“When I’m big I want to be a boy like you”
My four year old self thought I was giving my cousin a complement. However he saw otherwise; I was beaten, called “faggot”, then pushed down the stairs. That complete rejection from a family member was enough to scare me into submission for the rest of my childhood.
I don’t know when I started trying to ignore everything about myself.
It must have been early in my childhood, but the further I look back, the blurrier the memories get.
I’m Alex, and I spent twenty years being raised in a radical Roman Catholic homeschool community.
“Do you want to go to counselling?” my mom asked.
She asked this after she and my dad had spent at least two hours interrogating me on my faith, the most terrifying conversation I’d ever had. At seventeen, I’d tried my best to explain my own agnosticism through tears, saying how I never truly believed what they did. I hadn’t come out as trans, but coming out as non-Christian alone proved to be terrifying.
My name is Elliott Grace, and I am a homeschool alumni.
I am Non-Binary Trans, and this is my coming out.
This is probably one of the hardest things I’ve written up to this point.
Kid me, 9 years old.
Hot summer evening in the Midwest, post-bathtime, pre-bedtime. I’m running around at home with just shorts on, and my mom freaks out that I don’t have a shirt on. I don’t understand why I can’t be like all my male friends and go shirtless, but somehow I know better than to say so.
As I was growing up, appearance was very important to my mother.
You must cover certain parts of your body, you must not show certain areas of skin, you must hide particular shapes that are a part of your body, you must do your hair in an exact way, your clothing must draw the correct attention from worldly, sex-obsessed men, your eyes are the pathway to your soul and must be makeup-free, you must present your body in this way. Only this way.
i am trans.
three little words that carry the weight of my being. three little words that have taken me a long time to say.
When I was about 13, I asked my mom for the first time when I’d get my period. Beverly Cleary was a favorite author when I was in public school, and she wrote at some length about periods. My mind had not yet grasped that I wasn’t a girl and that periods were not for me.
Hi. Name’s Reese, like the peanut butter cups.
I first realized I was trans FTM in college, I believe. I read some post or another on Tumblr (I know, I know), and it got me thinking: Was there such a thing as being agender? It sort of fit in my head, because I’d never liked girly things, like Barbies or nail polish or even the color pink.
The used syringes in question were needles used for HRT (or hormone replacement therapy), prescribed by a medical doctor. But they might as well have been used for heroine, as far as my parents were concerned. They would go on to kick me out about seven months later.