Why Being Visibly Trans Behind the Chair Matters

When I lived in Illinois, I ran an LGBTQ+ nonprofit smack in the middle of a deeply religious and ultra-conservative suburb of Chicago. I wasn’t waving a rainbow flag trying to stir the pot—I was holding space, creating safety, and building bridges. And for that, I received more hate mail, threats, and venom than any one human should ever have to.

So no, I’m not new to hate.
I’ve survived it. Transformed through it. I’ve made it my kindling.

Recently, I posted about my hair services—celebrating my work, showcasing my clients, doing what I love. And in the post, I briefly mentioned—five words total—that I am trans.

What followed was not unfamiliar.

While many celebrated the art of what I do, a wave of trolls showed up to remind me why I speak up in the first place. I received comments accusing me of being “a man pretending to be a woman” to prey on people in bathrooms. I got vulgar remarks about my body. I got death threats—or rather, death wishes. And then, the cherry on top:

“Why do you have to say that you're trans? Can't you just be a human who accepts other humans?”

Let me break this down for you, once and for all.

I say I’m trans not because I owe anyone an explanation.
I say I’m trans not because I need approval.
I say I’m trans because visibility saves lives.
And silence? Silence is what kills.

That “well-meaning” comment always shows up after the hate—as if it’s neutral. As if the answer isn’t in plain sight. As if being trans and proud is the problem, rather than the cruelty that’s hurled at us for daring to exist in public.

These comments come from people who already have safety. People who walk through the world without second-guessing how they’re perceived. People who will never have to wonder if they’re about to be harassed for stepping into a bathroom, walking into a salon, or simply being.

I name my identity for the rest of us.
For the trans teen scrolling quietly, wondering if they’ll ever find someone who gets it.
For the nonbinary person who’s exhausted from playing small just to stay safe.
For the queer person who’s still whispering their truth into locked bathrooms and dark closets.

I name my identity because if I’m receiving this kind of hate from strangers online, then someone reading my post is likely receiving that same kind of hate in their everyday life. If I can be the one person who makes them feel safe—then that’s reason enough.

There are so many businesses today claiming to be “open to all” or “safe spaces.” But a rainbow sticker in the window doesn’t make you safe. Allyship without action is decoration. And acceptance without awareness? That’s not safety. That’s performance.

I’ve walked into salons and “inclusive” spaces as a client and still been misgendered. Still been stared at. Still been treated as if my identity was too loud, too much, too complicated.

So when I name who I am in my work, I’m planting a flag. I’m saying:

In this chair, you are safe. You are honored. You are seen.
You don’t have to hide your pronouns.
You don’t have to explain your body.
You don’t have to wonder if this space is “really” for you.
Because it is. Because I made it for you.

And for those still early in your journey—you’re welcome here, too. You don’t need to have the perfect words or a finished story. You just need to show up as you are, and I will meet you with open arms and a grounded heart.

Now let me be absolutely clear:
I do not welcome everyone.
If you are hateful, transphobic, or threatened by my existence, you are not welcome in my chair.
If my visibility makes you uncomfortable—then good. Let it.
Growth rarely happens in comfort.

I will not dilute myself for your ease. I will not silence myself to soothe your ignorance.

There are hundreds of places in this world that will cater to people who hate people like me. There are far fewer places where we can walk in and know, without a doubt, that we will be safe.

This space—my chair, my mat, my energy—is one of those rare places.
And I will fiercely protect it.

I will never stop being trans. I will never stop being proud.
I will never stop claiming space for myself and for others like me.
Not in my work. Not in my art. Not in my everyday sacred existence.

So if you’re someone who’s been looking for a place to breathe, to be, to unravel, to be fully you—
Come sit in my chair.

I’ve saved it just for you.

With fire, truth, and unconditional love,

Hypnotist Aza