Published October 1, 2023

I came out as a transgender woman six years ago today. More than half of the time since then has been spent in seclusion, which may be why I typed “three years ago today” when I began this post. As mistakes go, that one’s easily forgiven.

It won’t be long before it’s up to four years that I’ve been isolating as much as possible. (An app on my phone counts consecutive days of things, and “Straight days of remote status” is my shorthand for “days in a row of mostly being alone inside this tiny apartment.” That count began March 13, 2020.) That’s a long time to spend in what feels like a prison after setting free your authentic self for the world to see, but I am here to tell you I’ve spent a lot longer in worse prisons. It’s maybe good I had so much practice at solitary confinement, which I should point out can be the case in crowded spaces.

Lately I’ve been dropping more than my usual quota of movie references and titles into my posts and conversations. As I think of what the pandemic has done to my transition and related goals, “Girl, Interrupted” comes to mind. Really, though, that covers a much longer period than the past 42 months. This leaves me on yet another anniversary of my coming out, still in second puberty, struggling to find the right words for the moment.

The fact of this also being my birthday brings its own deep thoughts.

So now what?

Funny how often I end up asking myself that on birthdays, especially since I passed the number of years, months and days my dad reached before he died at 52.

I’d like to return these. They don’t fit anymore

What I’ve been trying to put into words lately is how much I think about unlearning. I can’t seem to do it fast enough. I have no interest in spending what little time I have left hearing or following guidance that sounds like it came from 50 years ago and passed unfiltered to the present, untouched by anything and everything that’s shaped our world since then. And here is a crucial point: So much of it was flawed thinking anyway, maybe even problematic, which is easier to see looking back from a more enlightened and liberated point of view.

Whether it’s advice about food and exercise or a way of looking at our bodies, or gender roles, or rigid rules about language, or how one measures living well, or beauty standards or fashion do’s and don’ts, or countless other pieces of conventional wisdom, I’ve got zero interest in almost all of what passed for conventional wisdom half a century ago, 25 years ago, 10 years ago, and continues being recycled seemingly without reflection.

For some people, those are psychic anchors they rely on for comfort, and I get that. For me, they increasingly feel like another form of imprisonment. It also speaks to why the growing trend toward conscious language in writing and editing circles has a gravitational pull for me. I can’t get there fast enough.

My forever birthday gift to myself

My coming-out post from six years ago sounds so much more optimistic than what I’ve written on Oct. 1 the past few years, and I’m not sure you’ll ever hear such notes from me again. But when I think about how terrified I was in the last 15 or so hours before pressing the Publish button and telling the world my secret, I remember that the truth wants to find its way out, and the authentic self wants to find its way to freedom.

That’s why my inner Carly kept saying, with each step forward, “This is right. Let’s do this.” I stopped fighting. Now there are whole new fights I never saw coming. Our enemies may not be more numerous now, but they have more help and have the money to go the distance. Without your help, we will lose. And then who’s next?

I try not to talk about how hard this is most days as I try to reflect trans joy to people, but sometimes I think I err too much on the side of hiding the struggles my trans sisters and I have in a world where cruelty toward us is becoming more and more politically expedient. I woke up today with a reminder about this from one of my trans sisters across the pond, where life is particularly scary for the likes of us. The notion that we come out for a cheap thrill or to gain some sort of advantage we didn’t already have is so far off the mark and has no basis in reality.

I regret a lot. And I wish I knew a way to fully explain what I mean when I say “I lived the wrong life” without making people think maybe part of that means I wish I’d never met them, because that’s not what I’m saying. I am grateful for wonderful friends and for all of the help I’ve received, from people who stopped giving it after I came out and from people who have known me only as Carly, and from so many lovely people who have known me all along.

I don’t regret coming out. But I wish I’d done it sooner. My life hasn’t given me much peace, but what peace I’ve found has come since estrogen traded seats with testosterone and got behind the wheel. Listening, and letting go, was my greatest gift to myself.