The Ally You Think You Are (And the One You Actually Need to be)
- Ms Andrea King
- Apr 5
- 7 min read
Updated: May 18
Here's the thing about allyship. Most people who consider themselves an ally to the trans community are genuinely well-meaning. They care. They want to do the right thing. They just sometimes express that by sharing a post during Trans Awareness Week and calling it a day.
Which is lovely. Truly. The intention is real. But intention, as it turns out, doesn't do a lot of heavy lifting in the moments that actually matter.
This isn't about making anyone feel bad. It's about the gap between wanting to be an ally and actually being one — which, in fairness, is a gap most of us have in some area of our lives.
The good news is that closing the gap isn't as complicated as it might feel. It just requires a bit more than a flag in your bio.
What People Think Allyship Is
The easy version looks something like this: you nod along when someone says trans rights are human rights (they are), you're careful not to say anything obviously offensive and you feel, broadly, like one of the good ones.
None of that is wrong. But none of it is particularly useful to the person at work who's just told their manager they're transitioning and is quietly terrified about Monday morning. Or the teenager whose family has decided this is a phase. Or the trans woman at your dinner table who just heard a joke she's pretending didn't land the way it did.
Performative allyship costs nothing and asks nothing. Which is precisely why it tends to change nothing.
What Allyship Actually Looks Like
Having transitioned myself, I know what it feels like when people quietly disappear once things get complicated. For me though, that was the exception. I was genuinely lucky. My manager was amazingly supportive and my colleagues and friends — all of them — got it from day one. Using my chosen name, she instead of him, correcting others if they slipped up (which is fine, it happens after knowing someone for years as the old mark 1 version of you) and generally treating me as though nothing had changed — even though it had, significantly. That support was so important and so comforting.
Using the right name and pronouns. This can best be described as a big-little-big thing. Like the nut or washer on the Space Station that stops the whole thing falling apart and sending everyone onboard into oblivion. So what do I mean by that? Well, it's a big deal to suddenly ask those around you to start referring to you as "she" or "him" instead of the other way around — after knowing you for years. In reality though, it's just a little word isn't it. "She. Her. He. Him." But that little word is such a big deal for the person transitioning. It's your ally saying: I see you, I get you, I'm here for you. Using it every time — not just when you’re in the room — genuinely seeing the real you and helping others to do the same, that's where the difference is made.
Speaking up when you'd rather not. This is probably the one that separates the genuine allies from the well-meaning bystanders. Because there will be moments — someone saying "I don't understand why they have to mutilate their body just because they're confused" across a dinner table, for example — where the easy option is to say nothing and let it pass.
Good allies don't take the easy option. They say something. Not loudly, not dramatically, not in a way that makes them the hero of the moment — just quietly and clearly enough that the message lands. That's it. That's the whole job in that moment.
Educating yourself. Not asking your one trans acquaintance to explain the entire history of gender identity over coffee — that's a lot to put on one person and they may not feel comfortable talking about it anyway. Help them out. Google it. Read about it. And if you do want to ask something about their own journey, maybe start with "Would you mind if I asked you something personal? And please feel free to say no — that's honestly fine." It shows you care enough to want to understand, without putting them under any pressure. From my own experience, many trans people are open about what they've been through or are going through — sometimes you just need to let them get there at their own pace.
Listening more than talking. Allyship isn't about you feeling good about yourself. It's about the person you're supposed to be supporting actually feeling supported. Those two things are not always the same thing and it's worth knowing the difference. Showing empathy — genuinely putting yourself in their shoes while you're listening — goes a long way too. Let's be honest: transitioning is not an easy ride. Whether someone is going through it now or has in the past, it's a hell of a big deal. Showing that you understand how difficult certain things are, or were, is how you demonstrate that you're actually there for them. One word of warning though — "I can imagine" doesn't really work. Because you can't. That's not a criticism, it's just psychologically impossible unless you've been through it yourself.
Getting it wrong and carrying on anyway. Nobody is expecting perfection — least of all trans people, who are generally far more understanding about honest mistakes than you might expect. What matters is what you do next. Do you take the feedback on board, adjust and try again? Or do you retreat into embarrassment and quietly avoid the subject from that point on? The first one is allyship. The second is entirely human and understandable — but it's worth pushing through it, because the person on the other side of that mistake will notice that you did and appreciate it.
The Bit Nobody Likes to Hear
Are you the ally you think you are (or the one you actually need to be). The bit nobody likes to hear. Allyship sometimes costs something. It might be a mildly awkward moment in the bar after work. A slightly uncomfortable conversation with a colleague. Occasionally it might mean saying something that not everyone in the room agrees with and living with that. And look, none of that is particularly pleasant — awkward moments are awkward for a reason. But that discomfort is worth sitting with. Because here's the thing: the alternative — looking the other way, waiting for someone else to say something — has a cost too. You just don't feel it. The trans person in the room does though. Every single time.
So What Does a Good Ally Actually Look Like?
Honestly? Pretty ordinary. They're not necessarily marching with a megaphone (though nothing wrong with that either). They're just the person who got the name right, said something when they heard something they shouldn't have, treated you as though nothing had changed and yet was there as a consistent support when it was needed.
They didn't do it for the credit. They did it because it was the right thing to do and more importantly because they wanted to.
Which, when you strip everything else away, is really all allyship has ever been.
I am a D&I consultant, keynote speaker, Mental Health First Aider, writer and transgender woman with 20+ years of senior corporate leadership experience. I work with businesses across all sectors to build genuinely inclusive cultures whilst also supporting transgender individuals and their families through every stage of the journey. If this piece resonated, you can find more articles on andreaking.net or book a free discovery call if you'd like to talk.
The views expressed in this article are my own and are based on personal experience and perspective. They are not intended as medical, legal or professional advice.
Further Reading - The Ally You Think You Are (And the One You Actually Need to Be)
TransActual outlines that effective trans allyship requires active, everyday efforts, including extending kindness, listening to lived experiences, and directly challenging transphobia in private and public spaces. The guidance emphasizes that being a true ally involves correcting misinformation and supporting trans individuals rather than passive acceptance. You can read the full article at TransActual.
An Everyday Feminism article outlines six common mistakes well-intentioned advocates make that can inadvertently harm the transgender community. Key pitfalls include fixating on passing, tokenizing trans individuals, prioritizing intentions over impact, selective allyship, invading privacy, and ignoring intersectionality. Read the full story at Everyday Feminism.
Take the burden of education: Don't ask marginalized people to explain their existence or trauma to you. Instead, use the Stonewall UK Guide or the LGBT Foundation Trans Ally Booklet to do your own research.
A Gatehouse Chambers article defines LGBT+ allyship as an active, ongoing commitment to challenging systemic discrimination, rather than a passive or permanent label. It calls for professional, overt action to dismantle workplace bias and foster inclusion. Read the full article at Gatehouse Chambers.
Frequently Asked Questions
What is the difference between performative allyship and real allyship?
Performative allyship shows support in low-stakes, visible ways, while real allyship consistently acts in ways that protect, affirm, and support trans people when it matters.
Why does using the right name and pronouns matter so much?
Because it signals recognition, respect, and safety. It tells a trans person they are being seen for who they are, not who others assume them to be.
What should I do if someone says something transphobic?
Say something if it is safe to do so. A calm, clear response is often enough to challenge the comment and show support.
Do I need to know everything about trans issues to be a good ally?
No. You do need to be willing to learn, listen, and avoid placing the burden of education entirely on trans people themselves.
Is it okay to make mistakes?
Yes. What matters is correcting yourself, taking feedback seriously, and continuing to show up better next time.
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