Rev. Nicole Garcia

I was the oldest son in a Roman Catholic Latino family, and I really felt the pressure to uphold the family name. I prayed for God to fix me, because I wanted to be the man everyone told me I was. I had to macho up, so I got a job in law enforcement. I was trying to look like a man, but when I put the uniform on, it was like putting on a facade.

Eventually, I became disillusioned, surly, and discontented. Drinking was the only way I could cope. I had everything I was supposed to have: a wife, a beautiful house, two cars, and respect on the job, but I was on the verge of suicide. Why was I so miserable? I found a therapist and told her that I loved wearing women’s clothes. It was my secret fetish, but it always bothered me. I joined a support group for cross-dressers, and over time, I figured out I was transgender.  I was 43 when I told my mother. Her greatest fear was that I would lose my family, my friends, and my job. She thought I would end up all alone, in a seedy motel, drinking myself to death, but that’s not what happened. 

Instead, I earned a masters’ degree in counseling. I’ve worked with hundreds of transgender and nonbinary people. When you hear over and over that you are worthless and broken, you start to believe it. I help my clients realize that the problem isn’t them, the problem is with the people telling them they’re worthless. I can empathize with my clients because I understand what it’s like to go through a second puberty, and I know how insanely difficult it is to come out to family. I’ve heard somebody scream “faggot” at me from a car window, and I’ve watched a pack of high school boys walking toward me, wondering if they are going to kill me. 

In my fifties, I earned a Master of Divinity. I’m an ordained pastor, a leader in the progressive Christian movement, and recently, I was appointed to the National LGBTQ Task Force.