What Would It Be Like?

     For as long as I can remember, I've had social anxieties.  I conveniently also happen to be an adrenaline junky.  This unique combination has helped me to enjoy a couple of occasions in which I successfully conducted public speeches.  This is something that I, as a trans advocate would love to be able to do more of.  It would be a dream come true to speak at a Pride rally.  However, ultimately, I would love to have the opportunity to address Congress, or even the Supreme Court on behalf of the trans community.

    I recently enlisted Artificial Intelligence to create a possible scripted speech.  The result was pretty good, but it just wasn't "ME" enough.  So, I did a little embellishment.  The following is what I was able to come up with:

    (Formal greeting, depending on the occasion)

    "My name is Ronnie Lee.  I'm a trans woman from rural Kansas - and I'm here to tell you that visibility is not just a moment, it's a movement.  It's a mosaic truth, stitched together from every scar, every song, every story we were once afraid to tell.

    I grew up in a situation where silence was survival.  Where being different meant being invisible.  And for a long time, I believed that invisibility was safer than authenticity.

    I was wrong!

    When I was seven years old, my parents forced me to suppress my gender identity.  Maybe they did so looking out for my best interests.  Or maybe it was their own interests they were looking out for.  In either case, I was not allowed to be my authentic self.

    I'm walking through the fire of transition - not just medically, but spiritually, and emotionally as well.  I face restrictive laws that make it nearly impossible to update my gender marker.  I've navigated the lingering effects of COVID on my health while managing the energy shifts of HRT.  And I've done it all while trying to create - trying to write and to advocate.

    Because creativity is how I breathe.  Advocacy is how I heal.  And visibility is how I fight!

    I've written lyrics to honor my transition.  I've turned blog posts into battle cries and spoken word pieces into sermons of survival.  I've challenged religious hypocrisy not because I lost faith - but because I found it.  In truth.  In justice.  In the radical belief that God does not make mistakes.

    I dream of opening a trans-owned wedding chapel in my small hometown.  I dream of creating a story of two trans kids growing up in the heartland and seeing it adapted into a Netflix production.  I dream of speaking at Pride events, where joy and resistance dance  hand in hand.  And yes, I dream of standing before Congress, or the Supreme Court - not for applause, but for accountability.

    Because policy is personal.  And visibility without protection is a hollow victory.

    When I was a child, what I was taught from the pulpit and from my parents made me think I was a mistake needing to be fixed.  I prayed, and I cried for God to fix me.  But, he never did - because I didn't need fixed.  I needed to be loved, and I needed to be accepted.

    To every trans kid:  You are not a mistake.  You are a miracle!  To every ally:  Thank you for standing beside us, not in front of us.  And to every law maker:  We are not asking for special treatment.  We're asking for equal protection.

    I am not just surviving - I am creating, and advocating.  I am building a legacy.

    This is what Pride looks like.  This is what resilience sounds like.  This is what becoming visible in the heartland truly means.

    Thank you!"

    So, what do you think?

    I just need a chance to deliver my speech to the right audiences now.