To those who preferred me before I transitioned

This is an open letter for my family and friends who preferred me as the person they knew before I transitioned.

You didn’t really know me. But, it isn’t your fault. You didn’t know that I struggled every day with my gender. You didn’t know my first thought every morning was, “I wish I was a woman.”

My siblings knew I was “different.” They knew I was more sensitive, emotional and verbal. They knew I preferred to play with girls when I was a child. They knew I liked to play with dolls rather than GI Joe. They knew I liked wearing my mother’s clothes. They remember standing around me and taunting me with the ultimate male insult, “girl!”

What they didn’t know is that when my parents separated and we moved to a new town when I was 7 I decided to “butch-up.” I was tired of being taunted and called “sissy “ at school. It was counter-intuitive, but I became a student of being more outwardly male from the day I entered 3rd grade.

I made it a point to excel in sports and never flinch or show signs of fear or pain. I decided to show the world the toughest male exterior I could. I would no longer be a victim. And as I aged through childhood to adulthood, it became easier. I learned well how to play the Uber male.

But inside the real me never left. She was always there. Waiting, hoping, longing. I dreamt of transitioning, but I didn’t know how. It was expensive and I didn’t have the money or knew anything about it. I had assiduously avoided contact with obviously Gay or effeminate men because I feared guilt by association. I was isolated within a prison of my own making. I had no community and no one really knew me. Including those who thought they did.

So now after transitioning, these “friends” or family who can’t or won’t try and understand my journey think I’ve changed. They say I’m like a “different person.” I can’t blame them for not knowing how I struggled. After all, I had hardly told a soul. Those I had shared with had almost uniformly rejected me, so my “Transness”remained in the vault as far as they were concerned.

I love people who are so proud of their openness and honesty. It’s a beautiful thing, and I embrace it now wholeheartedly. But at one time it seemed a luxury for those fortunate enough not to be born too “different.” It’s easy to judge others when you don’t have their challenges. But if a child gets beaten or ridiculed for telling the truth about themselves, it’s going to leave a scar, and if it happens often enough, they will only tell you what you want to hear.