My gender transition was school-wide knowledge throughout my 7th-9th grade years. Due to the public nature of transitioning, I constantly worried that transphobic peers or staff would cause me harm; going into bathrooms and locker rooms made me anxious; I struggled to stick up for myself against anti-trans criticism. I was vulnerable and had few resources to reinforce my confidence in my identity. Then, as a sophomore, I moved to a new school where no one had seen me transition. After a few years of enduring the realities of being an out transgender teen, I was confident that I wanted to go “stealth”—or pretend to be cisgender—at my new school. In this new environment, I was elated that none of my peers knew I was anything other than the cisgender boy I wanted so badly to be. Refusing to acknowledge my identity had suffocated me before I began transitioning, but it was now ignorantly comforting. Being stealth was a concrete barrier that separated me from fear and anxiety and allowed me to avoid confronting my truth in a vulnerable environment. I avoided transphobia and harassment and could enter gendered areas without caution. Merely existing at school was easy now. During the first few months at my new school, I struggled to find true friends. All of the relationships I made felt superficial or disingenuous. I could not figure out why. When I befriended Ollie, another trans student who transferred to my biology class, I realized why I struggled to assimilate. I came out to Ollie after they had come out to me, which sparked a deep bond that I had yet to experience after moving. The joy felt after making another queer friend and connecting through our shared trans experience made it apparent what I was missing out on. What I had not considered before building my stealth barrier was that although it protected me from the worst experiences of being queer, it prevented me from the best. This structure separated me from true authenticity and building genuine relationships. I had assumed I could remain authentic while denying myself the expression of one of my most fundamental identities. Complete authenticity about my identity—especially my transgender identity—was what I needed to develop veracious relationships. My friendship with Ollie was the hammer that empowered me to chip away at the barrier hiding my identity. I slowly began to mention my trans identity with acquaintances and was surprised to be met with overwhelming support. With each person I came out to I felt safer existing openly at my school, and it became easier to exist transparently. I connected with many other LGBTQ+ students and found a community that taught me the importance of existing unapologetically as a trans and queer person. The newfound confidence in my trans identity made me desire to be to others what Ollie and my LGBTQ+ friends were to me. By the end of my senior year, I was one of the most well-known students at my school, and nearly everyone knew I was transgender. I refuse to hide my identity and make a point to be as openly transgender as possible so that I can show others that being queer is a wonderful thing. Existence is resilience, and by taking up space and existing unapologetically as a trans and queer teenager, I pay homage to my past self and all the LGBTQ children who live in a society that encourages them to hide. My barrier has been hammered away to nothingness. In the span of a few years, my biggest insecurity has become my most cherished identity.