The other day, I was asked one of the most offensive questions I’ve ever received as a trans man. Let’s talk about it.
My name is Dylan Thomas. I’m a proud gay trans man, and recently I had a conversation with someone from my past—someone I used to date. We hadn’t spoken in years, and to be honest, I don’t often open the door to those kinds of conversations. There are good reasons for that. Eventually, they tend to go exactly how this one did.
We were catching up, talking about life and everything that had changed over the years. And then came the question:
“Do you have empathy for transphobic people? Do you have empathy for people who just don’t understand and are uncomfortable with trans people?”
My answer was simple: no. Absolutely not.
Do I have empathy for people who are openly transphobic and hateful? No.
Do I have empathy for people who say they are uncomfortable around transgender people? No.
Do I have empathy for people who genuinely don’t understand? Sure—up to a point.
But if you are someone who openly states that you are uncomfortable around transgender people and choose to remain ignorant, I do not have empathy for that ignorance. When you declare your “discomfort,” you are signaling something deeper—and often more dangerous.
As a transgender person, I don’t owe cisgender people an explanation of my boundaries. Still, I gave some context.
My number one priority is my safety and well-being. Violence against transgender people is not hypothetical; it is a documented reality. Many acts of violence come from individuals who claim they are “just uncomfortable.” That so-called discomfort can mask internal conflict, shame, or attraction that someone doesn’t want to confront. Too often, that unresolved turmoil gets redirected as anger or aggression toward trans people.
There are countless instances where someone feels ashamed for being attracted to or even acknowledging a transgender person—and the transgender person ends up harmed or worse. That’s not an exaggeration. It’s a pattern.
As a gay trans man, I’ve had experiences that shaped my boundaries. I have been assaulted after being invited to spend time with someone whose partner reacted violently. I have lived through situations that taught me, very clearly, that not everyone who appears safe actually is.
My boundaries are not cruelty. They are protection.
I’ve learned that the people around me can pose a threat to my safety—even when I want to believe otherwise. It’s exhausting to second-guess people, but those instincts have helped keep me alive.
So if someone from my past tells me they’re involved with a person who is “uncomfortable with transgender people,” that is a hard boundary for me. That situation is not safe. And if they don’t understand why that matters, then they don’t understand what it means to live in my body and move through this world as I do.
If a woman tells me her cis male partner is uncomfortable with trans people, that proximity alone can introduce risk—whether emotional, social, or physical. I don’t have to accept that risk. And if someone expects me to, they’re not a friend.
What struck me most about the conversation wasn’t just the question—it was the reaction. After I explained my boundaries, I was verbally attacked for them. My feelings weren’t respected.
Even more telling was something they admitted earlier in the conversation: when they saw me becoming confident, thriving, and visible in the media, they felt angry. Angry at my happiness. Angry at my growth.
In that moment, I realized something important. They didn’t have the capacity to be happy for me. And if someone resents your joy—especially after you’ve fought your way back from suicidality and years of pain—that resentment has nothing to do with you. But it does tell you something about your safety around them.
There was a time when I struggled deeply just to stay alive. I didn’t know that finally arriving at happiness would make someone hate me for it. But that, too, was a lesson.
And that’s why I rarely reopen doors to my past. Every time I do, I learn something new. More often than not, the lesson is this: keep that door closed.
If you take anything from this, let it be this—keep your boundaries firm. They exist for a reason.
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About Rev. Dylan Thomas Cotter: Dylan Thomas Cotter is a prominent gay transgender activist, PR expert, motivational speaker, and author known for his memoir Transgender & Triggering: The Life of Dylan Thomas Cotter, which details his journey through identity, transition, and resilience in Hollywood, appearing in major publications like Vice, Rolling Stone, Out Magazine, Inked Magazine, and Truthout amongst others. He leverages his extensive background in marketing and brand strategy across tech, entertainment, and fashion to amplify diverse voices and champion authenticity and self-expression.