The Supportive Power of Unspoken Camaraderie and Quiet Representation for Trans Folks

I’ve sometimes struggled to see the importance of trans joy in my own life. I came out three ago at the age of 22, and for awhile, I was of the opinion that joy for me looked like joy for everyone else. While that’s certainly true in a lot of cases, this past year—which has seen hundreds of pieces of anti-trans legislation introduced in the United States that would curtail my rights and ability to live my life—has made me realize that trans joy is a more specific thing than joy itself.

Trans joy exists in the little victories of being trans, in the knowing that people like us are not inherently bad or different or lesser than anyone else. It thrives in the small affirmations passed around at coffee shops, in between the pages of novels shared between friends—in quiet, passive, unmarked representation in the ubiquity of life.

To me, it’s important to celebrate the power of the unspoken camaraderie in the trans community and the bond we share, even when we don’t exchange words. It’s a bond that exists without needing to identify oneself as trans or advocate for trans rights—no matter what, we support each other by simply existing.

Some of the most authentic moments of joy I’ve experienced have been small or even unspoken exchanges with other trans folks. Tiny acknowledgements from other folks in the community can be affirming, empowering, and joy-provoking—and they don’t need to be overt or loud messages to be effective.

Tiny acknowledgements from other folks in the trans community can be affirming, empowering, and joy-provoking—and they don’t need to be overt or loud messages to be effective.

For instance, my band, Blankslate, recently opened for the trio Caamp at a sold-out music venue in Aspen, Colorado. After our set, as my bandmates and I made our way through the crowd, a young man stopped me and complimented our performance.

After discussing our music, he shared that he had scrolled through my Instagram and discovered that I am trans—just like he is. He thanked me for the quiet representation we provided (one of my bandmates also happens to be trans); he said he never expected to see that going into the night.

To me, that note of “quiet representation” speaks to the core of trans joy—it’s in how you live your daily life; every interaction has the capacity to be positive when you’re living authentically.

“Quiet representation” speaks to the core of trans joy—it’s in how you live your daily life; every interaction has the capacity to be positive when you’re living authentically.

In my day job, I work as a newspaper reporter, primarily covering crime and courts in Jefferson County, Colorado. I do not get to interview a high number of trans people, but when someone does disclose that they are trans, I can afford them a safe space that they may not always get in a media setting. It’s quiet representation and unspoken camaraderie at work. Trans people transition because we want to live our lives in accordance with who we know ourselves to be. And when we do so, we overwhelmingly see positive changes in almost every aspect of life.

Since coming out as trans, I’ve become closer to my family and friends, more productive at work and more creative as a musician—and I credit all of that to choosing to live my truth. To say that doing so infringes upon others is bigotry, plain and simple.

In the face of legislative attacks on trans rights, community is more important than ever. Having a best friend who also happens to be trans has been vital for my mental health. With each other to lean on, if we see something upsetting on the news or have a challenging day at work, we’re able to rally around each other and provide support and empathy. I’m also lucky to have a support system with a lot of people who can sympathize with the trans experience. And for folks who don’t have a trans best friend or a strong support network, the network of unspoken camaraderie and quiet representation can feel like a warm hug in daily life.

Trans people excel at being there for one another. We understand each other’s lived experiences in complex, nuanced ways, and we can provide support— and levity—in moments of tribulation.

“I believe strongly that community is not just healing, but life-saving,” says Emma Mahn, LCSW, a licensed clinical social worker who works with trans patients “It creates a sense of belonging and safety that is so necessary for everyone, but especially for marginalized people like the trans community.”

All in all, being trans is a joyous, beautiful, life-sustaining thing. Even in the face of attacks on our rights and livelihood, we are stronger together than any hatred or bigotry could ever be. The quiet representation I feel and network of unspoken camaraderie I experience in the trans community reinforces that reality to me every month of the year, with pride.