Two trans women walk into a Café Brazil in Dallas, Texas.

What sounds like the start to a joke (“they both ask for the estrogen special!”) was instead a lifeline for me one Wednesday afternoon last month. I strolled into the doors of the establishment, scanned the restaurant, and saw my lunch pal sitting at a table inspecting a menu. She was absolutely glowing in a lovely tank top, glistening necklace, and radiant makeup (her eyebrows were on point, as the kids say). Meanwhile, I was adorned in a green dress covered in quasi-floral patterns. Our fashion sensibilities were both rocking that day, despite the circumstances.

The joy reverberating off our Café Brazil table was extraordinary and God knows we needed that joy. Being trans in Texas right now, even in a relatively accepting location like Dallas, is a daily dose of utter madness. How can we possibly survive it?

Well, talking about the chaos certainly helps. In the last month, I’ve had at least three different lunch outings with trans friends, and all of them largely devolved into talking about the hardships of existing as a trans person right now. It seems like every day various Texas government branches propose some new civil rights-suffocating measure targeting trans people. Trying to talk with cis people about this stuff is so challenging, since they’re privileged enough to not directly experience the larger societal context of this mayhem.

There’s also the additional problem of even finding the time to talk about this shit while balancing everyday obligations. Capitalism’s gears never stop grinding. The rent will always be due. You must toil away to get the money necessary to even exist in America. In the middle of those ceaseless obligations, who has time to vent, cry, or angrily yell about all the government and societally sanctioned transphobia? At least in my case, I’m so busy just trying to keep my head above water financially that it can feel extravagant to carve out time complaining about a status quo I can’t immediately alter.

Talking to other trans comrades in a one-on-one setting, I finally feel able to spill my guts about these problems. There is no computer or work consuming my attention. There is only another human being who is also in pain. Now we can talk without having to constantly explain ourselves or deal with cis people saying “actually, it’s not as bad as all that.” Heck, we’re even comfortable enough to make glib jokes about “book burnings” and “internment camps” because, hey, you have to laugh to keep from crying sometimes.

I feel renewed and re-energized when I bask in the light of these other Dallas trans souls. Our wider world includes wretched politicians demonizing trans people to terrify constituents into becoming loyal voters, but this same place also contains these magnificent trans folks who make life worth living.

I know these truths in the deepest parts of my bones. Yet terror and catastrophizing thoughts still grip my mind whenever I’m alone in my apartment with only the latest RFK screed or news about some new transphobic Texas legislation to keep me company. I go from loneliness-induced anguish to Café Brazil joy again and again. It’s like I’m on a rollercoaster swerving from “we’re cooked” to “we’re so back” at 160 miles per hour. Trans life tends to operate in such bifurcated terms. An Uber driver will ask me if “watching trans porn makes me gay” as I’m on my way to a delightful hangout with other trans folks.

Whenever I’m alone, my depressive tendencies grip my brain and suddenly every aspect of my life, trans-related or otherwise, is circling the drain. Will I be able to procure the medicine I need to keep existing? What happens if I get attacked the next time I go out of my house? What if my next Uber ride is the last? Will my fragile finances remain steady? A dab of trans communal euphoria can bring me back from my most anxiety-ridden state…but that also means my darker mental state can return at any time. Witnessing things like data showing Texas as one of the two most dangerous states for trans people to travel through just ratchets up my brain’s disaster-prone impulses.

My darker psychological tendencies are even creeping up as I type all this out. My brain is gripped with fear that this essay just comes off as either bragging (“look at the cool trans friends I have!”) or whining (“waaahh, it’s expensive being an adult, that’s surprising”). My uncertainty and self-doubt is a microcosm of how it feels to exist in Dallas as a trans person right now. It’s maddening. It’s unwinnable. No matter where you go in Dallas, whether it’s a restaurant with a Confederate Flag draped across its wall or a lesbian bar with more grabby cis gay men than trans women, it can feel like there is no salvation. My mind, like this place, can feel inescapably bleak on the worst days.

In the middle of that daily insanity, though, I’ve scribbled down some thoughts I can constantly turn to for temporary comfort. If there’s anything I’ve learned from a life of mental health woes and a little over two years of being out as trans 24/7, it’s that none of us are the only ones going through profound pain. Instead of spiraling into our own woes, we can look to others grappling with the same problems. That includes Dallas, Texas, a place housing many trans women of endlessly varied personalities.

They too know about the madness. It may take on a different form for each of us, but they also know about the insanity of trying to secure basic essential necessities while dealing with ceaseless oppression. Trans stigmatization is all about silencing us and reducing trans folks to societal “aberrations” that need to be wiped out. But we are not anomalies. There is joy in bonding with one another, and looking outward to trans people living around the world and trans people who have existed throughout history.

Listening to my friends, I hear fear, vulnerability, but also anger. Resilience. Determination. Knowing we’re not alone in our distress makes this world seem a bit more bearable because, after all, there’s power in numbers. That doesn’t remove the madness of fulfilling capitalistic obligations while all these social issues transpire. But temporarily, we revel in the joy Greg Abbott and his cronies salivate over wiping out.

Two trans women walk into a Café Brazil in Dallas, Texas, and, for a brief moment, we’re happy.

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