This past Saturday I had to deal with the unfortunate task of getting my car fixed. As someone new to my area, I did not know where to go so I trusted my overlord, Google. I found two shops that seemed compatible of price and quality, even equidistant from where I live. How did I make such a decision, flip a coin, just go to one, call to find out appointment times? No, I chose the one located in my city’s gayborhood. After I dropped my car off, I grabbed a burger there and thought about how often I find myself in this area. The reasons why are obvious, I am a transwoman. I did even think “They’re likely to be more affirming, or at least tolerant if they stay in business at this location.” None of my friends had been there, I knew nothing about this car shop other than it’s location. On the other hand, a few weeks ago I went out for my friend’s birthday with a few friends and had two moments that freaked me out. First, someone followed me for a short time on the way back to my car, and second, a homeless man came from behind me to ask for my parking sticker and money in the darkened parking lot. This was in a safe, highly popular nightlife area. On the times that I have gone out with my queer friends to the gayborhood, I have never had any kind of negative experience. In fact, I am generally more comfortable and safe there, even the first time when it was no less unfamiliar to me. I am there every Monday night, I go to a group for transgender and non-binary young adults to hang out with one another. This past Monday I spent my day off work hanging out with my best friend, but, instead of continuing into the night and watching the Astros game, I chose to go. I knew exactly why, and it’s the same as the previous things mentioned.

They are queer spaces, where those of us marginalized by society, because of our sexuality and/or gender identity, can be ourselves, accepted, and feel safe. For many, it may be the only place where that happens. However, even for those of us fortunate to have supportive social circles, there is still something special about these places. Regardless of how much I used to think, and how much I am able to blend in, I am not a heterosexual cisgender person. On Saturday night, I was talking to one of my transgirl friends, and we came to the conclusion that there are some things our cisgender friends cannot relate to. One blog I have read compares it to trying to understand what it’s like to breathe water. For most people, finding their gender identity is like finding a hay-colored needle in a haystack. They could find it, but it blends right into its environment. That is okay and valid, but that is not the case for everyone. They are special to us because it is our community, our people, our neighborhood.

These neighborhoods originated out of bars where LGBT people would meet each other in secret and were the first LGBT communities. The authorities cracked down on these bars, but our predecessors pushed and fought back. As these pioneers became open about themselves and their sexuality in the face of discrimination, our perception in the public eye changed from sexual deviants to outcasts among society. This outcasting led to these neighbors developing, mostly in historic and othe inner city areas, away from the up-and-coming areas at the time. Even though we have come a long way, we are still fighting for our rights against those who wished that we did not exist.

I say that in the first person for a good reason. This past week I was writing my story and experiences in college for my school’s alumni group, the one I talked about in my last post. In this story I wrote, I talked about how one of the first things I did in Voice, the LGBT student group, was hear a talk by Justin Lee, the founder of what is now known as QChristian Fellowship. Afterward, we went to Whataburger, where my fraternity had gone after their meeting. When I went over to say hi to my brothers, one of them told me “those are some interesting characters you’re with.” That was the first moment I did not care that I was on the wrong side of the restaurant, I was with my friends. While I have friends who were sitting on both sides of the restaurant that night, only one side of it was my people, the queer folk.

As someone who has known that she was transgender since she was twelve, if you had told me when I was eighteen-years-old,“You’re going to be heavily involved in the LGBT community on campus, develop a heart for them, a passion for LGBT rights, and then, later on, start hanging out in gay and lesbian bars, and trans groups,” I would have thought you were insane. There was no way I would surround myself with those people. As God soften my heart, which is a long story of itself, gave me the courage to meet them, and I became friends with them, my life has never been the same. I have been more blessed by my LGBT friends, especially those in Voice, than almost anyone else in my past. They were the first people who I came out as transgender to where it was met without judgment, condemnation, or awkward silence. They were the first people to love me, the real version of me, even though she was deeply closeted outside of our circle.

The queer spaces in my life have been some of the most influential, and by far the safest places in my life. I think for all of us, this is likely the same. Yes, we want the same rights and to be treated like everyone else, but we are different for one reason or another, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We have our own culture, history, traditions, and rightly celebrate ourselves and how far we have come. The gayborhoods, groups like the Voice, GSAs, etcetera, have been a safe haven and will continue to be, and I encourage everyone to be a safe haven for those around you.