Dallas Hope CharitiesDallas Hope Charities*To protect the privacy of this resident, the individual’s name has been changed in this story.
After years of feeling invisible, misgendered, and trapped in a life not his own, Jace had arrived at the Hope Center—a place that would offer him more than a roof over his head. It offered him a chance to start over, to exist authentically, and to imagine a life where he could finally be free.
In the first month since moving into the center, the 21-year-old already began to feel a profound shift. “I feel more comfortable out in the open,” he shared. “I have a lot less anxiety. No longer confined to a room or a life dictated by others, Jace is beginning to dream again—of jobs he might find, of living independently, and of a future where he is recognized and respected for who he truly is.
Jace grew up in a mid-sized town with no public transportation and even fewer LGBTQ+ resources. “It was basically a dead-end town for me,” he said. Without the ability to drive, Jace was isolated—physically, emotionally, and socially. Home was not a place of comfort, but of constant emotional strain and invisibility. Some family members refused to accept his identity. Others, while aware, made no effort to understand or support him. Even when he tried to help care for a family member, things deteriorated rapidly once he came out as transmasculine.
“I used to have really, really bad anxiety,” he recalled. “I couldn’t even leave my room. I could hardly leave even if it was just to eat or use the bathroom.” For Jace, life felt like a performance he was forced into—a constant balancing act of pretending everything was fine while carrying the weight of rejection and fear. “I always had to pretend that I was fine with people refusing to use my actual name. It was never fine, but I couldn’t do anything about it.”
I used to have really, really bad anxiety. I couldn’t even leave my room. I always had to pretend that I was fine with people refusing to use my actual name. It was never fine, but I couldn’t do anything about it.
Eventually, that burden became too heavy. Searching online for a place that might offer him an escape, he stumbled upon the Hope Center—almost by accident. “It felt too good to be true,” he said. But he applied anyway, not expecting to hear back. When he did, it was both exhilarating and terrifying. “I’m not used to actually getting resources. It was very shocking, but good.”
Moving into the Hope Center marked the beginning of Jace’s journey toward healing. From day one, the most impactful change wasn’t just a safe place to sleep—it was being seen, affirmed, and referred to by his correct name and pronouns. “It felt really comforting. I felt like I was in a place I could be safe.”
Jace now has access to resources that once felt unimaginable: support for a legal name change, guidance on exploring hormone replacement therapy, and assistance in applying for food benefits. He’s cautiously navigating these new opportunities, excited simply to have them. “I never had the option before,” he said. “Now I do.”
I never had the option before [to change my name or consider hormone replacement therapy]. Now I do.
Life at the center is structured yet respectful. “People just respect you,” Jace shared. “I can be more myself. I don’t have to live up to other people’s expectations as long as I do my chores around the house.”
For someone who once lived in fear of being misgendered in his own home, the impact of that respect cannot be overstated.
Now, Jace is setting goals: finding a barista or bakery job, saving for a place of his own, and building a life free from family pressure and judgment. “I just wanna have my own place and not have to worry about my family or anything… I wanna live my own independent life.”
He imagines what life could look like in a year: a job he enjoys, a chosen family that affirms him, and the legal recognition of the name and identity he’s always known were his.
To those who support the Hope Center—donors, staff, volunteers—Jace has one simple message: “Thank you. Without your hard work, I don’t know if I’d be here. You helped create a place where I can finally be myself.”
And to the version of himself from six months ago—or to anyone in a similar situation—he would offer the comfort he never received: “Hey, things are gonna get better. You’ll meet people who actually help you. You won’t have to hide anymore.”
