I was walking in through the main doors to work when someone else, one of those people you know because you see them around the building where you work but have never actually met, came up from behind me to hold the door.



“You’re so brave,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“I noticed you look a little different lately, and I wanted to tell you how brave you are.”

We were now walking side by side through the building’s main hallway, and I wanted nothing more than to reach a fork where we might part ways. I’d been dressing in girl-mode at work for a few months, and that coupled with hormones and hair removal were quickly changing how people saw me. Still, none of that meant I wanted my presentation or identity to be open topics of conversation with near-strangers.

“Thanks,” I said, unsure how else to respond. Finally, I reached the door to my office and was able to slip inside.

Every transgender person has heard some variant of “you’re so brave”. It always comes from a well-intentioned cisgender person – someone whose sex at birth and gender identity matches – feeling the need to express how gosh-darn impressed they are by our “courage” or “commitment to being our true selves”. I’ve even heard cisgender speakers tell a room of dozens of trans people that we were all brave, without having met or talked with any of us.

Lumping all trans people together under the label of “brave” is easier than speaking the truth: being trans is dangerous and difficult, and cis people often don’t support us through that danger and difficulty. That’s an uncomfortable truth, however, and acknowledging it would call upon cis people to step up and fight to make the world a better place for trans people.

Being called brave seems like a compliment. It’s certainly intended as one; its a way of expressing admiration and support. Yet the blanket assignation of bravery to every single trans person unintentionally furthers the mindset that being trans is fundamentally different, and implicitly lesser, than the experience of being cis.

First and foremost, calling all trans people brave results in distancing the person saying it from the experience of being trans. It’s often followed by, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through”. Or, even worse, “I could never do what you’re doing”. That speaks to a depressing lack of imagination. In a world of video games, Netflix, 3D movies, fantasy football and more, I pity someone who can keep track of the Houses of Westeros but can’t expand their vision enough to contemplate what it might be like to have one’s physical body and mental identity at odds with each other.

Calling all trans people brave also lumps together our various and disparate experiences and identities. As a white, middle-class, college-educated, parentally-supported, stably-housed and employed trans woman, is it fair to label me as brave in the same way that CeCe McDonald is brave? I’d argue it is not. That doesn’t mean being trans is ever easy, even for rich and famous trans people like Caitlyn Jenner, but slapping a label of “brave” on every single one of us does a disservice to those who have the most hardships to overcome.

Likewise, calling all trans people brave removes responsibility and agency from that cis person to work as a supportive and active ally; simply acknowledging that being trans is hard, which it certainly is, removes any culpability cis people hold for perpetuating that hardship. Rather than calling a trans person brave, why not join the push for better representation of trans identities in media? Or join the calls to end healthcare discrimination for trans people? Rather than calling a trans person brave, why not join the demand to protect trans people from employment discrimination?

There are many cis allies joining us in our push for full equality. Yet with 41% of trans people attempting suicide at some point in our lives, I can assure you that visible and outspoken allyship - above and beyond calling someone ‘brave’ - is crucial to fashioning a more inclusive world.

Cis people need to work with friends, family, institutions, businesses, government – with every level of society – to remove the stigma of being trans, to make it easier for trans people to be educated and employed, less likely that we’ll be kicked out by our parents, fired by our bosses, beaten or raped or killed by people we know and by strangers we don’t. Calling trans people brave is a comforting way to remove personal responsibility. It places trans people in an epic – but individual – struggle rather than part of a shared transphobic reality.

This is not to diminish the very real bravery within the trans community; there is a long and ever-growing list of brave trans people, ranging from national and international activists to those simply trying to make it through the day. But being trans does not magically confer bravery, and it’s time to stop pretending it did.