I was crushed by self-loathing after coming out to myself. Then one phone call changed everything.

The following is an excerpt from “Be Better Than Your BS: How Radical Acceptance Empowers Authenticity and Creates a Workplace Culture of Inclusion,” by DEI expert Risha Grant.

After my first sexual experience with a woman, I spent the next day crying and convinced my life was ruined. We hadn’t planned it. There was no flirting. No conversation. No alcohol. It just happened. Something had pulled us together at the exact same time, and though we were both raised as Christians, in that moment we ignored what we’d been taught to believe about people like ourselves and the grave risks to our souls if we broke what we’d been told were the spiritual and moral rules of life.

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Gideon squeezed my hand, looked up at me, and said softly, calmly, matter-of-factly, “Mama, I think I’m a transister.”

The self-help gurus in books and on television promised some kind of mystical self-actualization once you were brave enough to reach out for what you wanted, but I wasn’t feeling anything but self-loathing. Maybe my problem was that, until then, I didn’t even know I wanted it. Nobody ever talked about the anxiety. The fear. The shock and disbelief of not being who you thought you were.

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As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, I had a fleeting thought of not wanting to live anymore but I quickly nixed that. My next thought was to move as far away from my friends and family as possible after college. I had cried every day since the “incident” and my mom was worried about me. Normally I’m very open with her, and whenever I’m down or worried about something, at the sound of her voice I break down and tell her everything. For this reason, I kept my distance. Of all the things that she thought could be going on, I’m sure that me having an intimate relationship with a woman wasn’t one of them. But I was scared.

I was scared of the intimacy I felt with this woman, which I’d never felt with a man. I finally understood what all the R&B love songs were getting at. I’m not just talking about the pleasures of sex, I mean everything that all the Hallmark movies and romance novels tell you is possible with another person. I finally had it. Yet scarier than that was the thought that my parents, grandparents, and extended family might disown me. I knew they loved me, but there was no doubt they loved God more. And I’d been told that according to Him, same-sex relationships were an abomination. I didn’t want to embarrass my family, and how would my grandparents face the other church folks in my small town if my secret got out? As I tried to pray the gay away daily, I was spiraling into a depressing and desolate space.

Then, my phone rang. It was my little sister. We’ve always been close. To this day, we’ve never been mad at each other for more than 24 hours. We have fought and argued like most siblings, but we are down for each other like four flat tires.

I answered the phone, trying to act like everything was ok. But she immediately knew something was wrong.

Besides, my mom had already told her that she was worried. “Sis, what’s wrong?” she asked.

I wouldn’t answer her. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t tell her. After a while she said, “Sis, I already know. You can tell me. It’s not going to change anything. I love you.” I just cried into the phone. I’m not sure I ever admitted the truth to her, but she kept talking. She let me know that she didn’t care who I loved or was in a relationship with, it didn’t change her feelings for me. She would never disown or be embarrassed by me. She promised she would also never allow anyone else to disrespect me. The love she shared through that phone call changed everything. At the very least I had hope, and at the most I had someone who would stand by me and fight with and for me. I had an ally.

Editor’s note: This article mentions suicide. If you need to talk to someone now, call the Trans Lifeline at 1-877-565-8860. It’s staffed by trans people, for trans people. The Trevor Project provides a safe, judgement-free place to talk for LGBTQ youth at 1-866-488-7386. You can also call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.