Full Disclosure: I traveled to Seattle this year with a nearly-empty well. The fight for true workplace equality and the survival of the transgender community in the United States—the constant advocacy, the challenging conversations, the emotional labor required to champion the Cause—is a marathon that demands more than mere resilience; it demands replenishment. I arrived at the Out and Equal Workplace Summit not just seeking reconnection with my colleagues and friends in the Movement and to speak and to teach, but with a deep, personal need for my soul and spirit to be nourished for the next phase of the struggle.
The toll of the work had become evident. In the face of legislative headwinds on the state and federal levels, the energy required to simply show up as my authentic self, let alone lead others, had left me running on fumes. But this depletion is not new. It connects back to a moment that shaped my entire professional life, a moment the collective power of this Summit helped me to fully recharge.
As I had shared when I told my story to this year’s attendees, twenty years ago—almost to the day—I walked into my office for the first time as myself. Before that moment, I spent decades working up to my position as a Vice President at a major insurance company, managing a large team of about fifty, in a culture that was described to me at the time as “classic old boy network.” The stakes were impossibly high: this came at the end of a brutally painful year of divorce, adjusting to life as a single parent, and navigating custody. My job wasn’t just mine to possibly lose; my ten-year-old son was counting on me as well.
The day before my return, I stayed home so my team could have a meeting to “prepare.” While I still don’t know what was said in that room, I do know what I did: I sent an honest, vulnerable email to over a hundred of my colleagues. It explained what I was going through and why now was the time to finally close the painful gap between how they saw me and who I truly was.
Vulnerability didn’t feel optional; I was already losing so much, I asked myself, what else is left but to be real?
And then, something incredible happened. While I was at home, notes started pouring into my inbox—expressions of kindness, support, and gratitude from people I had worked with for years. I cried so much I thought my tears might short-circuit my computer. They didn’t all understand my journey, but what they gave me was even more powerful: their humanity. And they freely gave to me their grace. They gave me the courage to keep going.
That next morning, heart pounding, I walked up the glass staircase that wrapped through the middle of our office building, visible to everyone. It was strangely quiet. I didn’t see a soul. But when I reached my office, a beautiful bouquet of flowers was waiting—a gift from my direct reports. As the morning went on, conversations began. One colleague, nervous but sincere, asked, “So, uh… you’re still… the old you on the inside, right?” I smiled. “Of course, I am. I’m just happier now.” And you know what? He got it. My skills, my leadership, my core—nothing had changed, except how the world saw me.
That long, quiet walk taught me that the journey of claiming our space is full of moments where we stand completely alone, and also moments where the love and support we receive nearly short-circuits a computer. We are worth being real. And two decades later, I can say with full confidence: I didn’t lose myself in the process—I finally found her.
This is why the Out and Equal Summit was such restorative justice for the spirit. The collective energy of EVERYONE there – created an undeniable wave of shared purpose. That unexpected, life-changing humanity I received twenty years ago was amplified in Seattle, replacing the isolation that this work often creates with a sense of collective power and unshakeable hope. The themes of the conference—resilience, community, and the fundamental right to belong—were the fuel I needed.
I left Seattle with my spirit full, my resolve sharpened, and a fierce, renewed determination to dive back into the fight. The spiritual nourishment received connected directly with my soul and provided me with a clearer picture of that beautiful future we are building, and fighting for, together.
The challenge I carry forward is the one I learned on that quiet staircase two decades ago: Don’t wait for permission to be real. Your vulnerability is not a weakness; it is the most powerful asset you have. It opens the door not only for your own liberation but for the humanity of those around you. We all have that feeling of standing alone on that glass staircase, heart pounding. But when we choose to step out—when we show up fully as ourselves—we give others the courage to show up too.
We are in this fight together, committed to tearing down the walls of isolation and creating spaces where every member of our community—the fabulous, unique, and immensely talented individuals that we are—is not just tolerated, but celebrated. And remember, when we show up fully, authentically, and joyfully, we don’t just ask for a seat at the table—we become the table.
My inbox, like so many of ours, is a daily stream of information, opportunities, and professional connections. But recently, a post cut through the noise with a cold clarity that stopped me in my tracks. It was about a quiet, almost imperceptible change to a major social media platform’s hate speech policy—the removal of specific protections for transgender individuals against misgendering and dead-naming. On the surface, it might seem like a minor administrative tweak, a rephrasing of corporate legalese. But to me, and to so many others, it felt like a door slamming shut. It was a stark reminder that even in the most professional of spaces, the fight for basic human dignity is far from over.
From a social justice perspective, this policy shift is more than just disappointing; it’s a retreat. It sends a chilling message that the identities and experiences of trans people are no longer worthy of explicit protection. In a world where trans individuals already face disproportionately high rates of harassment, discrimination, and violence, this move normalizes harmful behaviors and places the burden of protection squarely on the individual. It’s a regression from the very principles of equity and inclusion that so many of us believe in and work towards. It erodes the sense of safety and belonging that is fundamental for any community to thrive. True social justice is not just about avoiding overt harm; it’s about actively building a world where everyone can exist and be recognized without fear.
The impact also ripples into the professional realm, touching on the critical issue of recruiting top talent. Our modern workforce is more diverse than ever, and a company’s ability to attract and retain the best and brightest depends on its commitment to creating a truly inclusive environment. Talented individuals, particularly those from marginalized communities, are actively seeking out employers and platforms that reflect their values and will protect them. When a professional network like LinkedIn joins the ranks of Meta and YouTube in intentionally abandoning the policies meant to protect trans and nonbinary people, it not only signals a retreat from its commitment to trans inclusion but it also alienates an entire talent pool. Why would a top engineer, a brilliant marketer, or a visionary leader—who happens to be trans—choose to invest their time and professional life on a platform where they are explicitly less safe? The answer is they won’t, and in doing so, they will take their skills and innovation to more welcoming spaces.
Finally, this issue is a defining moment for market leadership. In today’s competitive landscape, companies are not just judged on their products or profits; they are evaluated on their values and their role in the world. Businesses that are seen as complicit in marginalizing a community risk losing their social license to operate. A company that aligns itself with bigotry, even through quiet inaction, will quickly find itself on the wrong side of history and consumer sentiment. Conversely, companies that champion inclusion and equity, that stand by their values even when it’s difficult, will stand out as true leaders. They will earn the trust of their employees, customers, and the broader public, thereby securing their place at the forefront of their respective industries.
This experience, for me, brings a corporate policy discussion to a deeply personal place. It’s a wake-up call that the fight for a more just and equitable world is not just a noble ideal but a practical necessity for every person and every business. The quiet erasure of a protective policy is anything but quiet; it is a thunderous statement that we must loudly and passionately reject. It reminds me that our work is never done, and our advocacy must extend to every corner of our lives, from the personal to the professional.
A BIG THANK YOU to Stephanie Eckersley-Ray and Steven Garibell and the entire team at TD Bank for including me in last Thursday’s AMCB Pride event! It was truly a transformative day for me and a real honor to be included in the program. I was so touched by the energy and passion that was in the room – and the commitment to evolving the already inclusive culture that has been built. You and all of your colleagues should be so very proud of all that you have accomplished – not only in making the event happen but for the positive, inclusive impact you have had and no doubt will continue to have on the culture at TD Bank!
As more and more companies move from “policy to practice” and imbue their cultures with a greater degree of inclusivity, the listing of preferred pronouns in company-related communication vehicles such as email has become much more prevalent.
To this end, my friends at Out and Equal Workplace Advocates have created another wonderful resource full of practical guidance on implementing successful practices around pronouns in your workplace….read more