Perfection is a lie and vulnerability is the new strength

I’ll never forget the moment Major Griffin Gracie looked me in the eye and said, “Baby, you can’t wait for permission to exist. You’re taking up space because you deserve to be here.” It was 2016, and I had just finished interviewing her at Northeastern University. What started as a professional encounter turned into something much deeper. She welcomed me into her chosen family with the fierce love that defined her life’s work.

That advice not only changed my perspective; It changed my life. Miss Major had an uncanny ability to see potential in people before they realized themselves. She provided guidance that gave transgender people permission to dream bigger, fight harder, and live unapologetically in a world where we were often told we didn’t belong.

As we reflect on her accomplishments today, we must remember that Miss Major did more than just join the transgender rights movement. She helped create it. Her work laid the foundation for all the victories we celebrate today and continues to shape how we fight for justice, dignity, and equality.

To understand her impact, go back to June 28, 1969, when a 27-year-old black transgender woman stood up for herself at the Stonewall Inn. History often overlooks the transgender women of color who were at the center of that uprising, but Miss Major was there when police raided the bar that night and didn’t back down.

After Stonewall, she dedicated her life to building what would become the infrastructure of liberation. When she fought that night, she was not only resisting police brutality, she was also proclaiming that trans people, especially black trans women, are no longer invisible. Her message was simple: We exist. we matter. I’m not going anywhere.

Miss Major was both courageous and cautious. She knew that real change requires a support system. While many focused on changing laws, she focused on changing lives. Her work with incarcerated transgender women is one of her most powerful legacies. She visited prisons, wrote letters, sent allowances and let the girls know they were not forgotten. It wasn’t a glamorous job, but it was transformative.

She built an organizing model rooted in communities of love, mutual aid, and mutual support while demanding structural change. This approach became the blueprint for today’s transgender rights organizations, especially those centered around Black transgender women.

At a time when invisibility was often the safest choice, Miss Major chose visibility. Over and over again, she shared her life as proof of transgender resilience and humanity. Her openness created connection and understanding. Those who heard her story could not ignore the truth of our existence or the strength it takes to truly live.

Miss Major also believed that leadership was about creating space for others. After our first meeting, she connected me with other activists, shared resources, and reminded me that my voice matters. Talk to any transgender activist who has emerged over the past 20 years and you’ll hear similar stories. She saw something in others and nurtured it until it blossomed.

Her imprint is visible throughout today’s movements: grassroots organizing, centering the most marginalized voices, and insisting that liberation must be rooted in love and community. The victories we are seeing — from access to health care to broader public recognition — are built on the foundation she laid.

During our last conversation, Miss Major said to me: “This movement isn’t about me. It’s about all of us. And it’s about those who will come after us.” Her life reminds us that movements are sustained as much by love as they are by protests, not just by marches and rallies but by the everyday acts of showing up for each other.

With anti-trans violence on the rise and our rights under relentless attack, we need Miss Major’s example now more than ever. We need her fierce love, her unwavering defiance, and her belief that we deserve to occupy space. Her legacy reminds us that the fight for our lives is also a fight for joy.

On this Transgender Day of Remembrance, we honor those who have died, and celebrate those who dared to live life to the fullest, and those like Miss Major who taught us that mourning comes with responsibility. Her life challenges us to protect each other, build systems of care, and continue to fight for a world where all transgender people can live safely and proudly.

The mother of our movement may be gone, but the family she built lives on. The best way to honor her is to continue her work. It’s about building, protecting, loving endlessly, and reminding all transgender people that they belong, matter, and are loved.

Chastity Bowick is an award-winning activist, civil rights leader, and transgender health advocate who has dedicated her career to empowering the transgender and gender nonconforming community. She led the Massachusetts Transgender Emergency Fund for seven years, opened New England’s first transgender transition facility, and currently leads Chastity’s Consulting & Talent Group LLC. In 2025, she became Interim Executive Director of the Marsha P. Johnson Institute, continuing its mission to advance equity, safety, and opportunity for transgender people. Her leadership has earned numerous honors for her impact on social justice and community care.