Last year my employer embarked on an initiative to improve presentation skills company-wide. We broke into groups of ten or so; ran through some training courses; and culminated things by each preparing a ten minute presentation on a topic of our choosing, to be delivered to our colleagues via video conference.
I was already out with half of the people in my group; so I figured this was as good a time as any to out myself to the remainder and to that effect prepared a presentation on the subject of transgenderism.
(It’s probably worth stressing at this point that I had been on HRT for a while at this point; and while the outward effects were minimal, internally it had realigned my brain and I was now all about being out; consequences be damned.)
Come presentation time, there were three people ahead of me. The first was the head of the customer service team, who delivered an excellent sermon on the subject of climate change. She was followed by a sales executive, who covered the importance of giving back to one’s community. The third was an intern from a musical family and sharing their passion.
(Impressively, he transitioned between his slides in such a way as to give the impression that he was flipping through pages of sheet music.)
Then it was my turn.
Alas, due to time constraints, I had neither prepared an accompanying PowerPoint, or practiced my presentation, or even put together anything bar the scantest notes taped around my monitor.
I launched right in with: “Today, I’ll be talking on the subject of transgenderism. This is a topic that is near and dear to my heart, because - as some people here already know and the others have most likely surmised - I am in fact transgender myself.”
(This brings me to two interesting asides:
First, I was dead wrong: nobody had deduced that I was trans.
Second, that human beings commit certain facts to memory in relation to their acquaintances - such as gender - and unless explicitly given reason to, will not update this information. I had bangs, pink streaks in my hair, and I was wearing a mint green top imprinted with a delicate floral pattern; and yet it was apparently still a surprise to some that I was not, in fact, male.
Both of these things were audibly confirmed when one audience member gasped into their microphone.)
I then proceeded to explain the concepts of gender identity and dysphoria; the pain the latter had brought me (having been actively suicidal as a teenager and passively suicidal as an adult); the process of transitioning and the many different parts involved.
Each presenter was given a few minutes afterwards to answer questions and solicit feedback. I opened the floor to my fellow group members, and our West Coast sales exec chimed in to let me know that she admired my bravery, and that she had my back. I was not aware at the time, but I had brought her to tears during my talk.
(This was apparently a common theme; several of my colleagues - including a number that already knew I was trans - had cried during proceeds.)
The course presenter then opted to postpone the next presentation to a later session, wryly noting: “There’s no way anyone tops that”.
In the following days I received emails from each and every person in the group; reiterating their support for me.
This was, for me, one of the highlights of my coming out process; but also, a most surreal event. What I perceived to be an nervous, stumbling exposition (made all the worse by hormone therapy, as I experienced stage fright for the first time in my life) was interpreted by the audience as a courageous baring of the soul.
If there is one takeaway for me, it is this: I had spent the entire duration of my career at this organization - a decade and a half - in utmost fear that were my second side ever discovered, I would most certainly be terminated. When it came time however to reveal my authentic self, I received only unanimous love and support.
There is no joy to be found in the anxious what-ifs; only in what lays beyond those fears.