Stuck in the Shadows: Being Trans & Stealth in the Workplace.
- WE CREATE SPACE
- 13 hours ago
- 7 min read
An anonymous trans professional shares how rising anti-trans rhetoric has shaped their decision to hide their identity at work.
N.B. The author of this article has requested to remain anonymous in order to safeguard their privacy and remain stealth at work.
Around eighteen months ago I made a career change. For the first time I was able to start afresh and exist simply as ‘me’ in the workplace, rather than as a trans person.
There are reasons why this was possible, circumstances that highlight tensions around privilege in the trans+ community. My appearance is such that I ‘pass’ as a cis person and I had completed all levels of trans admin with a GRC (Gender Recognition Certificate/Birth Certificate) in place legally protecting my identity and acquired legal sex.
In community this is known as ‘being stealth’ – a phrase that evokes from the outset a sense of hiding in plain sight, of MI5 level spy mission, of pretence and shame. It’s a phrase that sits uncomfortably with me due to those connotations. For a trans person ‘being stealth’ arises not from a desire for trickery, but instead, for a quiet life and more increasingly, for self-protection in a trans-volatile world.
I have spent years promoting the concept within DEI of being able to bring ‘your whole self to work’. Yet I never really interrogated what that meant for a minoritised or vulnerable person. When I physically transitioned in my previous workplace, I had no choice but to be out and proud. I took the new found confidence that comes with the initial stages of a long-awaited transition and vowed to be a visible queer and trans person with a successful career. I had a public facing role and I wanted to be a positive example for how a trans person could thrive in a world that, at that time, was becoming more accepting of difference. I lived and championed ‘bringing my whole self to work’ because it was a coping mechanism for having no choice. After six years I burned out.
When the opportunity presented itself I left that career and sought out new adventures, with the commitment to remain stealth and experience colleagues getting to know me as I had always seen myself, with no knowledge of my transness. My new job took me into a highly gendered world that is not known for its tolerance of queerness – or so I presumed. I certainly didn’t expect to come across other trans folk, and yet of course I have because we exist everywhere.
There is no rule book written on how to navigate stealth life, especially when you remain deeply proud of who you are. When you come face to face with another community member there is a decision to make; do I remain hidden even from my own, or do I risk my privacy and let them know discreetly we share something in common?
I chose the latter, in a very clumsy way. I found a quiet moment to nervously introduce myself, ask them their pronouns and hastily whisper “I’m just like you but I choose not to tell anyone, I’m always here if you need anything”. I cringe still even as I write that. I’m not even sure if they understood what I was insinuating, or whether I left them confused wondering what the hell I was trying to say! I forgot about the interaction, until it came to the work Xmas party, then became intensely paranoid they would get drunk and out me to others.
There lies the crux of navigating a stealth existence – the shame and fear of someone finding out, as though my very identity is something to be ashamed of. Yet once that decision had been made, the fear became: “What if people are upset if they find out?” “What if they are angry thinking I was trying to trick them?” I felt myself getting stuck in a hole I was digging for myself.
When we (folk working in DEI) deliver workshops or talks on psychological safety, this is exactly what we are trying to describe. Psychological safety is often misunderstood as creating a space where everyone feels safe, that no one is challenged and a person can speak without fear of judgement or negative consequence, especially to those positioned as superior in a workplace. Psychological safety is much more than that, it is inseparably linked to the unpredictability of our worlds. It’s the precious ability to turn up and show up, without managing the internal dialogue of ‘being found out’ to be something that others may judge you as not being.
My new workplace had policies in place for supporting trans people, there are human rights and employment protections in place, but with no visible representation of people like me in positions of influence – I was not ready to bring every aspect of my identity to work with me.
During 2025, the trans community in the UK experienced the rare occurrence of a minority identity having its rights taken away. A culmination of various challenges to the law (by a discriminatory movement that literally created its own case law tribunal by tribunal) led to a Supreme Court Judgement on the definition of sex for the sole purpose of the Equality Act 2010 (UK). Just at a time when I was a) stealth in my day job and b) in an industry directly affected by the misinformed kneejerk reactions to this judgement.
Overnight I found myself in a trans hostile industry, where the rights of a tiny community were erased, without any consultation or explanation. I was surrounded by cis apologists of varying inclusion teams who were part of my industry’s governing bodies, lots of shrugging of shoulders and shaking of heads, but with no outspoken challenges or overt allyship. The anti-racism movement talks about white fragility and white tears. Without appropriating the Black experience, I think I now understand this sentiment more than ever.
Yet amongst the sighs and handwringing, I find myself, a hidden trans person also unable to speak out, now through fear that my outspokenness may give me away. With the thought that it is better to remain hidden, because at least this way I get to be in rooms where cis people talk about my community as though they think they know what is best for us. To exist in a space where people speak freely because they feel safe in the perception that we are not listening (or that close friends, partners or relatives may not be listening). This is a new challenge to the definition and scope of psychological safety.
Where once going stealth was a choice, since April 2025 and the uncertainty that continues, it is now a necessity. I have observed in real time just how unwilling people are to speak out against injustice and protect others when it comes to the crunch. I have learned that protections and celebrations of diversity, of encouraging all people to ‘bring your whole self to work’ are too often a radical ask made by those unlikely to be at risk. As a society we have championed legislation and guidance that encouraged visibility in the workplace. In doing so we enticed the vulnerable into these spaces, promised protection and evolution, assuming that progress towards total inclusion for all would only advance, that there was no going backwards. We took these promises for granted.
What we now have is a tiny population of people who have learned that ‘equality’ is for some, not for all. Trans people have learned that allyship has its limits, especially when finances and reputation are threatened. I, as one trans person, have learned that hiding in plain sight, where I was once out and proud, is for the time being an act of survival. It feels like being forced into an ill-fitting closet that I never intended to visit.
I wanted to write this blog precisely because (in)visibility has consequences that others can never see or understand. Trans people like me exist in all aspects of life, and DEI needs to find ways to educate better on holistic inclusion regardless of who the target population is. We rely too much on willing participants to wear their identity on their sleeve, whilst for many to do so places them at high risk (trans+ people, LGBQ+, those undocumented, survivors of abuse, care experienced, disabled etc).
Yes, the ability to hide an oppressed identity is a privilege compared to others who cannot, but it is still no way to live.
A note from WCS
When an employee looks at their work environment and decides it’s no longer safe to be fully seen, it’s generally a decision that isn’t named in company updates, inclusion strategies, data dashboard or survey results. But a lack of reporting doesn’t mean it isn’t happening, and these undisclosed moments deserve your attention, especially if you claim the title of ally.
Somewhere along the way, we’ve made allyship feel like something we offer to individuals. We show up for the colleague whose story we can empathise and connect with, but this article highlights the very real limits in that version of allyship which is purely relational. It asks, what happens when that person steps back or is no longer visible in the same way? Why does our support often fade with them? If allyship is only activated by presence, it will always fall short.
At its core, allyship is rooted in the integrity of doing the right thing no matter who is in the room. What is needed to achieve that then is an immediate shift from seeing allyship as something we extend to individuals to a system we operate in daily. We have to embrace a mindset that questions the everyday norms, systems, and behaviours that shape whether someone feels able to show up at all.
"The necessity for cis people to be active allies cannot be underscored enough as trans rights and lives are threatened globally. We have the opportunity to do something about this now. Today. Right at this moment. Let us use our voice and power. In the words of Audre Lorde, “My silences had not protected me. Your silence will not protect you.” - Jon-Paul Vicari, WCS Managing Director
Below are some additional resources to help make that shift. We urge you to take advantage of them.
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