Accepting Who You Are

This is a literary journalism piece I wrote several months ago about a transgendered person running a coffee shop. This isn't like a normal news article, as it reads more like a chapter from a novel....enjoy!



On this early summer morning, like many mornings, Rachel Jones busied herself, making coffee, cooking quiches, and preparing for the influx of regular customers who were sure to make an appearance in her Bloomington café. Dressed in a pink spaghetti strap shirt, burgundy skirt with ruffled ends, brown sandals, and an intricate ceramic butterfly necklace, Rachel greeted everyone who came into her café with a warm smile and a cheery “hello honey;” sometimes even calling the customers by name.


Even though this was my first formal visit, she treated me no differently. “How you doin honey,” Rachel said with a slight southern accent. Her pink lined lips curved into a smile and her slightly curled red hair bounced as she walked from behind the counter toward the couch. Her voice was slightly hoarse because she’d been yelling and cheering the previous night at a roller girl’s event.


Her glasses sat rigidly on her face and you could see a hint of nearly perfectly applied black eyeliner that brought out the color of her eyes. Rachel was pretty used to being interviewed, so she leaned back on the blue couch with ease, crossed her legs exposing the burgundy polish on her toenails, and waited patiently for me to begin questioning her. Many would shudder at the thought of divulging personal information to random people, but not Rachel – she’s a people’s person, always has been. When she was in sales, the only complaint was that she was too nice. Her boss suggested she be more of a dick. But she couldn’t. Rachel wouldn’t sell someone something just for the sake of making a sale. She cares about people, so when Rachel was finally ready to reveal her true self to the world, she was fearful of rejection and ridicule from the very thing she loved—people.


She knew at a young age that she wasn’t like everyone else but she hid the truth for the majority of her adult life. When she was a young child, Rachel was caught wearing a dress. After being scolded for dressing in women’s clothing, she made sure to hide that part of herself from the world. How could she reveal her identity dilemma – did she want to outright defy God? Of course not. Her religious beliefs wouldn’t permit her to do that, and she had realistic doubts that the small country town of Nashville, Indiana would welcome Rachel with open arms. So, she did the only thing she knew to do—hid, repressed, and fought the truth.


She knew it’d be easier to live as a man, as Eric—as she had been for so many years of her life; and really, who in their right mind would choose to live as a transgendered person? If she had a choice, why wouldn’t she choose to live her life as Eric, with her ex-wife and three children whom she loves dearly, a life that people would readily accept because it is the “norm?" But the fact of the matter is, Rachel didn’t have a choice—she is who she is, and she finally resolved that she wouldn’t hide who she is anymore.


This resolve didn’t come without consequence. Rachel divorced her wife and quit her job as a salesman—if she wasn’t going to hide anymore that meant at work too. She wanted to be Rachel full time, except of course when going to her kids’ school functions. There was no sense in subjecting her children to the same unnecessary ridicule and rejection she was sure to face herself.


After failed attempts at finding a job, even after applying at a pretty liberal coffee shop, Rachel saw no other choice but to move to Bloomington a university town reasonably tolerant of difference and start her own business where she could be herself and allow others the same privilege without limitation.


As we transitioned, no pun intended, to her life outside of the café, she talked about the progress she’s made toward self-acceptance—and the bumps she’s encountered along the way.


“I went bra shopping the other day at— what’s the name of that store – is it called Macy’s?”


I nodded my head. The salespeople in Macy’s weren’t winning employee of the month awards anytime soon; they were reluctant to help Rachel because she is a man. It didn’t matter anyway— they didn’t have what she was looking for so Rachel went to Victoria’s Secret. They too weren’t eager to help her.


“Maybe it would be easier if I was passable, but I’m not, and I know that.” Rachel knows that people can immediately tell she’s a man. She stands at about 5’11” and her slightly broad, muscular shoulders and arms reveal her days as a football player. Although she’s dressed in a skirt and a spaghetti strap shirt now, her somewhat chiseled face and square jawbone further expose her masculinity. That doesn’t stop her from wishing her boobs were real and her voice was more womanly as she looked for a bra with a thin strap so she could wear spaghetti strap shirts without the unsightly bra strap showing so much.


I glanced down at my own chest, understanding how difficult it is to find a bra with thin straps, especially since I don’t belong to the infamous itty bitty tittie committee—I felt Rachel’s bra-shopping plight.


Today though, her straps were clear and just barely showed under her pink spaghetti straps.


Rachel realized when she first started going out in public as a woman that she was a little over the top with her platinum blond hair and big boobs. Choosing to venture out of Indiana for fear of being recognized, she explored Louisville as Rachel, but she looked more like someone you’d find on a street corner than someone trying to come into her own as a woman. Since her first outings as a woman, Rachel has scaled back a lot thanks to her close friends and ex-wife.


Rachel is pretty open about her lifestyle but behind that brave and inviting facade she is still struggling with self-acceptance. She leaned in close and with a faint hoarse whisper, recalled a time when she wanted to take ballet lessons, as Rachel of course. She wanted to learn how to move more femininely. When she had called the instructor to tell her she was interested in taking the class, the instructor gladly welcomed her; but when the night came to go to the dance lessons, Rachel was too scared to get out of the car and walk into class because of what people would think and say.


Rachel was interrupted from her introspection on self-acceptance by a customer. She immediately got up from the couch and greeted the petite older woman and a small boy about seven years old, much as she greeted me—with a warm smile and a cheery “hello honey.” The little boy, somewhat confused yet intrigued by Rachel and her appearance, stood close by the woman’s side and curiously peered up at Rachel as the older woman formally introduced them to each other.

I smiled at the little boy's hesitation and obvious confusion by Rachel's appearance. As Rachel spoke softly to him, he moved slightly away from the woman's side and looked a little more comfortable with his surroundings.



In that moment, I had an ephipany. I realized something it takes most a lifetime to learn if at all, and I knew after listening to Rachel's story it'd taken her most of her life to come to this realization too. Once you're comfortable in your own skin and accept yourself -- flaws and all others will too.