Blair Krieger on Her First Transgender Day of Visibility in NYC

As a transgender woman, moving to New York City was not only an act of survival, but an act of hope. I came to New York City in October 2024 from a small town in Montana by the name of Darby. With a population of just 700, Darby is the kind of place where everyone knows everyone—and where difference is rarely embraced. Growing up in a non-affirming environment meant learning to make myself as invisible as possible. Even then, I was a target for bullying, harassment, and ostracization. There wasn’t a single openly trans person in my hometown area, and for a long time, I didn’t believe there ever could be.

From as young as five or six, I knew I wasn’t a boy, but I was forced to conform. My stepfather and family made it clear that deviation from masculinity will never be tolerated. Classmates picked apart everything about me—my voice, my posture, the way I held my hands—mocking and punishing me. Teachers repeatedly told me to “stop acting like a girl” and turned a blind eye when classmates bullied me for being different. I was told that expressing my femininity would mean losing everything—my career, my social status, my family, and even the ability to find love. ‘No one will ever love you if you do this.’ ‘You’re throwing your life away.’ ‘You’ll lose your family.’ These words echoed in my head every time I looked in the mirror and saw glimpses of the woman I knew myself to be. For years, I believed them. I believed that being myself meant being alone forever. But I eventually realized the truth—being transgender is not a choice. The only choice I had was whether to keep hiding or to finally live as myself.

I spent years trying to pass as a man, not because it was who I was, but because it was my only chance at survival. At some point, the fear of never truly living became greater than the fear of losing everything. Pretending was suffocating me, and I had to choose between continuing my life as a lie or stepping into my truth—no matter the cost.

In confronting my fear of losing everything, I found everything. In these past few months living in New York City, I’ve experienced so much joy—walking hand in hand with my boyfriend, meeting people who see me as I’ve always seen myself, and doing the things that heal my inner child. I’ve also found a workplace and community that affirms me at The Center. Not only am I celebrated as my full self, I also get to uplift the voices of others who are fighting to be seen. At The Center, I’m able to work every day to make sure trans people have access to affirming spaces, support networks, and advocacy efforts which fight discrimination. Our programs empower trans individuals to be seen, heard, and valued—not just on Transgender Day of Visibility, but every day.

The unfortunate reality is, even in New York City, visibility comes with a price. It means walking down the street knowing I could be harassed at any moment. It means knowing that me and my trans siblings—especially trans women of color—face disproportionate acts of violence and systemic attacks on our rights, healthcare, and safety. Being trans in America—notably Trump’s America— means living under constant threat. Yes, even in New York, I have been harassed, called slurs on the street, endured physical hate crimes, and reminded that transphobia knows no borders. The difference here is that I have a community. Here, I have people who stand beside me.

For me, Transgender Day of Visibility is about both celebration and survival. It’s about embracing the joy of being seen while acknowledging the risks of making ourselves known. It’s about fighting for a world in which we don’t have to choose between safety and authenticity. And for me, it’s about using my voice—and my role—to uplift and protect others in our community.

On this, my first Transgender Day of Visibility in New York City, I invite you to stand with us. Learn about the issues, amplify trans voices, and support organizations like The Center that fight for our rights. No one should have to beg for dignity, or fight for the right to exist without fear. Trans people are not burdens to bear. We are people who deserve to live, to love, and to be seen.