Fancy getting sozzled tonight? Try the Trans Documentary Drinking Game, something of a transgender community in-joke. The rules are simple: for every cliche, take one shot of tequila. US writer Helen Boyd, author of My Husband Betty, lists 35 classic clangers, including: trans woman putting on makeup (two shots for reverse camera shot into mirror); showing "before" photos; any reference to genital surgery that includes "finally becoming a woman"; and anything with a trans woman sitting in an above-the-knee skirt, "posed so you can see what great gams she has". Camera in the operating room? Down the whole bottle.

All these silly tropes appear in the first episode of My Transsexual Summer, Channel 4's new primetime reality doc. Yet MTS does have something original to offer: it gives trans people – at least seven – a voice. Yes, we see someone's willy surgically vajazzled into a fancy new foof, but it's deeper than that. The show, I mean. Rather ironically, we also hear participants complain that non-trans people often reduce them to their naughty bits. Max – one of the "Magic Tranny Seven", as the group dub themselves – points out: "If you're out, and trans, it almost gives people licence to ask you whatever they want … How would you feel if I met your mum and said: 'How's your junk?'" It's sensational meets substance.

For the past eight months, I've been consulting on this show, a mixture of upmarket Big Brother "retreat" and observational footage of seven diverse personalities. It's also the first major piece of trans-themed output since Channel 4 signed a Memorandum of Understanding with my campaign group, Trans Media Watch. The document suggests treating trans people with accuracy, dignity and respect. Pretty radical, huh? Apparently, I've been "a pain in the arse" to work with. Good. I'd be astonished if a team of all-white film-makers, runners, producers and researchers felt they had a God-given right to make TV about ethnic minority issues. Nothing about us without us, as they say.

Can you blame me? My boyfriend lost his mum this year and, while mourning, we visited his dad who, to lighten the mood, popped the telly on. When his dad's girlfriend flicked over to the comedy channel, I knew it was only a matter of time before something offensive about trans people was said. It took 10 minutes. On this particular occasion, it was Lee Mack in Not Going Out. Lee's character joked that he'd like to see pal Lucy recreate Sharon Stone's infamous leg-crossing scene from Basic Instinct. He then tries to persuade Lucy that her new partner is a mobster:

Lucy: Yeah Lee, he's a gangster and I'm a post-op transsexual.

Lee: Maybe forget doing the Sharon Stone thing then.

Perhaps everyone else felt embarrassed, but I was angry, and reminded why I haven't owned a television since 2007. But why does it matter how trans people are represented?

Growing up, the only time I'd ever seen trans people on TV were those "brave", depressing ones, hanging around hospitals waiting for "sex change" surgery. They may as well have been aliens. The ex-mining town where I grew up in Nottinghamshire was insular to say the least. Changing gender was something that simply didn't happen to the people on my council estate. But I knew from four that I was "different", and other people seemed to notice too. I was routinely bullied, often quite violently, for years.

Puberty was a real drag. I hated the way my body was changing; no one told me I had a medical condition, that help was available. I was confused and angry. I mixed with the wrong people and went to the wrong places: anything negative I welcomed, and I was deeply unhappy.

Seven years ago, I was sent to borstal. Slithering around in the societal sludge, I was forced to admit I'd made a huge mistake – committing robbery. The thought of transitioning to female, let alone getting a degree, or career, felt insurmountable. Then came Nadia Almada. After her Big Brother stint, and for the first time in my life, changing gender didn't seem so extreme. I could still have friends. I could go to college, to bars – to Sainsbury's. Nadia's success suggested I could remain a valid – Nectar card-carrying – human.

Such is the power of representation. A close friend also transitioned off the back of Nadia's win and, I expect, so did others. We would probably have done it anyway – or killed ourselves first – but how many more years of self-destruction did we avoid? My Transsexual Summer's Sarah recalls watching trans people on late-night TV: "I remember being really choked; because someone else felt the same as I did."

Then there's the internet. Fox, one of the participants, says he wants to give back after finding support through online transition diaries: "Life's about doing stuff that scares you, and taking part in this really scared me. Before I transitioned, I was so lucky to have YouTube … I'd just watch video after video, as I was hungry just to see people who were in some way like me."

It was refreshing also to see Fox and his new pals pooh-pooh the notion that one can never truly flourish in a new gender presentation. Where else can we see happy, healthy, bright young trans people on TV? "Each of us brings a completely different viewpoint," says Lewis. "It's always been done in a really miserable way in the past, but this is fresh and new. If anyone's considering transition themselves, it shows that there's light at the end of the tunnel."

Love or loathe her – and you'll have a response either way – Donna delivers an unapologetic perspective: "I wanted to put a different spin on things, as a lot of trans people have a lot of grief in their life. But it's been quite easy for me and I can hold my hands up and say, yeah, I'm having a good time." And Sarah doesn't want your pity either: "Don't feel sorry for me because I'm trans – buy me a drink. I've made the best decision ever."

I'm sceptical about shows that claim to solve complex socio-personal issues: some people need therapy, not Gok Wan pouring them into a corset. Yet I'm inclined to think MTS has made a real difference to some of its previously isolated and vulnerable subjects.

Lewis says he'd never knowingly met a trans person before, and that MTS genuinely helped him: "It was one of the best things I ever did, I feel so much more confident. My friends are absolutely great, but they don't quite understand, because they've not been through it themselves."

Perhaps now we'll all understand that little bit better.

My Transsexual Summer is on Channel 4 at 10pm on Tuesday