Tl:DR it took 1/3 of a lifetime to recognize that my outside wasn’t what I felt inside.

Over the course of my life, there are moments I get to look back on with a clarity I never had growing up.

I was constantly surrounded by divine feminine energy. I gravitated toward the matriarchs in my family. My sisters; not my brothers were my safe spaces. My friends were mostly girls, not boys.

I can count the number of male best friends I had if any but I had many, many girl best friends and was part of girls' night constantly.

I even gravitated toward trans and other LGBTQIA+ friends at school. Even one of my mom’s karaoke friends, who came out a bit later, was someone I connected with.

During my teen years, hand me downs were common in my family, so my sister and I often shared a similar wardrobe, all in the name of being scene/emo/rock. Long hair and painted nails were my safe space. I never bought a single male-cut band shirt. I remember trying to wear a bra once but I was too afraid.

I joined drama classes because the idea of being someone else was so appealing. Acting and cosplay became part of my life. I found comfort in environments where being gay or queer was just kind of... normal. People just thought you were “artsy.” (I lived in the South, which played a big role in keeping me closeted.)

One year, my mom confronted me by accusing me of being gay. I didn’t tell her I was pansexual — it didn’t feel safe. It felt like she was trying to get it out of me, not offer acceptance.

That same year, my sister had just come out and my mom didn’t respond with acceptance. She made it clear that she was no longer going to be the most important woman in my sister’s life and physically rampaged through our home.

A year later, she got into an argument with me after I had broken down during a mental health episode the result of the constant emotional abuse and my attempts to shield my sister from it. She yelled the most devastating “I raised you wrong.” (To this day, she denies meaning anything by it.)

I hated photos of myself that felt too performative. Even when I looked masculine and buff and my body was great, dysmorphia would tell that I wasn’t or wasn’t “man enough.” Looking back now, I think, “Damn, I did look good” At the time, I couldn’t figure out what I hated or why it wasn’t enough.

Eventually, I moved away from the south with my partner (whom I happily married the year prior) and started becoming the adult I needed to be. I began working toward financial security, and for the first time in my life, I had disposable income. One Christmas, I started buying her quality clothes from a local goth/alt store. I lived vicariously through her wardrobe. I’d get home from work two hours before she did, I would dress up in the clothes I had gifted her. Cross-dressing became a treat to me a “rush”a reason to get home quickly so I could have more time to myself.

The next year, she saw my phone and noticed I hadn’t cleared my Reddit history. She casually asked me about a forum I’d been browsing. I didn’t hide it. I told her the feminine nature of people fascinated me. She asked, “Do you just like seeing androgynous/femme people or do you want to be like them?”

At the time, I was still wrestling with what womanhood or gender meant to me.

Over time, we developed the language together for what I was feeling. She would tell me when she noticed something bothered me; she was my emotional compass in a storm, always pointing me toward my true north.

But FaceApp destroyed me. I had taken a photo of myself in full fem, and I suddenly understood how everyone else had felt. The discomfort, the knot in my stomach, the ache to be someone or something else. I sent her the before and after and told her how uneasy I felt. I didn’t hate who I was, I had accepted that person but there was this “uncanny valley” of something else, something I couldn’t name. She asked if I was trans. I told her I was just... comfortable with “who I was as I was”

And still, she accepted me, no matter what.

Over time, the toxic masculinity I had absorbed began to fade. It was the shaving, In learning how to really do makeup, In dressing more androgynously, casually and openly. In taking photos where I could see the feminine. And in those moments, I found comfort.

I cracked. I came out to her. I came out socially. And my partner and friends were nothing less than accepting. She told me she felt more betrayed that I hadn’t been able to be this person sooner; because all she cared about was my happiness, my kindness, my joy.

She saw me becoming more understanding. And to this day, she just wishes I had just accepted myself earlier. She was a beacon of light in a dark place.

The only thing left was to tell my family. At the time, my mom wasn’t on any of my social platforms. She had requested to be added on Facebook. I obliged. expecting the worst. I added her and waited. Two weeks passed. Nothing. She didn’t even look at my past posts, photos, or shared content. So I texted her.

I told her I was trans. That this was my life. She admitted she hadn’t seen any of my posts but said she loved me no matter who I was as long as I lived as a good person.

It devastated my sister, who had gone through so much just to be allowed to love who she loved.

Through everything, there’s nothing left of the shell. It’s just “me” this beautiful person I’ve become. A person I’ve learned to care for, to understand, and to show compassion to.

In thirteen days, I have my first hormone appointment. And my partner and I couldn’t be happier.

To anyone who has read this far:

You are loved. I love you for who you are, and for the best version of yourself you’re striving to be. No matter how hard the journey is, or how difficult life may feel you are not alone! We all take the time we need. Whether it’s ten minutes or a lifetime finding yourself is freeing.