The Courage to Belong to Ourselves

The courage it must have taken to risk everything continues to make me love them more

I wasn't going to write today. It's the last day of a truly fabulous birthday week celebration, and I'm having those Sunday-before-the-workweek feelings—times ten. I was planning to lie down, journal, pour myself some tea, and maybe watch a movie.

But I was just in the car with Stacy, reading them this piece by Patti Digh about choosing to drive across country to New York instead of flying with her autistic transgender son.

It's a beautiful piece, and I wanted Stacy to hear it. But when I got to the line, “Now my fears wear heavier boots,” I started to cry.

I’d read it earlier and thought it was exceptionally well done, but reading it out loud touched something in me I think I’ve been afraid to touch for a very long time.

Part heartbreaking grief for a country that is not mine, but which many beloved friends call home—and whose policies can shape the world.

Part deep admiration for a protective mother and the fierce love pouring from every word.

Part painful memory of the very poor reception I received when I took a transgender-inclusive stance in my previous work. Even writing this now, I brace myself.

Part personal fear, and the desire to fiercely protect my own non-binary wife. We are dropping each other’s hands more and more when we leave the house. How we quietly wonder whether gender-affirming care will remain available, and for how long.

Basically, it all just hit home.

After I finished reading, Stacy shared how, when they were young, they were made to wear a dress—and how deeply wrong it felt. Then they said, “I would rather go through all of this, and all this fear, than be forced to wear a dress again.”

I remember when they came out to me as non-binary, 12 years into our life together, afraid I would leave. But when they finally knew—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that they had to choose themselves over all else, something profound shifted inside of them and in us.

Clearly, I didn't leave. It would not have crossed my mind. But it did for Stacy. The courage it took to risk everything continues to make me love them more.

On the day of my 50th birthday, I wrote, “I belong to myself and that is a truly wonderful and freeing feeling.”

And it is.

I can't tell you what all I've had to overcome to be able to write those words and mean them.

If you’re here, I imagine you value truth-telling, resilience, love, and the complexity of being ourselves in a world that often asks us not to be. In all the myriad ways.

These are vulnerable things to write. I don't share them to be polarizing, but to build connection and understanding. I share them because I know I'm not alone.

If you're navigating your own crossroads of identity, love, or the quiet bravery of becoming more fully yourself—I see you. We need spaces where truth-telling is met with care, where our complexities are welcome, and where it’s safe to bring our whole selves to each other and to the world.

• May we choose ourselves, even when it's hard.

• May we keep choosing each other, even if it seems the world is tearing us apart.

• And may we never stop believing that belonging—to ourselves and each other—is possible.

If this touched something in you, I’d love to hear from you.
How are you honouring who you are?

Or if you’d rather take it to your journal, here’s a prompt:

If you were to write the words “I belong to myself,” what memories, resistances, or emotions would rise to the surface?

Thank you for being here and being in my life. I truly appreciate you!