Standing in front of the Alabama State House on a late March afternoon in the unexpected early spring heat and a long-sleeve floral shirt, I definitely had my regrets; I was terrified. I was sure the people around me could hear my hammering heart. I could feel the sweat making its way down my face as I listened to the words spoken more eloquently by those before me. Despite the fear I was determined. This was my truth, my passion, and I could not stay quiet. 

The way I dress is often misleading. Loud and confident. That's what everyone always said about me and the way I dressed, and that's what I always aimed for. But looks can be deceiving. Contrary to popular assumptions, the idea of speaking in front of a crowd terrified me. What if I didn’t know what to say? What if no one liked what I had to say or worse, didn’t listen?  I wasn't sure I could be one of those people who stood in front of crowds and spoke their truth, spoke from their heart. I didn’t have that truth. That was until I started the path to finding my gender identity. 

The summer before tenth grade I came across the term “Non-Binary.” Prior to this discovery, I had been struggling with my identity, and a lot of this struggle stemmed from my belief that society had to accept my gender. I believed, irrationally, that the way I looked and the way society perceived me was it. I thought that the gender society gave you was the gender you kept, when in reality discovering my gender was an inner journey. Coming out to my parents and small circle of friends was emotionally taxing, but I received overwhelming support and love. Coming out was rather what I imagined public speaking to be like. Because of the constant validation through people using my correct pronouns and chosen name I was able to start the journey of fully embracing myself and become closer to the confident person others had always perceived me to be. I had always had a voice, but now I was beginning to use it.

Senate Bill Ten and House Bill One: two Alabama bills that together would make healthcare for trans and non-binary youth illegal and require teachers to “out” students under penalty of law. I honestly didn’t believe it at first: it was 2021, there were more important things to focus on than banning healthcare for trans and non-binary youth. Surely someone would do something. 

Then it hit me. 

I could do something. Because of the community support and confidence I had gained since coming out and coming into my own, I was able to speak out instead of just sitting on the sidelines and watching others work for me. This time, I would work for others by staging a protest. After all, I wanted to give people confidence, hope, and even moreso, I wanted to be heard. And if I failed myself that was alright, but I couldn’t fail other people, because they were counting on me to change something they couldn’t. I was the voice for those who hadn’t found theirs yet. 

In planning the protest, I became more confident, reaching out to people and asking for their help because I was not going to fail my peers. I was no longer the timid little middle schooler who acted confident for fear of disappointing my friends; I was a stronger version of myself. My inner self now more accurately represented my colorful outward self, and I knew exactly what I needed to do. Leading a protest was the spark that lit the flame of passion in me for fighting for people's rights and social justice. Newly confident through a long journey of discovering my gender I was determined to stand in front of the State House and speak my truth.