When They Tried to Rewrite My Story

I wasn't planning to write about this.

Honestly, part of me wanted to pretend it never happened.

But another part of me realized that if I've been willing to write about my victories, my failures, my sobriety, my mental health, and my journey through drag, then I should probably write about this too.

Because this was part of the journey.

Over the past few weeks, someone created anonymous social media accounts and began contacting event organizers, telling them I was racist, that I wasn't safe around children, and even accusing me of performing in blackface.

None of it was true.

Not one word.

The accusations weren't coming from someone trying to have a conversation with me. They weren't asking questions or trying to understand my intentions.

They were trying to erase me.

The hardest part wasn't being angry.

It was being hurt.

Not because I doubted who I am, but because the accusations attacked the values that matter most to me.

I've spent years trying to build community.

I've organized all-ages drag events because I wanted younger LGBTQ+ people to have a safe place to perform before they were old enough for bars.

I've raised money for nonprofits.

I've volunteered my time.

I've mentored newer performers whenever I felt I had something worthwhile to offer.

I've worked to create spaces where people of every race, gender identity, sexuality, religion, and background could feel welcome.

So when someone tells people that I'm unsafe...

That I'm racist...

That I'm somehow the opposite of everything I've worked toward...

It hurts.

Deeply.

One of the strangest parts of being publicly attacked is how powerless it can make you feel.

How do you prove something that never happened?

How do you defend yourself against anonymous accusations?

How do you respond without accidentally giving more attention to the lie?

I didn't have good answers.

Some days I wanted to fight back.

Some days I wanted to disappear.

Some days I seriously questioned whether everything I had built was worth it.

Then something unexpected happened.

People who actually know me started speaking up.

Friends.

Performers.

Organizers.

People who have worked beside me.

People who have watched me volunteer.

People who have trusted me around their children.

People who know my character.

Without me asking, they reminded me of something I had forgotten.

A lie can spread quickly.

But so can a reputation that has been built consistently over time.

One conversation after another, I realized something important.

My reputation wasn't built in Facebook comments.

It was built backstage.

It was built while setting up benefit shows.

It was built carrying speakers, cleaning venues, helping new performers, and staying after events to pack everything away.

It was built through thousands of small moments that no one ever posts online.

And those moments matter far more than anonymous accusations.

This experience also forced me to ask myself a difficult question.

Who am I if people misunderstand me?

Who am I if someone intentionally lies about me?

Who am I when I can't control what other people believe?

The answer surprised me.

I'm still me.

I still care about my community.

I still believe drag should be inclusive.

I still believe in creating safe spaces.

I still believe kindness is stronger than cruelty.

And I refuse to let someone else's bitterness dictate the kind of person I become.

Does that mean the hurt disappeared?

No.

False accusations leave scars.

There are still moments when I wonder who has seen those comments.

There are still moments when I worry someone will believe them.

There are still moments when my PTSD whispers that maybe nowhere is truly safe.

Healing isn't linear.

But neither is resilience.

One thing I know for certain is this:

I don't want to become someone who's afraid to keep showing up.

Because if I stop creating, stop volunteering, stop mentoring, stop organizing, and stop loving my community...

Then the people trying to silence me win.

I'm not willing to give them that.

Instead, I'll keep doing what I've always tried to do.

I'll keep showing up.

I'll keep learning.

I'll keep apologizing when I genuinely make mistakes.

I'll keep listening.

I'll keep growing.

And I'll keep creating spaces where people know they're welcome.

Because that's who I was before the rumors.

It's who I am now.

And it's who I intend to be long after people forget the lies.

If there's one thing this experience has taught me, it's that character isn't defined by what anonymous strangers say about you.

Character is defined by what the people who truly know you have experienced.

That's the story I want my life to tell.

The rest is just noise.