I am a woman shaped by love, tempered by the moments of hate I’ve endured, and strengthened by the truth I finally chose to live.
Love has built me, carried me, challenged me, and taught me who I am. It is the foundation of my life. It is found in my wife, my children, my friends, my community, and in the hard-earned acceptance I eventually learned to give myself.
Beyond labels, I am a wife, a mother, a business owner, an artist, and someone who believes deeply in showing up for others. I own a home, run a business, volunteer in my community, and try to move through the world with kindness. Like most people, I want a good life, meaningful relationships, and a future where the people I love can thrive.
My understanding of my identity didn’t arrive in a single moment. Looking back, I think I always knew. It was a quiet truth that lived beneath the surface for years.
Growing up with strong Southern Baptist roots in Texas, I learned early that some truths felt safer left unspoken. I spent years trying to fit into expectations that weren’t truly mine. I married men twice because I believed that was the life I was supposed to want. Both marriages eventually ended, not because those men were bad people, but because living a life that isn’t authentic hurts everyone involved.
For a long time, I carried fear, shame, and self-doubt. I genuinely believed that telling the truth about who I was would cost me everything.
Instead, when I finally came out at 40 years old, something unexpected happened.
The people who truly loved me stayed.
The people who mattered showed up.
The voices of judgment became background noise.
For the first time in my life, I began learning how to love myself.
Living as an LGBTQIA+ person in Texas has been complicated. I love Texas. I love its people, its traditions, its grit, and its sense of community. But there have also been painful moments.
I’ve been chased and shaken inside my car outside a bar in my twenties. I’ve had slurs written on my vehicle. I’ve had security called on me in public restrooms simply because I was a masculine-presenting woman. I’ve been told there was something wrong with me and treated as though I didn’t belong.
Even now, there are moments when I make myself smaller than I should.
Not because I’m ashamed of who I am, but because I know not every space is welcoming.
What saved me were the people who chose to love me anyway.
My chosen family became a lifeline. Friends who stood beside me. A photography mentor who encouraged me, and taught me how to stand tall. An adoptive brother who defended me even when people judged him for loving me and my children. And perhaps most importantly, my community theatre. It remains the most accepting place I have ever known. It gave me a place to breathe, create, and simply exist without apology.
When life was hardest, my children carried me forward.
There wasn’t one defining challenge. There were many. But through every difficult season, my desire to be a good mother grounded me. My children gave me purpose when things felt heavy. They reminded me that love is bigger than fear.
Today, thriving looks different than I once imagined.
It looks like being a wife, a mother, a homeowner, and a business owner.
It looks like serving my community through volunteer work, advocacy, and public service.
It looks like waking up every day and living honestly.
What I am most proud of isn’t simply that I came out.
I’m proud that I never gave up on becoming who I was meant to be.
I’m proud that my children have seen me choose authenticity over fear.
I’m proud of the life I’ve built, even when parts of that journey were difficult.
During my lifetime, I’ve witnessed changes I never thought I would see. I watched marriage equality become the law of the land. I watched more people step out of the shadows and live openly. I watched countless LGBTQIA+ people find the courage to tell the truth about who they are.
Those victories matter.
They changed lives.
They changed mine.
What gives me hope is knowing that progress happens when ordinary people continue showing up. When we volunteer, advocate, learn, vote, support one another, and refuse to give up on each other, change remains possible.
I wish more Texans understood that LGBTQIA+ people are simply people.
We have families. We have dreams. We have responsibilities. We pay taxes, go to work, raise children, care for our communities, and worry about the future just like everyone else.
We are not issues to debate.
We are human beings.
To any young LGBTQIA+ person who feels alone right now, I want you to know this:
Don’t waste your life trying to become who other people want you to be.
That road is paved in pain.
The people who truly matter will show up.
Everything else is white noise.
Most importantly, you are worthy of love.
And never forget to love yourself.
To future generations, I hope the work we have done helps make your path easier. I hope you continue building a world where people can live openly and honestly without fear.
I hope you know that you are loved.
You have always been worthy of love.
And your truth is worth protecting.
Support Mel Spell
Mel Spell is the Founder of The Last Line
https://wearethelastline.com/
The Last Line donates a portion of their profits to the ACLU.
Little Blue Texans 
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