Carter Nelson on What Happens When You Stop Dimming Your Light
- Kirstie Nicole
- 7 hours ago
- 4 min read
Editor’s Notes: I am proud to call Carter one of my best friends, and beyond that, he’s someone I deeply admire for the way he moves through the world. He has this rare ability to make people feel safe, valued, and fully themselves just by being around him. What inspires me most is that his advocacy doesn’t stop at visibility online, it shows up in his friendships, his loyalty, and the way he consistently creates community for the people around him. He leads with compassion in everything he does, and I truly believe the world becomes better when people like Carter exist loudly and unapologetically within it.
Before acting became a career, it was first a feeling. Growing up, Carter Nelson spent summers helping his aunt with theater productions alongside his cousins. Everyone had a role behind the scenes, lighting, music, stage setup, and eventually, performing. One day, he was cast in a production himself, and something clicked the second he stepped onto the stage. “I just know it felt amazing,” he says. “I never wanted to leave the stage after that.”
At the time, acting was less about identity and more about instinct. School theater later became one of the few places where he felt safe enough to fully be himself. After tearing his calf muscle while playing basketball and needing another class credit, he enrolled in theater almost by accident. But the environment changed everything. “My teacher always made sure it was a safe environment for all the students,” he shares. “I felt I could be myself with no judgement.”
Growing up in Fairfax, Virginia, understanding his identity came with confusion and silence more than language or representation. After losing his best friend to suicide in high school, he describes shutting down emotionally and pulling inward. “The word transgender never came up in my school, my household, my state,” he says. “It wasn't even a word I knew of.” What remained constant, though, was the internal feeling that something about his identity existed beyond what people around him could explain.
That experience eventually became deeply tied to storytelling. His first professional role came before his transition, playing Tor in the Netflix series Grand Army. Even before publicly stepping into his identity, he remembers feeling seen by the cast and production team in a way that changed him. “They allowed me to combine my personality with the character that they created,” he says. That experience sparked something bigger than acting itself. It made him want to tell stories centered around self-discovery and identity so that people like him could finally see themselves reflected on screen.
Since transitioning, his relationship with acting has only intensified. There’s freedom in finally being able to audition for the kinds of roles he once only imagined for himself. But beyond the opportunities, it also reconnected him to why he started in the first place. “Not just for the roles,” he says, “but for the stories being told.”
That perspective shapes the way he talks about representation in film and television today. For him, authenticity matters because these stories are real people’s lives. “People all around the world have stories to be told,” he explains. “Once those stories are written, they deserve to be told by actors who represent just that.” He acknowledges the growing focus on numbers, algorithms, and social media reach in casting decisions, but questions what gets lost in the process when authenticity becomes secondary to metrics.
Off screen, he’s still unpacking the emotional weight that came with trying to make other people comfortable throughout both his pre- and post-transition journey. “I forgot how to put myself first,” he says honestly. It’s something he’s only recently begun to shift, realizing how much emotional damage came from dimming himself to ease other people’s discomfort.
He also speaks candidly about moments where he still catches himself becoming smaller in certain spaces, especially around groups of cisgender men. “I step back, I get a little quiet or speak softer,” he says. But instead of avoiding those situations, he continues stepping into them, slowly working through the fear rather than running from it.
Protecting his mental and emotional health has become non-negotiable. He talks openly about the importance of self-care, spending time with family and friends, watching favorite shows, going on walks, or simply being honest with himself when he’s struggling. “I can’t show up for my jobs and be my best self if I’m not my best self,” he says.
Today, authenticity for him looks a lot simpler than it once did. It’s being goofy, emotional, weird, hyper, open. It’s letting himself exist fully instead of filtering pieces away for other people’s comfort. And for other trans or queer creatives still finding their place, his advice is equally gentle:
“Be gentle with yourself no matter what your journey consists of. We are forever growing.”
The phrase he carries with him comes from the best friend he lost years ago, words that still continue to guide him today: “Let’s chase the stars together.” It’s tattooed on him now, a permanent reminder of someone who believed in him long before he fully believed in himself.
And through every role, every story, and every step into himself, that’s exactly what he continues to do.
Follow Carter's Journey:
Listen to Carter's episode on She Comes With Baggage Podcast
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