I woke up on the day after the election, turned my phone on, took a deep breath and said to myself “Here we go again.”Eight years ago, the first time the news stated he won the election, it felt like someone hit me in the gut. All the breath escaped from my lungs, replaced by a tangled ball of feelings, ranging from immediate anger to complete terror. I sat for what seemed like hours, even though it was only a few minutes, wondering if I/we would be able to get through this. When I woke up this time and saw that he won the position of president, though, I didn’t feel the air leave my lungs or the ball of feelings. Instead, I felt some fear, and some sadness, but most of all this flame that started inside of me that focused on one goal: making sure that the queer and trans communities’ humanity was not lost. Growing up a multiracial transgender individual in Connecticut, a blue state, has not even come close to being an easy road. Yes, we are a state with policies and procedures in place to protect the LGBTQ+ community, but those policies don’t erase or undo the extreme hardship we experience. That’s what my sense of sadness and fear wrapped around after the election. We were already facing so many obstacles and so much hate from individuals within Connecticut, the place that some people say is safe, before the election. Ace Ricker Credit: Tabius McCoy / CT Mirror Things are about to get a lot harder.  This is why more than ever I feel the need to show my pride, for being trans, for being queer, and in the many other identities I have. I often felt alone as a young kid, not seeing anyone like myself in any spaces I walked into, or feeling welcomed into those spaces. As an adult, I am not going to let youth like me have the same experience. To hide my pride now would be to let my community down.  I don’t wear the rainbows or carry the flags and banners to push my identities into the faces of those not in the community; I do it to be visible to and for the individuals who still live in fear to be their authentic selves, who may feel invisible or unwelcome, who may believe they don’t have support. Showing my pride and being visible honors the history of my community and everyone who came before me, including the 163,000 transgender veterans in the U.S. that we just celebrated this past Veterans’ Day. It shows the individuals who feel alone that there are people here to uplift and support them every day. When I was a young kid, never seeing adults like myself, I didn’t know if there was a future for me. As an adult now, I show my pride to make sure that youth in that position know there is a future for them.  I spent the day the election results were announced checking in with my community. I spoke with parents who were fearful for their kids, worried about their rights and access, who were feeling as if there was no future for them in this world. I spoke with adults in the queer community about how their hope has been dimmed to fear, who were worried about the possibility of their healthcare being taken away. I spoke with veterans dreading the possibility of an upcoming military ban being put back into place against our trans soldiers. I spoke with individuals of all identities who felt fearful for their rights to their own bodily autonomy. In many forms and for many reasons, the dominant feeling was the same: fear of a future that has no space for us.  One conversation I had that day was with a close relative who couldn’t understand why I would be distancing myself from them based on the way they chose to vote. I tried to explain that this isn’t simply a difference of opinion; human lives and safety are at stake. I shared that I have always carried some level of concern for my own safety when walking out of my house as a visibly queer trans man of color. I always know there is a threat of someone who knows nothing else about me choosing to try to harm me over their opinions on my existence, attempting to claim power over another human life over something that doesn’t affect them at all. These fears are even more prevalent due to the political climate now. This is a candidate that built a campaign on hate, which is being spewed with such blatant misinformation about the trans and queer community that it is encouraging people to violence.  Opinions should not erase the human rights of others, and yet that is the reality we are dealing with. I wanted this relative to understand that there are certain things they never had to experience that are happening to people like me, because of choices made by people like them. Experiences that should never have to be on someone’s mind, like having to choose whether to flee the state you’ve spent your life in simply because the gender of a person you love is misunderstood, or like being told our existence must be silenced in an effort to protect kids from learning that some people are different from them. I knew my gender identity by the age of six, before I even knew anyone in the LGBTQ+ community. Because I didn’t know any other transgender people, I felt alone and couldn’t imagine myself growing up and having a future. At that moment I felt I had to be silent because I didn’t have access to community or information, only versions of this hateful rhetoric. I had to hide and stay in the shadows due to the fear of the type of hate that is trying to tear us down again.  One recent weekend after the election I stood with hundreds upon hundreds of individuals: parents, family, neighbors, doctors, teachers, therapists, allies and more. At community events, whether they were celebrations or rallies, we came together to share an amazing energy that took people out of that hopeless space and lit them up with hope instead. Even with this fear, the queer community has continued and will continue to overcome the hate thrown at us. We will not hide our authentic selves or deny our individual truths because you’re uncomfortable. My being a trans person of color imposes no limits on what anyone else can do or who they can be, but me proudly celebrating who I am can encourage others to do the same. That’s why, now and forever, I will fight for equal rights, not just for the queer community but also for all marginalized communities. That’s why, now more than ever, I invite you to do the same. Even if your voice shakes, let your voice be heard. Even in the dark, you have brought light to someone else. Even in this heaviness that we are facing now, you have somebody who will lift you up, dust you off, and march forward with you! Ace Ricker is a member of the Connecticut Mirror’s Community Editorial Board.