My Journey Coming Out as Transgender
Hello, my name is Caitlin Rauen, and I am a 32-year-old transgender and disabled woman. In March 2015, I came out as transgender, hoping that embracing my true self would bring a sense of freedom and relief. However, instead of receiving love and support, I was met with rejection, anger, and judgment from those closest to me.
Family Backlash and Religious Opposition
The majority of the backlash came from my father and stepmother, who are both deeply religious and openly support MAGA ideals. Our relationship changed abruptly. My phone began to fill with Bible verses and lengthy texts about “God’s plan.” Letters arrived in my mailbox; each filled with a scripture and an attempt to instill guilt. My father even tried to send me to a religious therapist at his church, treating my identity as something that could be changed through prayer.
Standing My Ground
Despite these efforts, I stood firm and repeatedly told my father no. Eventually, he stopped trying, but the emotional damage had already been done. My heart grew hardened. I made the decision to leave Christianity behind, telling myself I was finished with churches, faith, and God.
A New Chapter: Seeking Faith and Acceptance
Years after leaving Christianity behind, I found myself quietly longing for connection, peace, and something greater than myself. This inner ache led me to try, once more, to find my way back to faith.
Finding Community in Modesto
In 2017, I made the decision to move to Modesto, California, stepping into an uncertain future. A year later, I met John Gorman III (1953-2022), a man whose kindness and warmth, along with that of his wife, welcomed me into their home. Their genuine acceptance offered a sense of love and belonging that my heart had been yearning for. As I spent more time with them and their family, I discovered that they were devoted Catholics. Eventually, they invited me to attend Mass at St. Joseph’s Catholic Church in Modesto. I remember the peaceful beauty of the service, and the warmth in the voice of Fr. Samuel—affectionately known as Fr. Sam—left a deep impression on me.
The Call to RCIA
Returning to St. Joseph’s for Christmas Eve Mass on December 24, 2018, something within me shifted. That night, I realized I wanted to begin the RCIA program and take the steps to become Catholic. For a while, everything seemed to be falling into place, but when the COVID-19 pandemic hit, the classes moved online. The experience was no longer the same, and I eventually dropped out, though my heart remained attached to the path I had started.
A Renewed Search for Belonging
In 2021, I returned to Visalia, California, where I moved in with my mom to get back on my feet. This period reignited my search for belonging, community, and a way to reconnect with the faith that once brought me hope.
Joining the Catholic Community in Visalia
By 2023, I felt an unmistakable pull toward the Catholic Church, as if something deep inside was guiding me home. In August, I began attending daily Mass at Holy Family Catholic Church in Visalia. The familiar hymns and prayers brought me a quiet sense of peace. By September, I took the next step and joined the RCIA program at Good Shepherd Catholic Parish, which unites St. Charles Borromeo, Holy Family, and St. Mary’s Catholic Churches. The parish was more than a collection of buildings—it was a vibrant community, complete with a food pantry at the Bethlehem Center, a K–8 Catholic school, and plans for a high school. Every Sunday morning, from 10 a.m. to 12:30 p.m., I attended RCIA classes at St. Charles Borromeo, led by Deacon Gary, whose warmth and patience made each session welcoming. Fr. Alex Chavez, the head priest, guided us with compassion and faith, and for the first time in a long while, I felt that I truly belonged.
Choosing a Sponsor and Facing My Fears
During the RCIA program, each participant chose a sponsor to walk alongside them through their spiritual journey. I chose Jerry DeMelo Jr., a kind and genuine man with a heart full of faith. Over time, I opened up to Jerry about being transgender, feeling anxious about how he might react. To my relief, he was understanding, open-minded, and supportive, quickly becoming one of my strongest advocates within the church and someone who truly saw me for who I am.
Navigating Church Teachings and Coming Out
Because of the Church’s teachings regarding the LGBTQ+ community, Jerry suggested that I tell Deacon Gary myself about being transgender. He thought it would be better for the truth to come from me directly. After one RCIA class, I spoke privately with Deacon Gary and shared my story. That conversation marked a turning point—opening a Pandora’s box that led to some of my most difficult experiences at Good Shepherd Catholic Parish.
Facing Rejection and Harassment
About two months later, I began attending Tuesday night Bible study at St. Charles, which Jerry led. After one meeting, I met Father Dalton and inquired about the young adult group. I attended the group only once. During that session, some members discovered I was transgender. After attending the group, I found out that they had issues with me using the women’s restroom and participating in the women’s group during discussions. So, they made it clear that my presence was an issue. From that moment, the situation began to spiral. The Pandora’s box was fully opened, leading to harassment, threats, and rejection, along with the mental and emotional toll that followed.
Confronting Church Leadership
After a peaceful Christmas and New Year’s, I allowed myself to hope that the turmoil I’d been experiencing had finally subsided. But that sense of calm was short-lived. In January 2024, an email arrived from Father Dalton, informing me that he and Father Alex wanted to meet with me regarding my confirmation. I responded openly, willing to engage, and assumed it would be a routine discussion about my faith journey. I could not have anticipated what was to come.
The Meeting
When I arrived at Father Alex’s office, I was greeted by polite smiles, yet there was an unmistakable tension in the room. We sat around a round table, and Father Alex began by asking how I was feeling. I admitted my nervousness, noting that it was my first time meeting with two priests at once. He assured me, “There’s nothing to be nervous about. We’re just here to have a conversation.” I wanted to believe him. I hoped it would be a simple exchange, but the conversation quickly took a different turn.
Difficult Questions
The tone shifted when Father Alex asked for my dead name. I stood firm and refused to provide it. He shrugged and continued, acknowledging that transgender issues were new territory for the Church and that they were still learning how to respond. His questions soon became more pointed: “You were born male, right?” he asked. “And now you’re transitioning to a woman?” I confirmed, doing my best to remain composed.
An Impossible Request
Then came the moment that changed everything. Father Alex told me that, in order to accept me into the Church and confirm me, I would need to stop my transition and present as a man, as “God made” me. The shock was overwhelming. “So… you want me to de-transition?” I asked, hoping there had been a misunderstanding. He replied no but insisted that I pause my transition “for now.” I made it clear that I could not comply: “No. That’s not going to happen.”
Standing My Ground
It became evident that I was challenging boundaries for Father Alex; I was the first to refuse such a request in his priesthood. I attempted to reason with him, referencing Catholic doctrine, Pope Francis’ guidance, and the Church’s efforts to support transgender people. My arguments fell flat. Father Alex would not permit me to fully join the community, to participate in the rituals of belonging, even though Jesus himself welcomed the poor, the sick, the outcasts, and the marginalized.
Aftermath
I left the meeting feeling heartbroken, frustrated, and deeply sad. The rejection I experienced was not from strangers, but from the very institution I had hoped would accept me. Still, despite the pain, I resolved not to give up my identity or my pursuit of spiritual belonging.
Searching for Acceptance
After that meeting with Father Alex and Father Dalton, I went home feeling heavy and conflicted. The emotional weight of their words lingered with me. Unsure of how to process everything, I turned to my roommate for support. He had his own complicated history with the Church, having grown up Catholic but eventually leaving after coming out as gay. Listening carefully to my account, he didn’t hesitate to voice his opinion: “What they did to you is bullshit. You shouldn’t go to RCIA this Sunday.” Recognizing the anger and pain I was feeling, he cautioned that attending might lead to a confrontation with Father Alex, which was best avoided. I realized he was right.
Exploring New Possibilities
My roommate then suggested I try St. Clair’s Catholic Church in Three Rivers. On a bright and sunny Sunday morning in mid-January, I took his advice and drove from Visalia to Three Rivers, uncertain of what I would encounter. Upon entering the small country church, I was immediately struck by the warmth and hospitality of the congregation. For the first time in weeks, I felt a glimmer of hope, even as the pain of rejection from Father Alex remained with me.
A Conversation with Father Rod
The service that day was led by Father Rod, a 75-year-old priest with over 45 years of experience. His kindness and openness were evident from the start. After the service, I sat in my car for a moment, summoning the courage to speak with him. As I noticed Father Rod heading to his car, I approached and complimented his San Francisco 49ers jacket. What began as a casual conversation quickly became much more meaningful. I shared my story — how I was participating in RCIA but had been denied confirmation because I am transgender.
Father Rod listened attentively and then responded with words that eased a burden I hadn’t fully acknowledged: “That is not a reason to reject you. We are all sinners — even me. I accept you, and I will confirm you.” Overcome with emotion, tears streamed down my face as I hugged him. Father Rod explained that he wanted me to finish my RCIA classes at St. Charles on Sundays and, also to attend his Saturday afternoon services. Once I had completed both, we would move forward together. I agreed without hesitation, saying, “Okay, you’ve got a deal.”
Hope Amid Uncertainty
After leaving St. Clair’s, I called my sponsor, Jerry, to share the unexpected, good news. He was just as surprised as I was, as neither of us had anticipated such kindness and acceptance. That moment of hope, sparked by the generosity of an older priest, felt like a miracle. Yet, even as hope returned, I knew new challenges were ahead, and what had briefly been a joyful breakthrough would soon be tested by a fresh wave of difficulties.
Conflict and Rejection at St. Charles
The following Sunday, determined to persevere, I returned to my RCIA class at St. Charles. Despite the emotional turmoil, I tried my best to stay strong. After class, I approached Deacon Gary privately to share what had transpired in Three Rivers the conversation with Father Rod at St. Clair’s, his acceptance of me, and his promise to confirm me. I hoped that Deacon Gary might understand and offer support, but my hopes were quickly dashed as events began to unravel.
Almost immediately after our conversation, Deacon Gary went directly to Father Alex. Suddenly, a simple moment of hope turned into a bitter conflict. Father Alex reacted with anger, reporting Father Rod to the bishop and accusing me of seeking out another priest behind his back in order to be confirmed. From that point forward, Father Alex made every effort to prevent me from moving forward. He spread falsehoods, incited division, and made me feel like an outsider in the very church I longed to call home.
I was summoned to three separate meetings with Deacon Gary, each one more exhausting and demoralizing than the last. During these meetings, my intentions, my faith, and even my right to participate were called into question. Despite the intense scrutiny and emotional strain, I refused to back down. I remained steadfast, though inside I was beginning to unravel. My mental health suffered, and the sense of judgment and fear grew stronger with every visit to St. Charles. The atmosphere was suffocating I felt the eyes of others on me, heard the whispers, and encountered an overwhelming sense of exclusion.
Many within the parish priests, young adults, and other members — treated my presence as if it were a threat. The restrictions became even more explicit: Father Alex insisted that I could only use the family restroom, forbidding me from using the women’s bathroom. The message was unmistakable; I was merely tolerated, not truly accepted. In stark contrast, Father Rod at St. Clair’s welcomed me fully, treating me as any other woman in the parish. He was unconcerned with which bathroom I used his focus was on my faith.
Together with my sponsor, Jerry, I did all I could to demonstrate that my intentions were genuine. We gathered documents showing that the Church accepts transgender people, and we spoke with compassion and patience. Yet, no matter what evidence or kindness we offered, it seemed to make no difference. Everything we said was dismissed, and our efforts were met with indifference.
To Father Alex, I was not seen as Caitlin I was perceived as a problem, a troublemaker, a transgender woman whom he believed was trying to make a statement. In his eyes, I was not a person seeking God; I was an agenda. No matter how hard I tried to explain, nothing could change his mind.
Transitioning to St. Clair’s
After completing my RCIA classes, I made the difficult choice to leave St. Charles behind. The atmosphere had become unbearable, and I knew I needed a place where I could focus on my faith without constant scrutiny. I started attending St. Clair’s and continued my studies under Father Rod. His kindness and wisdom provided comfort and guidance amid the chaos that had surrounded me.
Searching for Belonging
As the weeks passed at St. Clair’s, a persistent question lingered in my heart: Why was I fighting so hard to be part of a Church that seemed unwilling to accept me? The struggle had taken a toll, and I found myself reflecting on whether the effort was truly worth it.
Confession and Clarity
On August 20, 2024, before my shoulder surgery, I met with Father Rod for confession. What began as a traditional confession soon deepened into a candid and heartfelt conversation. I spoke openly about my pain, exhaustion, and confusion. Father Rod listened patiently and then responded with gentle understanding. He told me, “Caitlin, if you decide to come into the Church and be confirmed, that’s wonderful. But if you decide not to, that’s okay too. What matters most is that you’ve taken something from our faith — something you can carry with you on your journey.”
Finding Peace
His words resonated deeply. For the first time, I realized I did not have to keep fighting to prove my worth or faith to anyone. The journey had already taught me so much: about God, about the Church, and most importantly, about myself. With that clarity, I chose to stop fighting. I no longer wanted to be viewed as an adversary or the source of conflict. I simply wanted peace.
Unresolved Hostility
However, even with my decision to seek peace, I was unaware that hostility was not yet behind me.
Hospitalization and Spiritual Transformation
Between October 2nd and October 16th, 2024, I was hospitalized due to struggles with my mental health. The overwhelming burden of rejection, pain, and constant judgment had become unbearable, leading me into a deep depression. For the first time, I sincerely believed that I could not continue. I developed a plan to end my life and even attempted it, but somehow, I survived. Although my time in the hospital was shrouded in darkness, something within me began to change once I was released. I started to see life, and my spirituality, from a new perspective. My faith journey shifted, moving away from its previous path and leaning more toward paganism. In this new direction, I found solace in nature, a sense of balance, and the understanding that divinity could exist beyond the confines of any church.
George’s Confirmation and a Painful Reminder
Months later, I discovered that my friend George, who is gay, was finishing his RCIA program at St. Charles and would be confirmed on Saturday, April 19th, 2025. I felt immense pride for him and assured him I would be there to support him. However, I was unaware that the day meant to celebrate faith and acceptance would instead serve as a stark reminder of how much progress the Church still needs to make.
Confrontation and Choosing Love Over Hate
Before the confirmation service started, I went to use the women’s restroom. As I exited, a young white man with brown hair, dressed neatly in a brown blazer, white shirt, black slacks, and polished shoes, suddenly shouted, “Caitlin! Stop right there!” I froze as he pointed at me and told the usher, “That’s the man who was in the women’s bathroom.” My heart sank. Without arguing, I walked away, feeling both furious and humiliated.
Back in my seat, I tried to regain my composure, recalling Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and his words on agape love. In one of his speeches, he explained, “When we rise to love on the agape level, we love men not because we like them…but because God loves them.” Reflecting on this, I realized that if I allowed anger to consume me, I would lose the part of myself that still believed in love—love that persists even when it is not reciprocated.
After the service, I encountered the young man again, now accompanied by two others. Before I could say anything, he barked, “Don’t you dare do that again!” I calmly asked, “Do what?” He replied sharply, “Go into the women’s bathroom.” I took a breath and stated, “Why? I’m a woman, and I needed to pee.” He glared and insisted, “No, you’re a man. Don’t do it again — or else.”
Responding softly, I said, “I love you. Happy Easter.” I began to walk away, but something inside compelled me to turn back. I asked, “Can I ask you a question?” Although they tried to dismiss me, I persisted: “What has Jesus done for you?” Receiving no answer, I continued, “Because what Jesus has done for me is show me what agape really means — unconditional love.” He attempted to twist my words into something hateful, but I interrupted him: “I asked what Jesus has done for you.” He stared at me, angry and silent. I smiled again and said, “Have a wonderful night, and happy Easter.” He muttered, “You too,” and I walked away, my heart heavy but proud that I had chosen love instead of hate.
Reporting the Incident and Reflections on Faith
Concerned for other transgender individuals who might one day attend St. Charles, I contacted the Roman Catholic Diocese of Fresno to report the incident. The communications department refused to comment and informed me that Father Alex would not speak with me, either. In that moment, I understood a painful truth: the Diocese did not care if transgender visitors were threatened or harmed.
Despite the silence and indifference, I clung to what I had learned. Real faith is not defined by who sits beside you in the pews—it is shaped by the love you choose to carry within yourself, even when the world tries to take it away.
Grace, Love, and Acceptance: Reflections on My Journey
In the end, my journey was never truly about becoming Catholic. Instead, it became a quest to discover grace, love, and acceptance in a world that so often loses sight of their true meaning. While I set out searching for a sense of belonging within the Church, what I ultimately found was something even more profound—a sense of home within myself.
The experiences of rejection taught me resilience, and moments of heartbreak opened my heart to compassion. In the silence of those who turned away from me, I began to hear the gentle voice of something divine—a love that asks for nothing in return. These lessons shaped my understanding of faith and the ways it can be manifested beyond traditional boundaries.
I have come to realize that faith is not confined to churches or rituals. It flourishes in the choices we make each day: when we choose kindness instead of anger, forgiveness rather than bitterness, and love over hate. Faith is found in the courage to remain true to ourselves, even in the face of a world that insists we do not belong.
My journey does not end here. It continues, and now, when I pray, my petitions are no longer for acceptance. Instead, I offer gratitude—for survival, for the strength I have gained, and for those individuals who remind me that God’s love, or whatever name one chooses to give it, cannot be restricted by walls or doctrines. This love lives in the hearts of those who dare to love without condition. In this, I find the purest expression of faith.
