It came as a surprise to many when this time last year I came out as non-binary and then six months later came out once more as a transgender woman.
Having fled my oppressive London Home County suburb aged 20, I landed in Kemptown and I have worked, lived, socialised and volunteered on the scene ever since.
In my early 20s I was part of the drag double act Sugar & Spice and this, for a short time, catered slightly to my gender dysphoria.
Living in our Kemptown bubble, we all know of each other but do we really know each other? Of course we don’t. We think we do but we show the side of ourselves that we are comfortable with others seeing. Not feeling strong enough to transition I hid my true self.
I grew a big beard to hide my femininity and embraced the trait of ‘camp’ as a disguise to my true trait of feminine, disclosing my true gender to only the closest of friends.
For years I lived in disguise, presenting as a gay male, a role that had been imposed on me as a child, a role that I was not strong enough to change. I was told as young as five years old to “act like a boy” and by bullies when I was as young as 10 that I was gay – so I adopted the role that society forced upon me, even though I knew I was a girl from my earliest childhood memories.
Life as transgender when you’re hiding it is absolute hell. You’re lying to yourself and everyone around you every single day and slowly over the years it started to eat away at me. I turned to alcohol and drugs to help me socialise in a body that wasn’t mine and help me forget the pain, albeit temporarily.
As hard as I tried to be, I wasn’t a very nice person or a good friend. I was hurting, I was in pain. Like so many of my trans brothers, sisters and enbys (non-binary) before me I was left with no other option. I had to end my current life. It had to be done. I couldn’t go on living as I was anymore. I had two options, take my life through suicide or transition.
Thankfully I chose the latter and I have never ever been as happy with my life as I am today, but to be frank, I had a pretty low benchmark to beat.
“I had no female coded clothing, no wigs, no make up, no group of girl friends, no other trans friends and absolutely no idea how to socially transition let alone medically”
So it was the summer of 2016 and I had now declared to the world that I was trans, now what am I supposed to do? Coming out was so hard but I knew that the hardest part of my journey was to lie ahead. Most of my social world revolved around the LGBT+ scene but mostly gay men and gay bars. I had no female coded clothing, no wigs, no make up, no group of girl friends, I had no other trans friends and absolutely no idea how to socially transition let alone medically. I was scared beyond words.
My saving grace was the internet. I reached out and I joined groups and started to speak to other people who felt like I did. I found local groups within the Brighton community where I could go and have a coffee and a chat with other people like myself. I was put in contact with MindOut, the LGBT mental health project and I went to see their absolutely awesome trans advocate who pinpointed me to other services.
I am now going through the most exciting and scary time of my life. I am experiencing so many firsts: getting my name changed; the absolute thrill and terror of leaving the house for the first time dressed appropriately for my gender; starting hormones and all the weird, wonderful and damn right rotten side effects that come with that; and getting my gender marker changed so I can get a passport issued with an F instead of an M.
These are things that I never dared to dream but are now my reality and I sometimes need to ask myself if I am dreaming. I feel like after living 35 years in a state of limbo I have achieved so much during the one year of 2016 and I can’t wait for what 2017 has in store for me, as scary as that is.
I wish each of you the best of years, encourage you to be yourselves and unleash your true potential however nerve-wracking that is. My new year’s resolution? Keep on being me.