Trans Voices: Stories of Resilience, Identity, and Allyship
The Our Fund Foundation is South Florida’s leading expert on LGBTQ issues, guiding philanthropy to build a thriving LGBTQ community. With $25M in
Americans are living through an era fueled by discrimination. While LGBTQIA+ folx know these tactics well. Each new law chips away at our dignity, and many of our siblings believe they are “Safe” from these attacks, that they are the exception. History warns us otherwise.
As a Black transgender woman from Miami, my life is a testimony of survival, resilience, and transformation. From childhood, I carried trauma I never asked for, molestation, rejection from family, and verbal abuse that no child should endure. As I grew older, violence became familiar: I faced guns, robberies, betrayal from loved ones, and abandonment by people I once trusted. Survival was instinct. With no safety net, I turned to sex work, hustling, and whatever means kept me alive.
My name is Speyder Webb, though most people who know me call me “Spidey.” I identify as a gay trans man when I’m educating and engaging in community events; otherwise, I am simply a man. As a community advocate, I care deeply about the health and well-being of the TLGBQ+ community and our allies.
As the national pause in federal food assistance benefits approaches, The McKenzie Project, Inc. (TMP) in South Florida is stepping into proactive mode to support vulnerable Black TGNCNB+ individuals, youth and families in Broward County who are likely to be disproportionately impacted.
As a 58-year-old transgender woman of color, I feel incredibly fortunate to have reached this age. I've faced immense injustices, including employment and housing discrimination, and medical disparities that led to dangerous black-market injections. I've survived three violent physical attacks.
I grew up across Miami, Boston, and Forest, Mississippi.
I’m a Black, queer, Latino trans man living in Florida, where the political climate feels like it’s always set to hostile. Every headline reminds me that people like me aren’t just debated — we’re targeted. Still, my life is full. I’ve got love. I’ve got support. I’ve built a community that holds me up. That’s not because I’m trans — but often, in spite of it.
I recently found myself traveling alone to speak at a conference and looking for a friendly breakfast table.
I was born and raised in Fort Lauderdale, Florida — sheltered, bookish, and without the language to describe what I felt inside. As a kid, I always played the “dad” when my sister and I played house. I didn’t know why — I just knew bows and dresses weren’t for me. I wanted cornrows, Jordans, and basketball shorts. Eventually, people called me a tomboy. Still, I didn’t yet know what LGBTQ meant.
By the time I was 10, I'd stand in front of mirrors for hours, scrutinizing my face as I saw myself slip away. "Who's that boy?" I'd wonder.
Page 1 of 2
Phone: 954-514-7095
Hours: Monday - Friday 9AM - 2PM
Editorial@OutSFL.com
Sales@OutSFL.com
Corrections:
PO Box 23817 • Oakland Park, FL 33307
Got a juicy lead or story idea? Let us know! You can also submit an anonymous news tip by clicking here.
Hello from OutSFL! We hope you'll consider donating to us. Starting a business can be a scary prospect, but with your support so far, we've had tremendous success. Thank you!
