Liam

Hiding was easy. I hid it so well from myself, but it peeked out in small ways throughout my life. A “sir” or “buddy” or “dude” from strangers who addressed me from behind or afar in various scenarios often gave me a happy feeling. The little kid in me who insisted to my closest people that I was a boy felt seen. It didn’t take long to bury it deep under the name-calling, the invalidating, the physical punishment from family members, being told God made me a girl and if I say I am a boy, I’m calling God a liar and that’s unforgivable (aka, eternal damnation). It was so easy to bury it. Sitting on a train with my boyfriend in high school and seeing someone with a feminine physique and a short haircut, I pointed her out and said, “I want a haircut like that.” His response was, “I don’t want people to think I’m dating a boy.” I wore dresses at church and fancy events, trying to fit in. It wasn’t hard. Where I could get away with it, I wore boyish clothes and straightened my long hair and ...