Reading the title, you might expect a social justice piece about the ongoing attacks on trans rights. As a trans person, I could write endlessly about my negative experiences. But today, I want to focus on something smaller, yet impactful: the quiet progress in the legal world.
Ten years ago, I never imagined my life as it is now. Walking into Weldon in 2022 as a mature student was a leap — but I did it as my true self, name, pronouns, and all. For the first time, I felt safe being me. My classmates embraced this, and it made all the difference.
Recruit experiences as a non-binary person
During interviews last year, I kept asking firms about DEI initiatives such as pronoun inclusion in email signatures. How safe would I be as a non-binary person? I quickly ruled out rural firms, knowing I’d already be “one of one” at most workplaces, and I didn’t want to feel just as isolated outside the office.
After striking out at OCI’s, I spent my summer at the Dal Legal Aid Clinic. It turned out to be the best decision I’ve made. Not only did it shift my focus from corporate transactions to family law, but it also showed me I could thrive as a non-binary lawyer right here in Nova Scotia.
The staff lawyers didn’t even blink at my pronouns. They introduced me in court without hesitation, and my classmates mirrored that respect. Yet, the moment that truly struck me was when the Executive Director asked about my honorific for court appearances. It was such a small question, but it stopped me in my tracks. I had never been given the opportunity to choose, let alone check a box, that truly reflected me.
When I told them it was Mx. (pronounced Mix), I felt something click inside — quiet but profound validation. It was as if a gap I didn’t even know existed in my sense of self had
been filled. That one moment gave me confidence I didn’t realize I was missing, and it propelled me to approach my work with a new level of certainty.
Appearing in Nova Scotian courts
My first time speaking in provincial court, Justice Duffy called me “counsel.” She didn’t remember my honorific, but that didn’t matter — it was that she didn’t misgender me that stood out. The next time, though, she was ready. Hearing “Mx. Traversa” for the first time in a courtroom setting is a moment I will never forget; I practically ran to tell everyone afterward. It wasn’t just about hearing my honorific. It was about knowing I had been seen and respected.
Speaking at the Supreme Court (Family Division) was an even bigger deal; this court is steeped in tradition, where “My Lady” and “My Lord” are still commonly used. Yet, the staff lawyers ensured every Justice knew my honorific before I stood to speak. Some of these Justices have decades of experience, but they embraced the change without skipping a beat. It was a reminder that even in spaces defined by entrenched traditions, progress is possible with intentionality and care.
By that point, my only worries in court were refreshingly normal for a student: Would I nail my script? Was my suit cool enough? Had I folded my socks down far enough so no one could see that they read, “This meeting is bullshit”? Comparatively, as these concerns were far smaller than what I’d faced before, they felt almost laughable in hindsight.
That summer, I learned more than I could’ve dreamed — substantive law, client management, oral arguments, and legal writing. What stood out most was the space I had to grow as a lawyer without having to defend my existence as a trans person. That might sound absurd to some, but I am exhausted from the energy I’ve spent correcting and justifying my existence in my previous profession and in substantive law exams.
I’m not saying Weldon is perfect — that would be a bold-faced lie — and I am aware this past summer won’t necessarily reflect the norm for the rest of my career.
Breaking glass ceilings is exhausting, even with my white privilege. But I’ve learned that it’s invaluable to surround yourself with coworkers and friends who support you, who see you for who you are, and have your back.
Mx. Traversa — who knew something so small could make all the difference in the world.
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