Welcome to Ella and the City-a column by Ella Snyder exploring the experiences of dating as a trans person in New York City today.
This narrative is part of Cosmopolitan’s celebration of the resilience, wisdom, hope, and joy within the trans community as its members navigate romantic relationships. Through in-depth interviews and personal essays, trans individuals share their experiences of dating, hooking up, breaking up, and maintaining love amidst challenges to their personal safety and freedom of expression.
I first experienced anxiety in seventh grade, back in 2011-my inaugural year as Ella. Starting at a new school with a new name, pronouns, and wardrobe was both thrilling and terrifying. Mornings were filled with nausea and breakdowns, as my transition led to bullying that still affects me today-incidents like having my phone stolen during gym class and receiving online threats from local boys. My morning stomachaches eventually lasted all day, and though my anxiety improved over time, it still impacts me 14 years later.
Now 26 and single, my anxiety has at times kept me from leaving my apartment, let alone dating. In a world where the trans community’s existence is constantly under threat, even making eye contact feels daunting, let alone engaging in conversation or flirting.
The pandemic’s aftermath, followed by Donald Trump’s 2024 reelection, reignited old fears, eroding my confidence. Constant exposure to hateful rhetoric against my community exacerbated my anxiety, leading to agoraphobia. For weeks, attempts to leave my apartment triggered panic attacks. Severe anxiety meant I couldn’t manage basic tasks like grocery shopping without a “safe person”-a parent, friend, or roommate. Frustration with my reliance on others grew as I struggled to regain a sense of normalcy.
With my therapist’s guidance, a tailored medication regimen, and exposure therapy (progressing from neighborhood walks to solo bus trips), I’ve learned to function after anxiety episodes. I’m now able to leave my house, work, socialize, and manage discomfort independently. However, my dating life has suffered.
Dating has become increasingly daunting. Being told I’m not a woman or that my body is someone else’s choice, or encountering the belief in only “two genders,” has dampened my enthusiasm for meeting new people. Swiping through dating apps filled with incompatible profiles and political adversaries is exhausting. The uncertainty of how someone might react to my history, given the current political climate, makes an already intimidating process even more so. For a while, I felt incapable of dating.
At the peak of my anxiety, I questioned how I could find love or even manage a first date when leaving my apartment was a challenge. I judged myself for wanting to be desired while feeling unprepared for it. Additionally, Constantly scanning for red flags and ensuring my safety by researching matches online to avoid being targeted was overwhelming. I wondered if I subconsciously never intended to meet anyone in real life, instead pushing dating app algorithms to their limits from my couch as a form of escapism.
That changed when I met Sebastian on Instagram nine months ago. Worldly, enigmatic, and charmingly Gatsby-like, he played classical piano and spoke of studying with monks in a zen monastery. I felt there was much I could learn from him. Despite imagining every worst-case scenario, my desire for a genuine connection outweighed my fear. I resolved to show up for myself in a new way, to stop my world from shrinking. I felt ready to date, even if it meant facing fear head-on.
After weeks of rescheduling, Sebastian and I finally planned a casual walk around my neighborhood, allowing me to retreat home if needed.
On the day of our date, Sebastian postponed again, and we agreed to meet the next day. When he didn’t respond to my confirmation text, I feared he was ghosting me-catastrophizing the uncertainty. Was this karma for all the times I’d canceled on dating app matches? Now that I was ready, was getting ghosted my punishment?
Anxiety crept in as I worried I’d scared him away. A week later, he explained he had family issues and apologized for the delay. We never did meet.
Nevertheless, the potential date with Sebastian sparked an irreversible change in me. Though it didn’t work out, I didn’t let it stop me from putting myself out there. Months later, my drive to connect continues to surpass my irrational fears. My dating app swipes are more intentional, and I engage in genuine conversations with people who know I’m trans-it’s clearly stated on my profiles. Yes, I’ve been going on dates, in person, without rescheduling sometimes! (Applause, please.)
I still get anxious, but I can ground myself and recognize my safety. On dates, I focus on being present, asking questions, and listening to answers. If nerves arise, I regulate my breathing and apply what I learned during my worst anxiety periods. I note what I can see, smell, and hear. I focus on a neutral sensation in my body, like my big toe. I remind myself that I’m strong and capable of more than my anxiety suggests.
Pre-date stomachaches persist, but I know I’m better off experiencing something new and potentially making a connection than canceling. I understand that isolating myself never helped. Now, I’d rather endure discomfort than miss the chance to find love.
Name has been changed.