Stepping Off the Field

What I'm actually proud of, and the strengths of being queeer

Jun 30, 2026

I’ve been thinking about what I want to share about Pride this year (yes, I’m a bit late to the party on this last day of Pride month). There’s a lot to potentially write about but I asked myself a question I’d never fully considered before:

What am I actually proud of? And what strengths has queerness given me?

My queerness has taught me a lot, and one of the most important is this:

When the rules aren’t made for you, you get to stop playing by them.

Maybe “playing field” isn’t the best metaphor at a time when transgender people are literally being pushed off playing fields. But stay with me.

As a teen and young adult, before I medically transitioned, I spent years trying to figure out how to be a woman. The rules never made sense to me. I couldn’t move my body, speak, or relate to the world in the ways I thought I was supposed to. Years later, after I transitioned, I met up with someone from high school who smiled and said, “You walk exactly the same. And your speech patterns are the same. You just seem... more you.” It was affirming. She recognized the me who had always been there and saw him more clearly with a few years of testosterone in my system.

At the same time, it didn’t make sense to compare myself to young men either. I wasn’t really on the same playing field as anyone. So I did the only thing that made sense:

I stepped off the field.

I stopped measuring my body against rules that had never been written with someone like me in mind. I stopped asking whether I was masculine enough or feminine enough or normal enough. Instead, I focused on figuring out what worked for me and how to live a life that felt congruent, physically and emotionally.

I’d like to tell you that lesson has stayed with me. More accurately, it’s one I keep relearning.

Yesterday, I hiked back to the place where I came literal millimeters from losing my life, two years ago.

I’m making it a tradition to revisit the spot each year. Last year, I needed to walk back down the mountain on my own two feet. This year, my emotions were less intense, but the hike was still an expression of gratitude I have for this one precious life I get.

I’ve had people ask whether I believe everything happens for a reason. I don’t know. I’ve become less interested in whether life has inherent meaning and more interested in the meaning we choose to create. The accident itself didn’t have to teach me anything.

I chose to let it change me.

I chose gratitude.

I chose to become more intentional about how I spend my time, and with whom I spend it.

I chose to remember how fragile life is.

Queerness feels similar to me. People sometimes ask whether being transgender is a gift or a burden. Both? Neither? I don’t know that either answer is true. It simply is.

What matters is what I choose to make of it.

I choose to let it teach me resilience. I choose to let it teach me compassion for people whose lives don’t fit neatly inside boxes. I choose to let it remind me that there is extraordinary freedom in stepping away from rules that were never yours to begin with.

And that is what Pride has come to mean for me.

Not pretending life has been easy. Or that queerness is somehow better than anyone else's way of moving through the world. Not pretending the attacks on our community aren’t real.

But remembering that queer people have always found ways through challenging times. We have always built families, communities, traditions, and joy in places where others have tried to make that impossible.

The closet is often safer. At least at the outset. And it can also become a prison.

Pride is choosing life anyway. It is choosing authenticity over fitting into boxes. It is choosing connection over fear. It is choosing to create meaning instead of letting despair create it for us. It is finding a new path when the one in front of us is no longer there.

I think that’s what I’m most proud of.

Not simply that I’m transgender. Not simply that I’m queer. But that my life has taught me, again and again, that when a field isn’t built for me, I don’t need to spend my life trying to earn a place on it.

I can choose a different path. And then I can leave the path a little easier to find for those who come after.

Thanks for reading.

I’m Nyle Biondi, a transgender therapist, and dad in Colorado. I write about nervous system healing, identity, resilience, parenting, and building meaningful lives.

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