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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 applied a light layer of eyeliner so I wouldn’t be mistaken.

Coming out to myself was earth-shattering. It meant that I missed out on so much of my life being true to myself. I was behaving, denying my authenticity. I was afraid of being alone. What therapy helped me understand is that I did all of that to survive in the world. Ironically, I always thought I’d be the cause of my own death because it was so painful to survive that way. Now I am on a new path of honoring my needs, even if it means losing people who don’t understand.

One of the things I was most afraid of in this process was losing my family. Another was being discriminated against. I can say, I feel the absence of my family very deeply as I prepare to go under the knife in nine days. And I had two very disappointing encounters with doctors/nurses to get here. At Planned Parenthood in Troy, NY, I entered the space having mentioned that I have no health insurance and was told that I would be covered by theirs. In the process of asking questions about taking testosterone, I asked the nurse if I could have my current levels tested beforehand. She said, “Why would you want to test your testosterone levels if you don’t have any?” I replied, “All people have testosterone.” She gave me a blank stare and said, “We don’t do that here.” Most folks who are taking testosterone have had their levels measured initially so they can monitor the changes over time or to decide what dose they want to take in their prescription. It’s wild that she didn’t seem to know that she herself has testosterone levels. She also couldn’t tell me how much it might cost out of pocket for a prescription and that I would find out when I pick it up at my pharmacy. I said no thanks to that. I left there without a plan and they ended up saying I didn’t qualify for their insurance, so I was billed a gut-punch amount. At another facility, I was aiming to get a physical done to be approved for surgery. The doctor there asked me what surgery I was getting, and my gut told me that was an inappropriate question, but my old people-pleasing habits showed up and I answered. He asked, “What is top surgery?” I gestured at my chest. He said, “Yeah, yeah. The bloodwork you need will cost thousands of dollars out of pocket.” I didn’t complete the physical that day and went home to ask friends for advice. After generous time spent from my loved ones on phone calls with other facilities, it was found that the pre-op physical I needed would cost a few hundred. So I have an appointment on Wednesday to go somewhere else for that.

I am grateful that I have a support system here giving me advice, making phone calls, taking care of me before and after this life-changing surgery. I can’t begin to address the gratitude I have for my social media community for raising funds for the surgery. It’s been paired with lots of fear and apprehension because the amount raised so far is just under enough to cover the cost of the procedure, and I will be needing more support beyond since I’ll be unable to make income from my small business for a month. The medications I’ll need will need to be paid for out of pocket (since I don’t have health insurance) and that is scary to me. Having faith that all will work out and I won’t be under water from this whole process. I will find the right time and way to properly thank everyone for all that’s been done in support. It means so much, though I struggle to find the words right now.

I feel a lot of pain and joy as the day gets closer. Releasing old, harmful beliefs. Accepting the lack of support where my heart wishes to see it. Knowing that growth holds all of these things at the same time. I can’t wait to feel at home with myself.