The future of the within LGBTQ culture lies in intersectionality —recognizing that a trans woman of color faces overlapping systems of oppression based on her gender, race, and trans status. Pride marches are increasingly led by trans protest contingents, and "Transgender Day of Remembrance" (November 20) is now a fixture on every LGBTQ organization's calendar.

For more specific information or resources on these topics, you might consider consulting reputable health and educational websites.

While same-sex marriage was legalized federally in the US in 2015, trans rights remain a legislative battleground. Bathroom bills, sports bans, and laws preventing trans youth from accessing puberty blockers are unique threats that do not affect cisgender gay or lesbian individuals.

“I thought I was an imposter,” Leo recalls, now a youth counselor. “I had spent years online, reading about trans experiences, but seeing it in person—seeing a man my age laugh with a scarred chest, seeing a non-binary person order fries like it was the most normal thing in the world—it broke the spell.”

However, following the initial explosion of activism, a rift emerged. As the movement became more mainstream in the 1970s and 80s, some gay and lesbian organizations attempted to distance themselves from trans people, viewing them as "too radical" or "bad for public image." This painful history of exclusion, known as ideology, created a wound that the community is still healing today.

Where does the community go from here? Some activists point to the power of visibility—from actors like Elliot Page and Laverne Cox to athletes like Lia Thomas. Others argue that visibility is a double-edged sword, inviting both acceptance and backlash.

This led to a painful dynamic: The broader LGBTQ culture sometimes treated the transgender community as the awkward cousin. We were welcome at the potluck, but maybe not in the family photo.