My mom was the first person I told, although she already suspected it. She simply smiled at me, told me she loved me, and said she’d always be there for me. I then told my sister Jackie. She too was not at all surprised and was very supportive and happy that I found my true self, but at the same time she was terrified about the potential ridicule I’d face for the rest of my life. Finally, I told my dad. My dad took it the hardest, and I couldn’t blame him, even if it hurt me a lot. He tried to hide it, but I could tell. He was, after all, losing his oldest son. Not just his, but the son that had his name as a middle name. My youngest siblings Zach and Rachel were a little too young to fully understand, but I told them, too. Not even my best friends knew the real me. Everyone just assumed I was a feminine gay boy.

All of these circumstances — feeling like an outsider, not fitting neatly into society, and cutting my hair — caused me to slip into a depression. I constantly wondered, “Why me?” Having a close relationship with my family, we decided it would be best for me to seek professional help. For the next 2 years I went to a therapist to help me with my depression, and to uncover the truth of what and who I am. Basically, my therapist just confirmed what I already knew: I am a transgender woman.