In July 2022, at the age of 39, I finally confronted an aspect of myself that I have been hiding from, and ignoring since early childhood. After a quite inconceivable amount of research, self-reflection, questioning and talking with my wife, I began to understand the gender incongruence I have experienced throughout my adult life, and accepted the fact that I am transgender. I always have been, or at least since the age of 7, when I can first remember sensing that my gender didn’t quite fit me.
I can vaguely remember the strange feelings I had around that age, being sort-of at odds with the ‘fact’ that I was a boy. But the 90s were not a good time for a child with questions about their gender. The concept of a person being ‘transgender’ was never discussed in any open forum, and the only representations of transgender people I ever encountered were in films and TV, where they were invariably the butt of cruel jokes, or the ‘degenerate’, the ‘sicko’, the ‘monster’. So I internalised this, like a great number of transgender people who grew up around the same time (or earlier), and thought a core part of my identity to be monstrous, something to be ashamed of, and certainly something to keep hidden.
Throughout my teens, twenties and thirties, I stubbornly kept that part of me hidden from the world and even from myself. I completely refused to entertain the idea that I might be trans, despite ongoing thoughts and dreams of being a different gender. It’s amazing how extreme our cognitive dissonance can be for self-preservation.
As trans women became more visible in the media, there seemed to be only one ‘life-story’ that they shared: An absolute certainty that they were a girl from a young age, a refusal to wear clothes/play with toys that were ‘for boys’ and, later, only heterosexual relationships (ie, a trans woman dating a man). That is the case for many trans women (and it’s entirely valid as a ‘life-story’), but there are just as many trans women who, like me, don’t fit that stereotype. As a child, I didn’t feel ‘right’ in my gender, but everyone else told me I was a boy so, lacking any other reference, I just accepted it. I quite enjoyed doing ‘boy things’ (which I find a horribly reductive term and ensure my daughters don’t have that ‘gendered activity’ nonsense) and have never had any romantic or physical interest in men. The fact that I didn’t fit the stereotype, further convinced me that I couldn’t possibly be transgender and should continue to hide and suppress that part of my identity.
This approach can work for a while, but apparently 30 years of shame, self-loathing and a lack of self-worth is not very good for one’s mental health, so it ate away at me year-by-year, despite all the wonderful things that happened in my life. Marrying my wife, starting our family, getting my dream job; all gave me immeasurable joy but there was still that core of unhappiness deep down. As my 40th birthday loomed ahead, and I began to reflect on my life so far, I realised I couldn’t ignore my gender identity issues for another 40 years and recognised that I would have to confront them.
I learned a bit more about the experiences of other transgender people. I read about gender incongruence and the differences between gender dysphoria and euphoria. I saw elements from my life in so many of these stories and realised I didn’t judge any of these people or have a single negative attitude towards them so why couldn’t I do the same for myself?
I can remember staring at my reflection in the mirror after asking that question for the first time, and having a feeling almost like a snap in my mind: You have nothing to be ashamed about. You are not broken, you are not deviant. Despite what you’ve thought for the last 30-odd years, you are not a monster. You are just… you. And you deserve to be happy. You have people who love you and they will accept you for who you are, quickly in some cases, eventually in others. And the ones who don’t will be worse off for it.
And with that, the shame and self-loathing lifted like a weight off my soul.
I lost 28kg (about 62lbs) in the 5 months following that epiphany. Since then, people have asked me countless times ‘how did you manage to lose all that weight?’. I would have to come up with a little white lie, like ‘oh, calorie counting and cutting down on alcohol’, which is partly true, but the secret ingredient was finally accepting myself and letting go of the self-hatred that led to the terrible coping mechanisms in the first place.
I spent literally hundreds of hours towards the end of 2022, contemplating whether or not to transition. My wife and I talked endlessly; together we began to process the feelings we would have if we lost our comfortable status quo and she, a heterosexual woman, would ‘lose’ her husband, to be replaced by a wife.
During this time, my own dysphoria became almost unbearable. There wasn’t a single second of my day when thoughts of transitioning weren’t at the front of my mind, or at least the ‘next thought down’. I would wake early in the morning and immediately begin thinking about it. I tossed and turned in bed at night, unable to get to sleep because I was worrying about how it would affect my family. Having kept it all locked away for so long, the gates were now fully open, and I couldn’t stop the rush of feelings, nor put them away again.
So eventually, I accepted the medical consensus: that the only thing that can successfully address the desperate suffering of gender incongruence and dysphoria is transition. I recognised that a functional, happy ‘me’, even with the disruption and terrible challenges of transition, is better in the long-term for my family than the alternative.
In March 2023, after attending a private gender identity clinic (and jumping through a lot of unnecessary hoops that over-medicalise the process), I started GAHT (gender affirming hormone therapy). I might be seen in an NHS clinic in 2028, if I am lucky, but for now, I’m privileged enough to be able to afford private care. I was a messy ball of anxiety and dysphoria, just from the 4-month wait between referral to hormone prescription. I honestly don’t know how I could have coped with a multi-year wait for treatment, as the vast majority of trans patients have to in the UK.
As of today, I am 7 months on GAHT, I have facial feminisation surgery booked in April 2024, and I am ‘out’ to the majority of my friends and family. I will shortly be coming out to the wider world but don’t plan to socially transition at work until after my FFS and name-change, for several reasons, both logistical and personal.
Although things are still difficult, and I have a rollercoaster of emotions on a daily basis, I am absolutely certain that this is the right path for me. There are days that I wish I wasn’t trans and the personal guilt at what it has cost my family, particularly my wife, is sometimes so utterly crushing as to be soul-destroying.
A friend once described me as a ‘constitutionally happy person’, which gave me a sad little chuckle as he said it during the difficult months at the end of last year. It confirmed that I am a pretty convincing actor, but I think there is a good deal of truth to the statement. I am positive about the future and see blue skies ahead for me and my family. The changes I see in my body and mind are amazing, even if they happen incredibly slowly, and I cannot wait for summer ’24, when I will take the next big step along my journey.
