use female pronouns and misgender me, despite correction upon correction. I get weird looks when I come to church in suits and oxford shoes, but all is well when I am in dresses, heels and a full face of makeup.

Attending church as a queer person has presented a number of obstacles, but no amount of hate is enough to keep me from God’s place of worship. I am a firm believer that God doesn’t give me anything that I can’t handle, and God is just pushing me to see how faithful I will remain. I still go to church because I believe that God knows my heart. To many of my non-believing friends, who are also supporters of the queer community, my identity as a queer Christian is quite the oxymoron. To me, it isn’t. I am a Christian, which means that I believe in equity and love for all of God’s people. It doesn’t matter if they are transgender, black or any other minority, gay, lesbian, pansexual, bisexual or anything else that can be discriminated against in our society. For those who believe, we are all God’s children, and we are all highly favored by God.

I have accepted that everyone is not going to accept me. Some will accept me if I give them time and education. No one can truly understand what it’s like to be queer without being queer. I have been pulled out of bathrooms and accused of being a pervert. I am estranged from my family and spending the summer in North Carolina. I have lost many friends, but I have gained comrades. I have become a part of the queer movement as an activist and an advocate. I have accepted that I am transgender and that I am gender non-conforming. I have stopped running from my identity because of the fear of being ostracized by my family, friends and the Christian community. I am sure that all God wants for me in this life to accept who I am, so that is what I am doing.

I am still hunting for that church that will accept my transgender and gender non-conforming identity. I am not sure if I will ever find it, but that's OK. I know that I am never going to be accepted by 100 percent of people, but it becomes a little easier when I pray to God, advocate for my people and keep pushing on. My family may not accept me, but I am going to transition and live my life as who I truly am. Here’s to hoping that I still have my church on my side; even if they forsake me, I still have God and my queer comrades.

Thank you, Milo (may he rest in peace) for teaching me to love myself in a time when I sought acceptance from everyone except myself. I am much happier now. And acceptance by my comrades and God is all I could ever ask for.