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While I was born a boy, there was no one moment when it dawned on me that, inside, I was in fact a girl. I guess I’ve always sort of known it, but didn’t have the terminology to articulate how I felt. I just knew I wasn’t like other boys.
Growing up in the Wirral, near Liverpool, when I was entering my teens the idea of being seen as gay was terrifying at my all-boys school – just the word 'gay' was a synonym for 'bad' back then and the one openly gay boy at my school was persecuted.
While I had confusing thoughts, anxiety and depression were my biggest problems at this point. So, the way I expressed my personality was by being 'Alt' (alternative) and 'goth', which meant wearing jeans, torn T-shirts and hoodies, although I did wear nail varnish, which didn’t exactly jar with the goth look.
I felt there was a black hole in my chest that I didn’t know how to fill. I hated myself and the way I looked – at the sight of my reflection in a mirror, I’d think, 'There’s that gargoyle.' But I didn’t tell friends or family how I felt – I kept it all bottled up.
As I got older, I occasionally slept with women but just didn’t get what all the fuss was about – I thought I must be asexual. In truth, I was envious of women – I found them attractive but being with them made me hate myself. I now know I had gender dysphoria (a sense of unease because of a mismatch between my biological sex and my gender identity).
A member of my family came out as trans in his 20s and in solidarity I started exploring that community online, convincing myself I was being a 'good ally'. I didn’t let myself entertain the idea that this research was in fact for me.
At work, I became part of a very tight-knit group of female friends and while we’d all go out on Friday nights, my job was pretty much my life. Eventually the pressure of not knowing who I really was culminated in a nervous breakdown, and I was referred for long-term therapy which gradually helped me work it out.
But still I kept putting it off. You hear about trans people getting verbal abuse on the streets – I couldn’t face that judgement. But with the pandemic came the realisation that the world could end tomorrow, and I just thought, 'It’s now or never.' So, when I was 32, I started buying knee-length skirts that I’d wear around the flat and I reached out online to the trans community for support.
A real breakthrough came when I started dating someone who was non-binary. We’d met at a goth night and, through them I met a whole community of people who were on my wavelength. I was thrilled to be introduced as my partner’s girlfriend, but I still wasn’t ready to 'come out' in every sense, still sticking with my male goth look to go out. The day my then-partner took my hand and led me out onto the street in one of my feminine outfits, I felt like I was crossing a boundary.
The first thing I noticed when I started hormone therapy two years ago was a big change in my emotions. At the cinema I wept through Guardians of the Galaxy because I suddenly felt so happy and the intensity has been turned up on everything. And I soon started needing a C-cup bra. The next step is gender reassignment surgery, but it could take a decade to get an appointment on the NHS.
The difference in how I feel about myself is like night and day. For years I thought I was an introvert but in fact I had severe anxiety and depression – and now I have come out, I love my social life. I do get the odd negative comment when I’m out and I have lost a few of my 'blokie' friends from the past. But I have a girlfriend who I love to death, and great new goth and trans friends who have given me the social structure and support to be who I want to be.
The Transgender Day of Visibility on 31 March really matters because it focuses positive attention on people like me. I’ve found self-acceptance after many years of feeling unhappy with who I was – I hope my story inspires other people.
While I was born a boy, there was no one moment when it dawned on me that, inside, I was in fact a girl. I guess I’ve always sort of known it, but didn’t have the terminology to articulate how I felt. I just knew I wasn’t like other boys.
Growing up in the Wirral, near Liverpool, when I was entering my teens the idea of being seen as gay was terrifying at my all-boys school – just the word 'gay' was a synonym for 'bad' back then and the one openly gay boy at my school was persecuted.
While I had confusing thoughts, anxiety and depression were my biggest problems at this point. So, the way I expressed my personality was by being 'Alt' (alternative) and 'goth', which meant wearing jeans, torn T-shirts and hoodies, although I did wear nail varnish, which didn’t exactly jar with the goth look.
Entering puberty
But as I started going through puberty, I remember feeling horrified at the sight of thick hair growing on the backs of my hands – when I wished I could stop it I knew there was something different about me, although I was in denial over what that was.I felt there was a black hole in my chest that I didn’t know how to fill. I hated myself and the way I looked – at the sight of my reflection in a mirror, I’d think, 'There’s that gargoyle.' But I didn’t tell friends or family how I felt – I kept it all bottled up.
As I got older, I occasionally slept with women but just didn’t get what all the fuss was about – I thought I must be asexual. In truth, I was envious of women – I found them attractive but being with them made me hate myself. I now know I had gender dysphoria (a sense of unease because of a mismatch between my biological sex and my gender identity).
Searching for myself
In my early 20s, after graduating from university in Liverpool, I moved to the town down South where I still live. I found a flat and a job in cancer care, but I was lonely. I spent a lot of my twenties searching for myself, trying different experiences.A member of my family came out as trans in his 20s and in solidarity I started exploring that community online, convincing myself I was being a 'good ally'. I didn’t let myself entertain the idea that this research was in fact for me.
At work, I became part of a very tight-knit group of female friends and while we’d all go out on Friday nights, my job was pretty much my life. Eventually the pressure of not knowing who I really was culminated in a nervous breakdown, and I was referred for long-term therapy which gradually helped me work it out.
A double life
To start with, having slept with a man for the first time in my late 20s, I identified as a gay man. Then one day I read this quote online: 'If the only thing stopping you from transitioning is that you’re scared you’d be an ugly woman, that’s dysphoria and you are already trans.' This was what’s known in the community as my 'egg cracking moment' – the full realisation that I was in fact trans.But still I kept putting it off. You hear about trans people getting verbal abuse on the streets – I couldn’t face that judgement. But with the pandemic came the realisation that the world could end tomorrow, and I just thought, 'It’s now or never.' So, when I was 32, I started buying knee-length skirts that I’d wear around the flat and I reached out online to the trans community for support.
A real breakthrough came when I started dating someone who was non-binary. We’d met at a goth night and, through them I met a whole community of people who were on my wavelength. I was thrilled to be introduced as my partner’s girlfriend, but I still wasn’t ready to 'come out' in every sense, still sticking with my male goth look to go out. The day my then-partner took my hand and led me out onto the street in one of my feminine outfits, I felt like I was crossing a boundary.
The turning-point
At the age of 34, I realised it was time to stop living my weird split life and live fully as a trans woman. Colleagues were supportive when, at the end of a work meeting I announced, "My name is Jessica now" and my wider family has been pretty accepting of the change. In fact, my mum said: "Well, I’d always wanted a daughter" and my dad does his best to understand. Sadly, my brother is estranged from the family but that’s another story.The first thing I noticed when I started hormone therapy two years ago was a big change in my emotions. At the cinema I wept through Guardians of the Galaxy because I suddenly felt so happy and the intensity has been turned up on everything. And I soon started needing a C-cup bra. The next step is gender reassignment surgery, but it could take a decade to get an appointment on the NHS.
The difference in how I feel about myself is like night and day. For years I thought I was an introvert but in fact I had severe anxiety and depression – and now I have come out, I love my social life. I do get the odd negative comment when I’m out and I have lost a few of my 'blokie' friends from the past. But I have a girlfriend who I love to death, and great new goth and trans friends who have given me the social structure and support to be who I want to be.
The Transgender Day of Visibility on 31 March really matters because it focuses positive attention on people like me. I’ve found self-acceptance after many years of feeling unhappy with who I was – I hope my story inspires other people.
