I need more than beautiful words. - Alex

Alex found a faith community that welcomed her. She joined a small group of people who met fortnightly for study and fellowship.

In the beginning, she was cautious. Being a transgender woman in faith spaces hadn't always been safe. But this group seemed different.

"How's your week going?" they would ask warmly. "How’re you doing?"

People checked in between meetings. Sent messages. Asked deep questions.

The gatherings were homely affairs. People brought dishes from family recipes. They ate together, laughed together, shared what mattered to them.

Over time, Alex began to share more vulnerably. Her fears about employment discrimination. Her dreams of reconciling faith and identity. The loneliness of being misunderstood.

The group listened. They nodded. They said encouraging things.

Alex contributed too. She brought her grandmother's cookies. She offered support. She showed up consistently, week after week, month after month.

Years passed. She felt like she belonged.

Then Alex became seriously ill and was hospitalized.

The group chat lit up with beautiful words:
"Thinking of you!"
"Hope you recover quickly!"
"You're in our thoughts!"
"Sending love and healing!"

Messages poured in. Hearts and emojis. Encouraging words.
But nobody came.

Alex lay in the hospital bed, scrolling through the messages.
She waited. Surely someone would visit?
They shared meals for years. They heard her deepest fears. They knew she had no family nearby.

Days passed. More messages arrived. More well wishes typed out on phones.
But the hospital room remained empty except for nurses and doctors.

When Alex was finally discharged, weak and alone, she arranged her own transport home. She managed her own recovery. She sat in her flat, reading the group's cheerful messages about how glad they were she was "on the mend".

She realised something:
They had included her in their space. They had listened to her stories. They had eaten her food and let her eat theirs.
But when inclusion meant actually showing up, physically present, inconvenienced, the acceptance had limits.
She had been welcome at the table. Just not welcome enough to visit in hospital.

Alex stopped attending the group. When they asked why, she said she needed time to recover.
They understood. They sent more messages. More well wishes.

But nobody came to her door either.