Looking to project that male image, Mindy joined Cambridge’s fire department, something that dovetailed nicely with a natural inclination to help others. It’s a 27-year-long career that lead to promotions, including a current rank as captain.

Everything about the job, fighting fires and saving lives, even the shifts and the uniform, were a perfect cover for someone hiding from the world, and from oneself.

“The biggest thing was that you could separate your life very easily. It was like hiding in plain sight, so I got very good at it.”

Few knew, until about seven years ago, that a broad-shouldered firefighter, who loved and lost a wife in 1995, was struggling to suppress gender conflicts.

“You could very much hide your persona in what was considered a truly masculine trade at the time,” explained Mindy. “It actually made things, I thought, easier and hopefully things would go away.”

Practise also made perfect, as there were times when the two lives almost became one. However, nurture did not win over nature as denial became exhausting.

“I was suffering from depression because of this energy of being unfaithful to myself.”

After researching and speaking to others experiencing the same feelings, it became clear lifesaving changes were needed, even at the risk of losing family, friends and the job that served as a lifeline for so many years.

Although there were plenty of notions leading the way to a decision, the defining moment to bid goodbye to Jeff was realized in a single, all-encompassing emotion. It happened while driving home from a seminar.

“I couldn’t drive, I had to pull over. I knew from that second, I knew this is what my life is.”

Tears of fear and relief were indistinguishable.

“It was like getting hit in the head with a hammer. I felt all the energy drain out of me. I knew from that point on, my life was never going to be the same.”

Eventually setting out on a path to introduce Mindy to those who had only known Jeff, was liberating, but also terrifying.

“I started preparing myself for losing my life. I made plans on, OK, I’m going to lose my job, I’m going to lose my house. I’m going to get chased out of the community, because this is what happens to people like me.”

After announcing a decision to become a transgender woman to a few carefully chosen relatives and friends – and finding gradual acceptance – Mindy built upon the newfound courage to officially widen the circle of confidence.

Using an eight-month mental health leave from work for some much-needed personal time and to prepare for what she hoped could be a return to duty, Mindy began the process of setting up supports for herself – and for co-workers – with help from the City of Cambridge, fire department brass and union reps from the Cambridge Professional Fire Fighters' Association.

With guidance from all three, sensitivity training was provided to firefighting staff, offering opportunities to ask any questions, without revealing private information about Mindy.

Not knowing what would happen upon her return was unbearable, especially since, as firefighters, crews faced everything together.

“The camaraderie was always there,” described Mindy, her voice wavering while wiping tears. “It was like I was more afraid of disappointing them. And I knew it was going to hurt not being able to come back.”

In hindsight, word had gotten out among fire crews about changes in Mindy. Jon Rehill, then-deputy chief at the Cambridge Fire Department and now Kitchener fire chief, was instrumental in making sure that news was handled with care.

“To be truly honest, after hearing the news and having the shock of the news dissipate, my sole goal was to make sure he knew the department cared about him and that we were here to support him,” Rehill told the Times.

Transition teams, city human resource officials, firefighters and mental health counsellors helped “champion” Mindy’s return to work, explained Rehill.

“I was extremely proud of my staff during Mindy’s transition back to the department, but never surprised,” he said. “The fire service hires people that are caring and supportive and I was able to see these qualities from my colleagues all the way through Mindy’s return to the dept.”

Now, back on the job for three years after officially “coming out” on the job, Mindy can say she is one of the “lucky ones”.

“I did not think they could do this at all, and hats off to the city and to the fire department. They accepted even though they didn’t understand.”

Things were awkward for everyone upon returning to the Hespeler firehall. There was difficulty adjusting to Mindy’s new appearance, name and even the pronoun “she”. Apologies often followed the unintentional pronoun slips.

It took a year for the changes to “sink in”, as the Jeff everyone knew, at least on the outside, was gone. Processing the change was akin to grieving, explained Mindy.

“They can look at me and say what did you do with my friend? It’s almost like I killed their friend.”

A sharp wit and solidified sense of self have been therapeutic to help survive the changes.

“I have a very good sense of humour and that gets me through,” Mindy said, adding that she will remind crew members she is capable of drawing on the strengths of both genders if needed.

“I am definitely not one of the boys anymore and don’t you ever forget, or I’ll remind you,” she laughed, recalling a few barbs shared with crew members. “And then you’re going to see a little bit of the old me, which is the new me, which is worse, because now I have control over everything.”

Cambridge firefighters Steve McArthur, Rick Pynn and Ken Talbot, who have worked with Mindy at the Hespeler firehall, sat down with the Times to talk about what it was like to adapt to changes in their co-worker.

The environment was a little unfamiliar at first, but most just accepted the reintroduction of Jeff as Mindy as “part of life,” explained Rick Pynn.

For firefighters who spend so many hours together, there was plenty of time to seek “clarification”.

Humour has also been a valuable healing tool for firefighters.

“The biggest thing was nobody knew what bathroom she was going to use,” laughed Talbot. “Once that was decided, it was nothing.”

In reality, in a career where lives are literally at stake, such concerns seem to quickly fade away.

Pynn was quick to put things into perspective, saying even if it’s an issue, it shouldn’t be.

“It’s 2016.”

Though awareness about transgenders, as well as gay, lesbian, bisexual and questioning youth, is increasing thanks to educational campaigns, it’s still far from where it needs to be, says Washington Silk, therapeutic counsellor and OK2BME public educator.

Despite Ontario Human Rights policies, statistics show barriers exist for transgender people when it comes to employment and housing.

“Trans people in Ontario are one of the highest educated populations but are the least employed.”

They’re also one of the highest homeless populations.

Change can only come with learning the new etiquette for transgender people, such as asking what pronoun they prefer, not “outing” them to others, or even flashing a staring, second look to figure out what gender they are.

The “gender privileged” has some work to do, said Silk.

“Talking about being transgender in such an open and public way has really shifted in the last few years, but I think people aren’t putting that person’s needs ahead of their own.”

Allowing friends, family and co-workers into an inner-circle that was once so private was a result of growth and a hope for Mindy.

Going public, is quite another, and something Mindy has only recently been ready for.

While communities are hearing more stories about transgender people coming forward, few of those transfolk have held – and maintained – positions in the community like Mindy’s. And it’s precisely why she wants to share her story.

“As far as I know, I’m the first transgender female on the job,” she said, with a sense of pride. “That should mean something … working for a job traditionally an old boy’s club.”

But hero?

She would never use that label to describe herself.

“Absolutely not. I was such a coward for so many years. I did this because I was at the end. It was either get on with living, or not. And that’s what it came down to and that’s a very scary place to be.”

Fully aware of potential backlash that could result from going public, Mindy is preparing to handle that negativity by measuring it against the value of serving as a role model for those who are still in hiding, suffering.

She knows the story translates easily for anyone who knows what it means to be lonely.

“I remember what it’s like to be alone. If you understand that, then you get it. There’s somebody like me possibly, in a situation, who’s just ready to end everything because they think they’re alone and maybe they would see that it can work. Don’t give up.”