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Opinion | Being Isabel

Some trans folk miss certain elements of their past life

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Islamabad, Pakistan

One of my first memories of being Isabel was in Islamabad, Pakistan, with my father at some nondescript water fountain, teal blue. My identical twin Helen and I, aged around five, are staring up into the camera, blank expressions, no hidden agenda — the grounds around us an abyss to be conquered with yelling matches and dancing and faces overstuffed with chocolate cake.

More memories start to flow like etches on some weird, global impressionist sketch—playground laughs in New Delhi as tiny zig-zagged marks, and loud sobbing tantrums in the corner of our house in the old quarter as frenetic dashes on a canvas, all painting what it was like being female—being Isabel—before manhood.

Helen and I get henna on our hands—burgundy traces of ink on the front and back of palms, at Dilli Haat in Delhi, and rummage through old books at Khan market.

Childhood is effortless and easy—maniacal screaming and kicking and racing with friends in circles and circles, plotting marriages and throwing paper planes off fortress walls with Daniel, jumping on the back of Raja, our white lab, or boarding miniature waves in the outer banks of North Carolina.
We return to the States at eight years of age.

Helen and I join a club soccer team in Virginia. Our mother is now reading us Harry Potter almost religiously, being a woman of books and letters, perhaps loving fiction as much as she loves cradling us after soccer practice. Her voice is soothing, and JK Rowling—then good—was giving us Hogwarts and Hermione, with her tangled brown hair and wicked intellect, on a platter.

Returning from a club game, our friend Annie whispers in my ear. “Isabel,” she says, “Usher cheated on his girlfriend in his song Confessions.” We gush over his infidelity. The scandal. This becomes a fact between us—a rogue piece of information—that we start to guard with excellent statecraft. No one else can know our secret—that Usher is a cheater.

When we’re 12, we move to Russia.

Helen and I join the Moscow soccer team. Tournaments are in Budapest and Bucharest and Warsaw. On trips we shovel ice cream in student teacher lounges and prowl shopping malls in Bucharest, scrutinizing dresses at H&M and Zara. Gossip is exchanged in school corridors and store bathrooms.
In the city, Russian women are “fitful,” people say. High, black leather boots and white tunics during the summer; mink fur in January and loud red lipstick all the time. Vodka in precious shot glasses and black caviar on blinis.

The Novy Arbat is packed with nightclubs—drunkards come out at 8 a.m. on weekdays, some with bottles of Stolichnaya. Helen and I, now 13, race to a kiosk in one of the six-lane avenue’s underpasses, buying Redd’s beer. We are not of age for alcohol, but that doesn’t matter—only that we are tall enough to reach the counter.

We move back to Arlington. In eleventh grade, I feel myself slipping away from my body, drifting away from my legs, arms, torso, and curves. Activities like running or drinking with friends lack pleasure and feel painful. But no matter how many miles I clock on the track, I can’t run away from this disassociation.

Some transgender people hate their former lives. A lot of us want these lives gone, torn apart, forgotten forever. But it’s more complicated than that. Some trans folk miss elements of their past life, sometimes dearly. These two feelings are not mutually exclusive, either.

At present, I wear a pair of washed up, straight jeans, a black Hanes T-shirt, and brown boots that peg me as some sort of country denizen. My jacket is from Old Navy, and sweaters from a motley of stores I don’t care about. Now and then I throw a watch, or a tropical button down.

But the lack of gossip is what kills me the most. Some women bond over Vera Wang shoes, manicures, and tales of boys. I don’t know what the same social currency is for men—beer? Poker chips? Body count? Whatever they are, they seem irrelevant and wasteful.

So I said goodbye to wardrobes, dresses, and mascara. But they’ll never leave my mind, just as being a sister or a female friend will never leave, either. There to stay, tucked back in some recess of my brain, petulant, an ever-nagging reminder of having been Isabel.

Isaac Amend (he/him) is a transgender man, activist, and D.C. native. He is on Instagram and Twitter at @isaacamend.

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The felon in the White House must be stopped

Are there any decent Republican members of Congress left?

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President Donald Trump (Screen capture via White House/YouTube)

We are up shit’s creek if the felon in the White House actually thinks he has a Nobel Peace Prize. If he believes he deserves one, or Venezuelan opposition leader Maria Corina Machado had any other reason to give him hers, than it was easier, and less degrading, than going on her knees to him, as a number of men already have. I don’t know if she understood how many millions the medal could be worth. Instead, she could have used it for her people, if she didn’t want to keep it. 

Machado was awarded the Nobel Prize for her work for the Venezuelan people. She spoke up for them, and fought for them. The felon couldn’t care less about them. He proved that by invading, and then supported Maduro’s vice president as president. He said he, and his fascist cohorts, would run the country, and is now stealing their oil and personally deciding what to do with it. After U.S. troops captured Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro, Trump said, Venezuelan opposition leader Maria Corina Machado “doesn’t have the support within Venezuela to be its next leader, she was not consulted prior to the operation.” He went on to say, “I think it would be very tough for her to be the leader. She doesn’t have the support within or the respect within the country.” This is the slime bag she gave her Nobel Peace Prize medal to. I hope she is not naïve enough to believe he really cares about her, or her countrymen, and women. 

Trump is vile, sick, and mentally deranged. He is threatening foes and allies alike. They see bending a knee to him only works for the moment, but has no long-term impact on his tiny brain. Today, he is threatening Greenland, and our NATO allies are moving their military to Greenland to protect it against the United States. Now he is threatening them with new tariffs. That would have once been unfathomable. He is saber rattling over Iran, Colombia, even Mexico. He is bombing Nigeria and Syria. 

If that weren’t enough, he threatens to use the Insurrection Act to send the military into cities here. He has already sent in thousands of ICE agents. ICE is classified as a federal law enforcement agency under the Department of Homeland Security. They have authority to arrest, detain, and investigate immigration violations. However, the law is clear; ICE agents do not have unlimited power. They face significant constitutional restrictions that many people don’t realize, especially when it comes to entering homes and private spaces. But what is clear, in Minneapolis today, some of the agents are acting like the Gestapo. They are smashing car windows, pulling people out of their cars, invading homes, and workplaces, all without first having any proof the people they are going after are guilty of anything. I believe we need fair immigration laws, and they should be enforced. But this is clearly not what the felon is doing. The felon in the White House and his incompetent stooge at Homeland Security, Kristi Noem, who has no idea what the hell she is doing, are acting egregiously, and making a mockery of our democracy.  

The president, Noem, Hegseth, Bondi, and the other incompetents in the felon’s Cabinet, simply pretend to forget the history of the United States. They don’t want to accept the truth; we are a nation of immigrants. It is immigrants who built our country, and are still building it. My parents were immigrants escaping from Hitler, and they came here and built a life, and in doing so, added to the greatness of our country. I want every person around the world who needs to escape from dictators, and despots, to be able to do the same as my parents did. We need to build an immigration system that allows them to do that. Instead, because of what this felon is doing, we are seeing American citizens thinking of leaving this country, and looking for asylum in others. That is really sick, but it’s happening.   

Sitting in the Oval Office today we have a felon who is reveling in becoming the war president. He is taking the United States down an incredibly dangerous path, threatening our own citizens with violence here at home, and doing the same to our allies around the world. He, and the incompetents and fascists surrounding him, need to be stopped. If there are any decent Republican members of Congress left, they need to join with Democrats, and the voters, to stop him.


Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist.

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The power of no

Pick one priority this year, not 10

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(Photo by Damian Palus/Bigstock)

January arrives with optimism. New year energy. Fresh possibilities. A belief that this could finally be the year things change. And every January, I watch people respond to that optimism the same way. By adding.

More workouts. More structure. More goals. More commitments. More pressure to transform. We add healthier meals. We add more family time. We add more career focus. We add more boundaries. We add more growth. Somewhere along the way, transformation becomes a list instead of a direction.

But what no one talks about enough is this: You can only receive what you actually have space for. You don’t have unlimited energy. You have 100 percent. That’s it.  Not 120. Not 200. Not grind harder and magically find more.

Your body knows this even if your calendar ignores it. Your nervous system knows it even if your ambition doesn’t want to admit it. When you try to pour more into a cup that’s already full, something spills. Usually it’s your peace. Or your consistency. Or your health.

What I’ve learned over time is that most people don’t need more motivation. They need clarity. Not more goals, but priority. Not more opportunity, but discernment.

So this January, instead of asking what you’re going to add, I want to offer something different. What if this year becomes a season of no.

No to things that drain you. No to things that distract you. No to things that look good on paper but don’t feel right in your body. And to make this real, here’s how you actually do it.

Identify your one true priority and protect it

Most people struggle with saying no because they haven’t clearly said yes to anything first. When everything matters, nothing actually does. Pick one priority for this season. Not 10. One.  Once you identify it, everything else gets filtered through that lens. Does this support my priority, or does it compete with it?

Earlier this year, I had two leases in my hands. One for Shaw and one for National Landing in Virginia. From the outside, the move felt obvious. Growth is celebrated. Expansion is rewarded. More locations look like success. But my gut and my nervous system told me I couldn’t do both.

Saying no felt like failure at first. It felt like I was slowing down when I was supposed to be speeding up. But what I was really doing was choosing alignment over optics.

I knew what I was capable of thriving in. I knew my limits. I knew my personal life mattered. My boyfriend mattered. My family mattered. My physical health mattered. My mental health mattered. Looking back now, saying no was one of the best decisions I could have made for myself and for my team.

If something feels forced, rushed, or misaligned, trust that signal. If it’s meant for you, it will come back when the timing is right.

Look inside before you look outside

So many of us are chasing who we think we’re supposed to be— who the city needs us to be. Who social media rewards. Who our resume says we should become next. But clarity doesn’t come from noise. It comes from stillness. Moments of silence. Moments of gratitude. Moments where your nervous system can settle. Your body already knows who you are long before your ego tries to upgrade you.  

One of the most powerful phrases I ever practiced was simple: You are enough.

I said it for years before I believed it. And when I finally did, everything shifted. I stopped chasing growth just to prove something. I stopped adding just to feel worthy.  I could maintain. I could breathe. I could be OK where I was.

Gerard from Baltimore was enough. Anything else I added became extra.

Turning 40 made this clearer than ever. My twenties were about finding myself. My thirties were about proving myself. My forties are about being myself.

I wish I knew then what I know now. I hope the 20 year olds catch it early. I hope the 30 year olds don’t wait as long as I did.

Because the only way to truly say yes to yourself is by saying no first.

Remove more than you add

Before you write your resolutions, try this. If you plan to add three things this year, identify six things you’re willing to remove. Habits. Distractions. Commitments. Energy leaks.

Maybe growth doesn’t look like expansion for you this year. Maybe it looks like focus. Maybe it looks like honoring your limits. January isn’t asking you to become superhuman. It’s asking you to become intentional. And sometimes the most powerful word you can say for your future is no.

With love always, Coach G.


Gerard Burley, also known as Coach G, is founder and CEO of Sweat DC.

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Greenland

The Greenland lesson for LGBTQ people

Playbook is the same for our community and Europeans

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(Photo by Maridav/Bigstock)

I understand my own geopolitical limits and don’t pretend to know how Europeans should respond to U.S. threats to seize Greenland or retaliate against anyone who opposes them. However, as I mentioned in March, it’s clear that for Europeans and LGBTQ+ people alike, hug-and-kiss diplomacy is over.

In practice, that means responding to the U.S. administration’s provocations with dialogue, human‑rights rhetoric, and reasoning may now be counterproductive. It looks weak. At some point, Europeans will have to draw a line and show how bullying allies and breaking international agreements carry a cost — and that the cost is unpredictable. On the surface, they have few options; like LGBTQ+ communities, they are very behind in raw power and took too long to wake up. But they still have leverage, and they can still inflict harm.​

Maybe it is time for them to call the bluff. America has a great deal to lose, not least its reputation and credibility on the world stage. Stephen Miller and Pete Hegseth, with all their bravado, obviously underestimate both the short‑ and long‑term geopolitical price of ridicule. Force the United States to contemplate sending troops into an ally’s territory, and let the consequences play out in international opinion, institutions, and markets.​

In the United States, LGBTQ+ communities have already endured a cascade of humiliations and live under constant threat of more. In 2025 our symbols and heroes were systematically erased or defaced: the USNS Harvey Milk was quietly renamed after a straight war hero, Admiral Rachel Levine’s title and image were scrubbed from official materials, Pride flags were banned from public buildings, World AIDS Day events were defunded or stripped of queer content, the Orlando memorial and other sites of mourning were targeted, the U.S. lead a campaign against LGBTQ+ language at the U.N., and rainbow crosswalks were literally ripped up or painted over. We cannot simply register our distress; we must articulate a response.​

In practice, that means being intentional and focused. We should select a few unmistakable examples: a company that visibly broke faith with us, a vulnerable political figure whose actions demand consequences, and an institution that depends on constituencies that still need us. The tools matter less than the concentration of force — boycotts, shaming, targeted campaigning all qualify — so long as crossing certain lines produces visible, memorable costs.​

A friend suggested we create what he called a “c***t committee.” I liked the discipline it implies: a deliberate, collective decision to carefully select a few targets and follow through. We need a win badly in 2026.

These thoughts are part of a broader reflection on the character of our movement I’d like to explore in the coming months. My friends know that anger and sarcasm carried me for a long time, but eventually delivered diminishing returns. I am incrementally changing these aspects of my character that stand in the way of my goals. The movement is in a similar place: the tactics that served us best are losing effectiveness because the terrain has shifted. The Greenland moment clarifies that we must have a two-pronged approach: building long-term power and, in the short term, punching a few people in the nose.

Fabrice Houdart published this column on his weekly Substack newsletter. The Washington Blade has republished it with his permission.

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