Belonging
Written by Marina - Texas, USA
When I came out as gay and trans, I thought I would be embraced by a community that welcomed everyone with open arms. Instead, I felt ostracized by the very people who claimed to be inclusive. While I identify as a trans man, I dress femininely, which often confuses people who expect me to fit into a narrow box of what a trans man "should" be. As I struggled with feeling rejected, I turned back to where I had always felt the safest: my church. As a gay person, I worried that my small Catholic church in Texas — with its older, more traditional congregation — wouldn’t accept me for who I am. But for me, this setting was ideal. I’ve always felt a deep connection with people outside of my generation.
While spending time in church, I noticed the beautiful rosaries many of the women carried, and I felt an unexpected connection to them — a feeling I hadn’t experienced since realizing I was a trans man. I longed for a rosary in a way that reminded me of the first time I saw a boy and knew I wanted to look like him. Despite usually being self-assured, I couldn’t find the courage to ask for a rosary. I didn’t know if I was “allowed” to have one. In my mind, a rosary was something sacred, reserved for the most devout. I told myself that, because I didn’t follow every rule of Catholicism perfectly, I wasn’t a “real” Catholic. I didn’t realize that this self-judgment stemmed from internalized shame and that I was distancing myself from my faith community out of fear of rejection.
When I finally recognized this, I decided to speak up. I asked my grandma if she could take me to the Christian store across town. I had never seen her so happy. I picked out a beautiful light pink and silver rosary, and the joy I felt rivaled the happiness I’d experienced when I first cut off all my hair.At first, I kept the rosary to myself, afraid people would comment on how “girly” it was. But one day at church, while chatting in the pews after service, my grandma’s friend spotted it peeking out of my pocket. She loudly declared, “I love that rosary — I’m gonna take it from you if you don’t start using it!”
At that moment, I realized I was the only one worried about appearances. The older women around me weren’t focused on judging me; they were simply happy to see someone younger engaging with their faith. With this realization, I started carrying my rosary everywhere, turning to it in moments of stress or fear. Through daily prayers, I began feeling more connected to God and found a sense of belonging with my grandma’s friends. After church, we’d go to a coffee shop to talk about our lives, our struggles with faith, and anything else on our minds.
While I didn’t find acceptance in the place I expected, I found it where I least anticipated — and through this practice, I grew to love both myself and my religion.
