'I Just Want to Be Happy': Local trans residents navigate life, faith and identity

In a cozy corner at Dos Gatos, over a bottle of Coke Zero and a friendly smile, Aislinn Bailey wears her heart outside of her chest. Literally. Sporting a colorful pronoun pin and a "Gender Affirming Healthcare Saves Lives" T-shirt, she makes it impossible for passersby to not know who she is, and she's proud of it. "I walk around with my [Pride] shirts, and I've got my Pride flags up," she explains. "I don't shy away. My way of celebrating Pride right now is to just be visible." After many long, hard years for transgender residents in Tennessee, some Johnson City locals are celebrating Pride Month with quiet courage and resilience. Aislinn moved to Johnson City in 2015, and says she's found such a strong sense of community here that she doesn't want to leave, even if the thought crosses her mind from time to time. Tennessee is one of the worst states for transgender people to live in or travel to, according to the ACLU and The Human Right Campaign. But that doesn't stop some trans Johnson City locals from making the most out of what they have. "I've got such a good network here – a good chosen family – that I just can't see myself living anywhere else as hard as it is. I have friends who are getting out of Tennessee because they don't feel safe, and, I mean, I don't feel safe to be honest," she tells the Press. "I know quite a few trans people who have detransitioned because they didn't feel safe, and that breaks my heart." Fighting for womanhood The state's history with transphobic legislation has been a long and controversial one, with the ACLU tracking upwards of thirty eight anti-LGBTQ+ bills this year alone. Locally, U.S. Rep. Diana Harshbarger received some backlash last year for her comments about trans people, even referring them to "fairies." The Johnson City Press reached out to Harshbarger's office, but did not get a response by press time. Except, for Aislinn, God and her family didn't help her. If anything, they made it that much more difficult. "It all comes back to my upbringing," she says. "[...] I learned very early on that being a girl was the worst thing I could possibly be. My father was always telling me; 'Don't cry like a girl; don't run like a girl; don't throw like a girl.'" So she pushed it down. When she was old enough, she joined the military, she said, to shape herself into the "macho," masculine figure she was expected to be; but, of course, that didn't change a thing. She even decided to pray, desperate for God to "fix" her – to make her happy. God didn't change anything, either. "From about twelve years old, I'd pray for three things when I went to bed. The first was that, when I woke up, God would give me a body to match what I felt inside. If he couldn't do that, then at least make me congruent and happy with the body I have," she explains. "And, well, if he wouldn't do that, just don't let me wake up at all." The 53-year-old woman defies stereotypes and stigma, and carries herself with grace and a kindness that's innate to her very soul. As she sits in that corner in Dos Gatos, sipping Coke Zero and sharing pieces of her life, she continues to smile through it all. Despite the shared laughter and the teary-eyed recollections of what used to be, her constant smile serves as a stark reminder: There's a bright future out there for every trans person in Johnson City and beyond, and that's worth celebrating this Pride Month. Womanhood is something Aslinn has long fought for, and she has no plans of giving it up. "I'm just living my life, and I want to be happy – if that makes me a bad person, then I'm a bad person." Finding acceptance Aaron Capener makes it a habit to put his best foot forward. Regardless of how hard it might get, he takes every day at face value rather than worrying himself sick over everything that's out of his control. "I try to focus on what I can control and how I portray [myself] to other people, and what's most important is the conversations that I have," he said. "That's how I try to make a little bit of difference, as exhausting as it can be sometimes." After leaving his home in Oregon and moving to Kingsport around 2017, he began his medical transition here in Tennessee. It was difficult to say the least, but not impossible, as made evident by the grin on his face. He's worried that he may lose access to his healthcare, or that his information may be collected. "Finding hormones in this area [was challenging]. There were no gender clinics, obviously, and no places that I even really knew of to find them; so I reached out to the only other queer person that I knew of, and they referred me to someone in Bristol," he said. "That's how I had to go about it, but even then, the place that I went to didn't advertise it. Even now, I'm running into my own nervousness with medical stuff – what's covered, what's not covered, where our information is going – so I am definitely nervous about that." Aaron is talking about a newly proposed law which would require doctors to report and track transgender-related healthcare procedures. It has been a cause for concern within the state's LGBTQ+ communities and activists, though, as this law would specifically target gender diverse patients and track transgender-related healthcare procedures. In a statement published to the ACLU's website, ACLU-TN Executive Director Miriam R. Nemeth said that medical information and healthcare decisions involve personal data that Tennessee law designates as private, which makes this proposed law "a troubling departure" from Tennessee's previous record in treating sensitive health information. "I've thought about going stealth myself because I think it would make it a little easier [...], but, for me, I just don't think that's the right path for me. That's kind of the same reason that I'm not moving back home to be with my family – I feel like I'm doing more work here. I feel like I'm making a bigger difference here." One of his new motivations for staying resilient is his daughter and expecting wife, as well as his relationship with God. Unlike Aislinn, Aaron's faith has deepened with his transition, despite how hard it was to maintain it. "I was asked to leave the church that I grew up in. I wasn't allowed to go to any more of the kid's camps or youth groups and stuff like that, so I had to make a decision," he shared. "I tried to pray it away for a really long time. I used to write 'FROG' on my wrist – 'faith relying on God' – as a subtle way to remind myself that God doesn't want me doing these things." Eventually, he came to accept himself for who he is, and told the Press that he believes God made him this way to "help people that may think they're not welcome in his arms." "I have the peace of having those reminders of God's love [...]. They are spreading [His] message, even if those people aren't really understanding the meaning of His message of love. But I'm not going to lie, it does make me more nervous and hesitant to see those things everywhere," he said. "How many of those people really, genuinely love me as their neighbor? The people that are being hateful and close-minded don't really realize how many [queer and trans] people are here. Half of America is made of diversity, you know? You can't love America and hate half the people in it."