9 - Enough.

High school ran at a pace I simply wasn’t ready for. One by one the girls around me started to shed their pre-pubescent frump and transform into butterflies. Their eyes got darker by the day and their clothes clung to them like glad wrap. I was fascinated by the way some girls were able to make the most minor adjustments to their uniform, or their hair, and suddenly they looked like women.

I was still a slug. I had no idea what to do with myself. It was getting harder and harder to fit in. My fashion had peaked by age twelve. Clothing stores taunted me with styles so far from my comfort zone it would take weeks trawling through racks to find a single morsel I might wear. I would eventually give in and get a short sleeved t-shirt with an expensive brand on it and spend the whole time pulling it away from my chest so you couldn’t see the shape of my breasts. Defeating the very point of the shirt, i’m sure.

Then there was the pressure to wear make-up and shave your legs. It was like a running tally, every day another girl would come to school with a totally different coloured face and shiny legs. My sister being the fashionista that she was, seemed rather humiliated that I hadn’t done the deed yet. She had blossomed into a gorgeous young woman. She wore femininity as if it was a dress tailored just for her. Boys swarmed to our house like bees, buzzing around wanting to be close to her and her beautiful friends. People who knew my sister were always surprised when they discovered we were related. Despite similar facial features, we couldn’t have been more opposite if we tried. My mother had certainly raised a stick of chalk and a piece of cheese for siblings.

One day my sister showed up at my bedroom door with a razor and a bowl of water and said I wasn’t leaving the room until I’d shaved my legs. I was fourteen and it was far overdue. I let her do it because she was actually doing me a favour. As an older sister, she had already started running the gauntlet of teenagehood. She knew exactly where I would trip up so would get in first before others got a chance to torment me. In her own way, she was just as protective of me as I was of her. I knew there would be less fuss if she did it than if i come out one day and had done it myself.

I spent my entire teenage years trying to avoid fuss. I lived with two women who were proficient in it so it was quite difficult. Even if I wanted to engage in some acts of femininity, the fact that i had rejected it for so long made me think there would be a fuss if i did. Like I was finally coming around. None of us had any concept of gender as being something that could be fluid. If I showed emotion, there would be a fuss. If I wore jewelry, fuss. I felt backed into corner with no way out so I stayed silent.

I was scared my family and friends would ask questions I didn’t know the answer to. I was scared that my answers would make them worry about me. I knew they loved me but I could see it in my mother’s face that she didn’t know what to do with me. I wasn’t a rebellious or troublesome teenager; for the most part I was gentle-natured, lovable, and happy. Mum would tell me how people would adore me when I was little. She just didn’t know how to connect with me and I didn’t know how to connect with her. There were bits missing and we didn’t know how to put them together.

I always wonder if things would have been different had the internet been more of a thing at that age. I could have asked Google why I didn’t want boobs or loved female characters. I could have saved everyone the trouble. But back then it was AltaVista, and AltaVista didn’t know shit. Not enough queer people had infiltrated the world wide web and filled it with normalising, relateble content.

I knew what gay meant in the most literal sense, but not how it felt. I understood it as the deviant of heterosexuality, not as a sexuality in its own right. I didn’t know any gay people to be able to humanise it. There was absolutely no gay representation in my life so it was just a terrifying black hole. Who knew what would happen if i dove into it??

The term trans was not even in my vocabulary, and no doubt nor my parents. I had no way of even comprehending what that was. A conservative might argue that is why it should not be introduced to sex education in schools “because it teaches people to be gay/trans”. This only proves how ridiculous that argument really is. These thoughts have been a part of me my whole life. It simply gives young people a language they can use to describe how they feel. It stops them roaming around in the dark, feeling isolated and alone, and gives them something to feel connected to.

If I had the language and understanding of myself as a legitimate and normal person, I could have started conversations with my family and friends long ago. Instead I’m a grown ass adult in my thirties trying to play catch-up and explain my identity. My mother would have understood why her child was isolating themselves and been able to reach out for help. My sister would have known not to traumatise her sibling by trying to make them fit into a shape they didn’t need to. My friends could have learnt how to be a good ally from day one.

By not creating a platform for young people and their loved ones to access positive and affirmative information about gender and sexual identity is denying them the right to good mental health. It sets a precedent of shame and guilt that follows that little person into adulthood like a dark heavy cloud.

Looking back, I can trace all the extra effort and energy I put in to feel worthy. I had to be good at everything I did. I pushed myself to win every race. I tried so hard to be top of every subject at school. I worked tirelessly to gain the respect of those around me and prove that I was good enough. It will take years of unpacking this shame and quietly reminding myself I am enough, just as I am.