The following is a real-life story from a member of our community.
I never thought I’d be writing for a blog called “Out in Defense.” Growing up in Massachusetts in a liberal family, surrounded by friends who shared strong pro-gun control views, firearms weren’t part of my world (except for the occasional visit to my Vietnam veteran grandfather’s collection). Even then, his guns felt more like historical artifacts than tools I’d ever need.
But here I am, a trans man who went from supporting extremely restrictive gun laws to becoming a concealed carry permit holder. This is the story of how my perspective evolved, shaped by military service, a changing political climate, and the reality of what it means to be LGBTQ in America today.
Where It Started
I wasn’t actively anti-gun in the way some people are. I’d played with toy guns as a kid and was genuinely interested in how firearms worked. But I firmly believed in heavy gun control laws. Growing up during the era of school shootings, consuming mainstream media coverage, and living in a blue state bubble made gun ownership seem scary and unnecessary. Without anyone in my family to teach proper weapons safety (except for my grandfather’s occasional stories), I assumed owning a real gun just wasn’t for me.
My grandfather was the exception — a lifelong collector who appreciated the historical significance of his firearms. He’d show me his collection sometimes, explaining the mechanics and history. But even his influence wasn’t enough to overcome the dominant narrative in my environment that more guns meant more danger.
The First Crack in My Certainty
The foundation for my changing perspective was actually laid years earlier when I joined the Army in 2011. I received formal firearms training that taught me not just how to handle weapons safely, but how they actually worked. Basic Combat Training introduced me to the M4, which I was required to carry with me at all times (and even sleep with). After extensive training, I qualified as a Marksman. The military gave me something my civilian upbringing hadn’t: hands-on experience and proper education.
But it wasn’t until Trump first got elected in 2016 that everything truly clicked into place. Suddenly, hate crimes were on the rise, and I found myself questioning whether I was as safe as I’d always assumed. As a trans man, I started to realize that my safety wasn’t guaranteed — not by laws, not by social progress, and certainly not by hoping others would protect me. The training I’d received years earlier suddenly felt not just useful, but necessary.
Serving as a trans person in the military during that era came with its own complex challenges and cognitive dissonance —something I’ll explore in detail in a future post. But the training itself was invaluable and gave me confidence I didn’t know I needed.
That training created a sense of responsibility I hadn’t expected. I felt like I had a duty to use these skills to protect my friends and loved ones who didn’t have this training. It was no longer about me — it was about being capable when others weren’t.
Confronting My Assumptions
When I decided to pursue civilian gun ownership, I had to get my License to Carry in Massachusetts — a process that involved jumping through significant legal hoops. I needed reference letters, had to convince the local police chief that I had a “legitimate reason” to carry, and navigate a complex web of regulations that varied by town. Since my military training had been limited to rifles, I also needed to learn about pistols. Before attending my first class, I dove into YouTube videos and online content to make sure I was in the best position to make the most of the in-person training.
My biggest fear wasn’t handling the weapons — the military had taken care of that. I was worried about fitting in. I didn’t look like what I imagined a typical gun owner looked like, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcomed in gun stores and ranges. Would I stand out? Would people care about my identity?
Interestingly, many of the people in my initial classes didn’t look anything like I expected. There were moms, elderly people, people of color, and even other LGBTQ folks. As it turned out, they were experiencing many of the same feelings as me regarding their safety.
The gun community I encountered was focused on safety above all else. Politics didn’t come up much at all, and when it did, the instructors were quick to shut it down (if you think about it, emotions tend to run high in political conversations, and high emotions + guns don’t mix).
The Reality Check
The more I learned, the more I realized how much misinformation had shaped my earlier views. Media coverage often got basic facts wrong about how firearms actually work, what laws actually do, who commits gun crimes, and how they obtain weapons.
Overall, I’m still strongly in favor of gun control, but my perspective on what effective gun control looks like has evolved dramatically. I now believe we should focus on things that actually make people safer: mandatory training, safe storage laws, and better enforcement of existing regulations. Some of the laws I once supported — like Massachusetts’ ban on certain manufacturers or arbitrary magazine capacity limits — seemed more performative than protective once I understood the reality of how firearms work.
Moving from Massachusetts to Pennsylvania crystallized this shift. Experiencing two very different regulatory environments showed me which laws actually enhanced safety through education and training, and which ones were just bureaucratic obstacles that didn’t make anyone safer.
The Personal Impact
Today, both my wife and I feel significantly safer. I feel confident that I can protect my family against those who would harm us. It’s not just about the physical security, though that matters. It’s about the empowerment that comes from taking responsibility for your own safety rather than hoping someone else will handle it.
As an LGBTQ person, this confidence has changed how I move through the world. I’m not constantly looking over my shoulder or feeling vulnerable in spaces where I might face hostility. Even the process of learning these skills — mastering something that most people haven’t — has boosted my confidence in ways I didn’t expect.
What Surprised Me Most
The biggest surprise was discovering how safety-focused the gun community really is. The people who advocate for completely removing all gun laws are mostly a loud minority. Most gun owners I’ve met are intensely focused on proper training, safe handling, teaching correct principles, and avoiding lethal force to every extent possible. They want everyone to go home safely at the end of the day.
I also didn’t expect how welcoming the community would be. At my local range and gun stores, people care about whether I’m safety-conscious and support Second Amendment rights. My identity as a trans man? It never comes up.
Living Both Truths
I still keep my gun ownership relatively private — not out of shame, but because I believe responsible gun ownership means not advertising what you own. It can make you a target, and it’s frankly nobody else’s business. When it does come up with friends and family, reactions are still mixed. Some people question why I feel I need it, and I understand their concerns because I once shared them.
But I’ve learned to live with both truths: I’m a trans man in America who faces real safety challenges, and I’m someone with the training and capability to address those challenges responsibly. Those aren’t contradictory identities — they’re complementary ones.
The Bottom Line
My journey from supporting heavy gun restrictions to carrying concealed wasn’t about abandoning my values. It was about expanding them. I still want effective gun control that actually makes people safer. I still care deeply about reducing violence in our communities. But I’ve also learned that my safety isn’t guaranteed by laws or good intentions, and that I have both the right and the responsibility to protect myself and those I love.
For other LGBTQ Americans considering this path, my advice is simple: get educated. Take classes. Learn from qualified instructors. Challenge your assumptions with real information rather than media narratives. And remember that exercising your Second Amendment rights doesn’t make you any less part of our community — it just makes you a more prepared member of it.
We live in a country where a lot of people have guns, regardless of how we feel about that reality. The question isn’t whether that’s ideal — the question is whether you want to be prepared to protect yourself and your loved ones in that reality. For me, the answer became clear: I’d rather be capable and never need it than need it and not be capable.
That’s not a perspective I ever expected to hold. But it’s one I’m proud to defend.
Out in Defense 