Swimming was one of my favourite things to do when I was younger. I grew up in rural north Iceland, but once a year my parents travelled to the capital, Reykjavik, to attend the annual agricultural senate of Iceland. Above all, this meant to me that we would be able to visit all of the local swimming pools. I have warm memories of racing up the cold and icy stairs to the outside slide before throwing myself down the slide again and again with contentment until my parents had to physically drag me out of the pool.

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In Iceland there is a pool for every 1,700 inhabitants. Swimming is one of the nation’s favourite pastimes. It’s so ingrained into our culture that we have what we call pottamenning — which describes a cultural phenomenon of having public discussions about politics in the hot tub. Journalists go to public pools and interview local swimmers to get their take on recent events.

Despite enjoying swimming immensely, it was something I had to stop doing at the age of 17 when I came out as trans and started my medical transition. Suddenly I was unwelcome because of the strictly gendered nature of the changing rooms, where I risked being harassed and assaulted for even daring to step into either one.

It wasn’t until many years later when I was further along with my medical transition that I found the confidence to go swimming again. The sense of liberation was unlike anything; nostalgia took over as I threw myself down the slide, feeling like I was a kid again. Feeling the water brush along my body as I swam felt incredible. I was once more able to enjoy the physical and mental benefits of swimming, something many people take for granted. I could finally join my friends swimming on a warm summer’s day. But I haven’t been swimming in the UK since I moved here three years ago.

My decision is largely because of the level of vitriol and abuse hurled at trans people, both through traditional and social media. Almost every day I see headlines about the danger that people like me pose to society, simply for existing and wanting to participate in society in the same way as other people. The thought of stepping into such a highly gendered space where someone could potentially target me because of certain physical features of mine is terrifying.

That is why the discussions about trans athletes or trans people in gendered spaces is so farcical. It’s so far removed from people’s everyday lives. Most people participate in sports and other physical activities for the mental and physical benefits, or simply for the social aspect. Most people just want to enjoy their local swimming pool, go to the gym, or play with their local football club without being made to feel like they are a freak.

Aside from staying healthy, exercise is a way for many trans people to shape their bodies in order to fight against body dysphoria. No one can deny the benefits physical exercise can have on your mental health, and in a society that is relentlessly hostile towards trans people they sure do need it. Trans people suffer from various mental health issues due to being treated poorly by society, and trans youth show alarmingly high levels of self-harm and suicide attempts.

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While people might not think much about the debate on trans equality and have even started to switch off due to the absurdity of it all, it’s having real and profound effects on the daily lives of regular people. The purpose of these debates isn’t truth or evidence-based discussion, nor is it to find solutions. The point of these debates is to effectively push trans people out of public life as an exercise in humiliation and power. It’s easy to forget that trans people are, and have been, participating openly in society for several decades, when all we hear in the media now is how dangerous they are. The discourse happening now is eerily similar to that around gay men and lesbians in the past, which eventually led to section 28. I beg that we don’t continue repeating the same mistakes.

With Trans Day of Visibility this weekend, it’s more important than ever that the stories of trans people are heard. Not just that day, but every day. Visibility is about so much more than being on TV, or having a presence on social media. It’s also about the smaller, more mundane things. It’s about equal participation in society. I just want to continue living my life in peace, enjoying the same physical and social activities as everyone else. I just want to go to the gym, enjoy swimming once more and use the bathroom without fearing harassment and abuse, and without being compared to a paedophile or a rapist.

Is that really too much to ask?

• Owl Fisher is a writer, filmmaker and campaigner