Sixteen. I was hardly developed. I never understood why I dreaded my progression through puberty. Why I hated how everything looked on me. As if my chest were in the way of something I was trying to look at, but can’t see around. I looked for a different “me” in every sort of way; Clothes, friends, school, hobbies. It’s endless. Nothing ever felt secure, internally. Nobody was to be of cause to this feeling, or I guess lack of. Society didn’t even brainwash me. I just knew I was not living my life the way I felt I should have been. I had written my mom an email of the minimal feelings I had inside of feeling masculine more times than I did feminine and that I wished there was a way I could have been born a boy; It never got sent.

My mom had a hard time swallowing the idea of me dismissing the idea of male existence at the age of 15. Instead of following the religious views ingrained in her entire upbringing, she educated herself. I didn’t know of this until she came to me with an impressively open understanding of how my happiness is more triumphant than any preferences I had. As long as I was happy. I had little response, but I felt a closeness with my mom that had been missing for some time.

A little over two years after, I briefly mentioned wishing I was a boy during an episode of Oprah or Dr Phil. It wasn’t a conversation that lasted more than fifteen minutes and wouldn’t be brought up again.

Until six years later.

The email I never sent, became a real life conversation with my mom. No rough draft – just an impulsive moment of possible good timing. I never knew when to consider a moment a good moment to tell my mom that I wanted to be a boy my whole life. I finally understood and accepted the person I have always been, so I felt ready to bring it up once more.

She had very few words.

Until half a year later when she sat me down after enduring some heavy educational interviews, documentaries and a plethora of articles about gender disorders. She told me to be quiet and just listen, that she was going to talk. She then started to assure me of her support for my happiness, that she couldn’t imagine the pain I would endure having to fear or please everyone else (society) by not being the true person I am supposed to be. It was the moment that changed my life. It was the moment I felt free of everything I had been pretending to be for the last twenty-one years of my life.

There is a lot of negativity surrounding transgender people coming out right now, but I felt I needed to share a story of hope, or maybe just to shed some light that it’s not all bad. If it isn’t your parents that embrace you for who you are, it’s going to be somebody else. Somebody worthy of a beautiful human like you.

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