I spent the weekend listening to Janet Mock’s Audiobook, Surpassing Certainty. I found myself on extra long walks with the dog so I could listen to it in peace. My son is usually screaming on his headset while playing Fortnight with his friends. I enjoyed the story so much and it brought me so much joy. But something about what I did on those walks made me uneasy. I found myself lowering the volume anytime someone walked by.

I transitioned 16 years ago. I pass. I’m stealth at work. I go unnoticed my son’s football and baseball games. But in my public activism days before he was born, I never would have thought to lower the volume. I wouldn’t have cared what others thought. I was fearless. Invincible. Confident. But having a child, that changed me.

I am no longer responsible for just my own safety, but for the safety of my wife and son. I know how people like me are treated. I know about the violence and the hate crimes. I know about the murders. I’ve spoken at Transgender Day Of Remembrance. I’ve read the names. I’ve lit the candles. I know how it all could end.

And it’s not only the threat of violence. It’s the mental and social consequences for my son. What happens if he gets bullied at school or on the football field? What happens if his friend’s parents won’t allow them to come over and play? What if he’s embarrassed by me? Or if he resents me for bringing all of this upon him?

There’s an internal struggle going on inside me every day. How can I be out and proud, while at the same time protecting my family from harm? How can I show the world that people like me are normal, without ostracizing my boy?

So I take small risks. I hide behind my keyboard and try to tell my story. All anyone has to do is google my name and it would be game over. Someone at work. Someone from his school. But I have to try. I have to do something. Something so that when my son grows up and listens to my audiobook, he doesn’t have to turn down the volume.