I have never had to question whether a space was meant for someone like me. I walk into most rooms knowing my existence won’t be questioned, stared at, or asked to explain who I am. But for many trans people I know (and don’t know), that’s not the case. Even within LGBTQIA circles or spaces that are meant to be welcoming and safe for the queer community, trans people are often left out, misunderstood, or made to feel that their inclusivity is conditional. Watching my trans friends navigate the world, has made one thing painfully clear: trans loneliness is real, and it’s not just about being alone. It’s about being in a room full of people and still feeling invisible. It’s about being part of a community and still feeling like you’re on the outside looking in. This kind of isolation doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from a culture that centers cisgender experiences and sidelines the trans community. It comes from being rejected by your own family, being misgendered at school, discriminated against at work, erased from our media and targeted by our government. And even in queer-centered spaces, trans people are often expected to educate others, to perform their identity for validation or to make themselves smaller in order to fit in. That’s why one thing has been made clear for me: trans-only spaces are not only helpful, they’re vital. These are the (albeit rare) places where trans people don’t have to explain themselves, fear correcting their pronouns, or brace for microaggressions. They can just be. In these spaces, there is a shared understanding you cannot get anywhere else, and a kind of ease and safety that is often overlooked, and hard to find elsewhere. There’s room for a different level of vulnerability, joy, rage, and healing– all the things that make people feel truly human. Trans-only groups provide more than just community. They offer solidarity, empowerment, and belonging. They give people a chance to be seen, not through the lens of cis expectations, but finally on their own terms. A space where trans people can support one another through their unique experience; from medical transitions, to coming out at work, and also where they can celebrate, laugh, and simply exist without compromise. I admit, as a young cis person, I know I will never fully understand what it feels like to be trans in a world that so often refuses to acknowledge trans lives. But I do know that the role of allies is not to take up space – it’s to protect the spaces created for, and by trans people themselves. That means not only respecting trans-only groups, but also advocating for their funding and safety, and never questioning their necessity. If you are cis, simply acknowledging the existence of our trans siblings is not enough. You have to show up where it matters, which sometimes means, being able to step back. It means listening instead of speaking. And sometimes, it means making sure the spaces where you feel at home can also exist for others, even if you may not be included within that group. Because no one should have to feel alone just for being who they are.