“I’ve come to realise that my family’s allyship has been the cornerstone of my transition”
BY STEPHANIE LYNNETTE, IMAGE BY MAX SIEGEL
I can still hear the sound of my mum’s whistle punctuating my own chanting from this year’s London Trans+ Pride. On 26 July, roughly 150,000 gathered for the annual demonstration. I was among them, and I wasn’t alone. I was joined by some very special guests: my family. It was a full circle moment that I honestly never thought I’d see.
Like many in the LGBTQIA+ community, I can still remember the lump in my throat as I prepared to tell those precious to me about who I really am. I came out to my parents aged 12. If you had told that version of me that 17 years later, we’d be marching together in a historic protest for trans+ rights, I wouldn’t have believed you. I am so happy I was wrong.
I started my transition aged 13, but I came out at 12. Like many young people, I had spent months carrying feelings I struggled to explain. When I finally told my mum, it came out in a rush, with all the drama and emotion you might expect from a frightened teenager. Looking back now, I can laugh at some of it, even if it felt world-ending at the time.
What I didn’t fully appreciate then was that my family were beginning a journey of their own. Coming out is often discussed as a singular moment, but for families it can be the start of a process of learning, adapting and building something new together.
For years, I viewed my transition almost entirely through my own experiences. It was only at this year’s London Trans+ Pride that I had a realisation I’m slightly embarrassed took me until the age of 29 to reach. Surrounded by thousands of people celebrating, protesting and showing solidarity, I looked at my parents and realised I was marching alongside some of the most authentic allies I have ever known.
Allyship can be difficult to measure. In today’s climate, when trans+ rights are so often debated in headlines and courtrooms, it is easy to focus on the loudest voices. Public campaigns, legal challenges and visible demonstrations matter enormously, but there is also incredible strength in quieter forms of support. I’ve come to realise that my family’s quiet allyship has been the cornerstone of my transition. It is the reason I got the opportunity to not only transition, but to thrive.
In the early years, there were challenges at every turn. Information was harder to find, support services were less established, and navigating healthcare often felt overwhelming. Yet my family showed up again and again. They bankrupted themselves travelling from Cornwall to London for appointments, advocated for me when support wasn’t forthcoming, attended difficult meetings, and stood by me through the milestones that followed.
Most importantly, they were there in the ordinary everyday moments. They celebrated achievements, offered reassurance when things felt impossible and reminded me, often without realising it, that I deserved a future. Their support wasn’t performative. It existed in hundreds of conversations, car journeys, long days and acts of care that accumulated over time.
This year our relationship saw a real full-circle moment. Dressed in their slogan t-shirts, they and my youngest sibling joined 150,000 other people and marched from Langham Place to Trafalgar Square. They travelled from Cornwall to London to do so, while my little sister, Abigail, travelled from Hereford the night before to my London flat. Abigail and I spent the evening making placards together.
Abigail, a blacksmith, painted hers with several slogans she’d coined in her notes app. My favourite was “Forge a New Future”, a message that stayed with me throughout the day. It reminded me that my family’s allyship wasn’t something that appeared overnight. Like anything worth making, it was built over time, shaped through challenge and strengthened through love.
Standing beside my family at London Trans+ Pride, I was struck by a simple realisation: allyship isn’t something you’re born with. It’s something you choose, like they did. Something you build, like they did. The future isn’t just something we hope for. It’s something we’ve been creating together.
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