**Content Warning** This piece discusses intimate partner violence (resources available at the bottom of this page)
If you are feeling threatened right now, call 911 or the National Domestic Violence hotline in the US at 800-799-SAFE [1-800-799-7233; or 1-800-787-3224 (TTY)], or text START to 88788. You can also search for a safe space online at Domestic Shelters (https://www.domesticshelters.org/).
I'm a 36-year-old Black Trans woman living with HIV. For years, I believed I loved myself. I've been in therapy, I've done the work—or so I thought. I love my passion, my drive, my determination. I love how deeply I care for others. But maybe that's where I've fallen short: I've poured so much love into others that I've neglected to truly love myself.
Recently, I endured one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. I'm still navigating the PTSD and anxiety it left behind. And in that process, I've realized that my framework for self-love needs rebuilding. I've had to ask myself: Why don't I love myself as fully as I thought I did? Is it because society constantly tries to erase me as a woman? Because I was rejected by a mother who couldn't accept a queer child? I've given love freely, but I've rarely known it in return. And maybe that's because I've never fully known how to give it to myself.
A Call That Changed Everything
In May 2024, I got a call from the mother of my ex-boyfriend. He had just been released from prison after two years and was back in custody for a parole violation. She begged me to let him stay with me, insisting my home was the healthiest place for him. We weren't even on good terms—just a week earlier, he told me he was no longer attracted to Trans women, or at least not to my Trans body. Still, against my better judgment, I said yes.
That's where I messed up.
Betrayal on My Birthday
Fast forward to Juneteenth 2024—my birthday. We were out to dinner with friends when I returned to the table to find everyone looking stunned. My ex had just confessed to sleeping with one of my closest Trans sisters—someone I had specifically asked him about years ago. He had lied then, knowing I would've never dated him if he'd told the truth.
That betrayal was just the beginning.
I later discovered he had been messaging 49 Trans women, cross-dressers, and others on Grindr while we were together. I caught him one day while I was at work on my own security system trash-talking me to a nonbinary person he used to sleep with—calling me everything but a child of God, in my own home, for three hours straight.
This isn't just about a toxic relationship. It's about how Black Trans women are criminalized, gaslit, and discarded—even when we're the ones calling for help.
I had helped this man get a job, supported his probation process, and let him rack up miles on my car so he could work at the job I made possible for him to get. And still, the disrespect continued. Because of his garnished child support, this arrangement wasn't even financially sustainable for me. And any intimacy between us felt more like a chore than a connection—he made me feel like a task, not a partner. I was mentally triggered every time we did try to be intimate; it was clear he was not sexually into me regardless of what he said.
Violence and Injustice
By June 2025, after a year of more lies, mental abuse and probation violations, I told him he had to leave. As I was removing his things, he and his mother (on speakerphone) began yelling at me in my home, gaslighting me and painting me as the villain. When I went to move his collectable cards, he struck me in the neck. I'm a bigger girl—I can take a hit—but after the third strike, I had to defend myself. He ultimately overpowered me by putting me in a headlock, which led to me having had an asthma attack.
I called my best friend, who urged me to call the police.
When the officer arrived—a Black man—I was outside, shaken and struggling to breathe. This officer didn't ask if I was okay. Instead, he asked where my ex was and spent nearly 40 minutes inside talking to my ex inside my home as I stayed sitting outside in the night. When the officer finally took my statement, he said, "Normally these situations are tricky, but your stories are similar. Unfortunately, you're bigger and taller, so I'm naming you the main aggressor."
We're both 5'9". Yes, I have hips and breasts, but "bigger" is a stretch. My ex is a pale Latino man, and apparently his visible injuries carried more weight. I was arrested and taken to jail, an experience I wish on no Trans person ever.
I'm an award-winning medical professional with no criminal record—not even a speeding ticket. And now I'm facing felony charges. A felon on probation with two prior violations was shown more empathy than me—a community leader and advocate, and we all know why.
This Is Bigger Than Me
This isn't just about a toxic relationship. It's about how Black Trans women are criminalized, gaslit, and discarded—even when we're the ones calling for help. I'm still processing the betrayal, the violence, and the injustice. But I'm also holding on to my dignity, my truth, and my voice.
[T]he love we all seek—especially the love I seek—has to come from within first. It has to protect me from any version of love that is less than I deserve.
I share this story for anyone who needs to hear it. We live in a world where Black Trans women are hurt—and killed—by the very men who claim to love us. And when we dare to fight back, we're punished. We risk losing everything we've worked so hard to build.
What I went through shouldn't have happened. Not just that night, but the entire 3–4 years of a situationship wrapped in codependency, all in the name of love. But that wasn't love. That was a woman "othered" by society, trying to feel something most Trans people rarely ever get to feel.
Trans or not, the love we all seek—especially the love I seek—has to come from within first. It has to protect me from any version of love that is less than I deserve.
I'm learning to love myself a little more every day. I may never fully get over what happened to me, but with enough love for myself—and love from those who truly love me—I will get through it.
Thank you for reading. I hope my story touches those who need to hear it and helps us all do a better job at making sure Trans women especially Black Trans woman know that they are not alone. No matter what administration tries to erase the existence of Trans woman, there is a community ready and willing to love us for us so we do not need to find love wrapped in dangers that can and might ruin or end our lives.
With love and resilience by design,
Kimberly
If you or someone you know would like resources or support in relation to the themes above, please see:
