I was in the seventh grade when I first began to identify as trans and express my gender identity as a girl. My social transition began with growing my hair, and wearing clothes and makeup that made me feel like Destiny’s Fourth Child. This shift in my personal aesthetic made me feel good about my body, confident in my appearance and at ease in social settings where my peers were also exploring, changing and growing.

We were all in process — a generation that came of age watching gay people on television, like Wilson Cruz on “My So-Called Life” and Ellen DeGeneres on the sitcom “Ellen.” We were raised with the knowledge that we were not all the same, and that was O.K.

Toward the end of my freshman year, I began my medical transition. Soon after that, I reintroduced myself as Janet to my classmates at a back-to-school assembly. My peers, who voted me into student government the previous semester, applauded.

To say that I loved school would be an understatement. It was my oasis, my sanctuary.

I was our class treasurer, a peer mediator, the captain of the volleyball team and a tuba player in the marching band. I was that eager student who could often be seen running through the halls — from a student council meeting to a newspaper brainstorming session and then to the gym for practice.

But things began to shift after that administrator blocked me from going into the restroom with my girlfriends. I was pulled out of class my sophomore year whenever I wore a skirt, a blouse or a dress — anything that didn’t fit the school’s binary constructions. I was sent home to change a dozen times that year. I was repeatedly called out of my name and by the wrong gender pronoun by school bullies — but most often by the adults charged with creating a safe, welcoming and affirming space for students.

I was a black and Native Hawaiian trans girl from a single-parent home. I was not naïve. I knew that struggle was part of my coming of age, so I wore a smile every day as part of my armor. I didn’t want anyone to see that I was in pain, that I felt like I did not belong and that my body, my clothing, my being was wrong.

Despite my resilience, I nearly did not make it past my sophomore year. I would go home at night and contemplate never coming back. The struggle of waking, getting dressed, walking to school and being met with hostility each day took a toll on me.