Published October 1, 2022

Five years ago today, I reintroduced myself. It may well have been the happiest day of my life. So many things have changed since then, but one thing that’s been constant since Oct. 1, 2017, is that I have no regrets about coming out. I just wish I’d done it years earlier.

That doesn’t mean I’m not afraid, that I’m not far more careful regarding my privacy. Forces fueled by ignorance, hate and a lust for power over others have conspired to come after transgender people more aggressively than ever. This affects many people, most of them younger than I am, but it touches me more than you might think. People clinging to what even then was surface-level knowledge of biology 50 and 60 years ago are doing harm to the trans community, and the collateral damage to the medical community is only beginning. It is a part of a broader attack on science, on progressive movements, on inclusion and, frankly, minding one’s own business. I could go on.

Five years ago, as I worked to meet my self-imposed deadline for publicly coming out, I sat at my computer desk in the wee hours and shat myself out of fear. Yes, you read that correctly. My body fought hard to keep me from letting everyone know what I had been hiding for years. What happens when this person finds out? And that person? And this group? And that website? And on and on through the memory scroll of a lifetime. On a literal gut level, my body screamed, “Do not do this.” It was as powerful a stop sign as I’d ever encountered.

A few hours of cleanup and regrouping later, I knew I had to continue with my plan and meet my deadline. If I didn’t do it, I might never. And I needed to do it. I could not live anymore as someone I was not. And so, even more hours later on that Sunday that ushered in October and a new world for me, hours after a birthday manicure — the first of many manis I would go on to happily have and show off — I clicked on Publish. My secret was out in the world. And the next morning, it was on Twitter and spreading among friends and co-workers. I was free. No regrets. And my body was more than fine again. Some time later, my friend Samantha asked her Facebook friends if they’d ever pooped their pants. I sent her a private message, knowing she had been supportive of my transition from the start, and said, “Have I got a story for you.” And I told her about the hours just before I pressed on past the final barrier of fear and came out to the world. I loved her response and always will.

I’m so glad you shared this with me. I’ll always think about it now. I sometimes forget how hard it is to be so vulnerable. It’s so easy to read that post and assume you were more than ready to post it.

And look at me, five years later, making myself vulnerable again by telling the world the story behind the story.

As for the people whose reactions I had worried about, I’ve lived almost every day for five years without giving them much thought. Earlier today, I stumbled upon evidence of a certain online demographic sharing the then-news of my transition — complete with very telling comments that reveal how they see women and women’s roles in society — and frankly, it just made me sad for them. What a pathetic way to go through life. I saw enough to know that many of them share common ground with those who are attacking the trans community. My overriding reaction was that if they had even a fraction of the empathy I have for their having gone through life with such little development as people, they would probably not be spending their time on anti-trans and anti-LGBTQ agendas.

And now, I probably won’t think about them again for another five years.

Five years into this life, I have had to recalibrate my expectations and goals — for safety reasons, for financial reasons, and because this is really hard. But I have a lot of support from people who are willing to educate themselves and learn the truth, and even if they don’t understand it all that well, they are still supportive. They are open to finding out about real people and real lives behind this: Stop worrying about what happens if we let kids transition. Worry about what happens if we don’t.

So there you have it. The 12-year-old boys trapped inside the bodies of grown men have something new to snicker about if my name (or deadname) comes up, and now you know how scary it was for me five years ago to finally say, “Hello, this is me, the real me. Hi.”

Any day of the week, and twice on the first Sunday in October, surround me with the love of people who say, “I don’t understand it, but I support you.”

Give people space to be who they are.

Image of transgender people holding a trans pride flag by Lorelyn Medina/via Shutterstock.