My story is not one of all flowers and butterflies, at least not completely. It was late 2011, and I had moved home after college.
I had been exploring my gender for the past few years crossdressing and trying to grow out my hair (and time after time being pressured by SOMEONE to have it cut). One time, I ran into the backyard and hid behind a tree when I woke my mom by tripping in my sister’s much too tight heels – just like Cinderella racing home from the royal ball. These were the risks of getting a taste of being female for a short-lived night. Usually, I was meeting an admirer I met online. All over in the morning, I would wake up a boy and it would all be just a fantasy again. Cinderella?
One morning, my mom found my friend Raven’s red push-up bra in the bathroom I had borrowed from her (and never gave back). She opened my door and threw it at me. I was devastated. Do I say it was someone else’s? It wouldn’t be false. I just hoped she’d forget. I started counseling with a gender therapist I saw on a TV show on trans kids named Michelle Angelo.
By this time, I was taking hormone blockers I ordered offline. One day, I brought up estrogen but she warned me hormones are strong chemicals. But I didn’t care. Between therapy, bras and a mass of youtube videos, I decided there was no point in hiding it anymore.
But how do I tell my family? It was Spring 2012, and I had just driven a female presenting woman home after a night out. We had met earlier that night at a bar and she needed a ride. I saw how hard her life was transitioning as an older woman. I had to get the weight off my chest. My parents were still up when I got home. I told them I was like this girl. I was trans.
I came out to them that night. Six years later, I am fully female. And guess what? My mom and dad have been there every step of the way.