When I was growing up, there were two things that were important to me. The Catholic church and masculinity. Sunday mornings really illustrated the conflict because throughout childhood I was told to wear a dress, something I did not want to do under any circumstances. It was such a pressing issue that when I was around 6-7 my dad phoned my Aunt and Uncle and had my older female cousin, who was probably around 12-13 at the time, talk to me to try to convince me to wear one. My mom would even tell another story as I grew older about a time I was so irritated with the dress business that I actually tore a dress and ruined it.

My parents stopped trying to get me to wear dresses when I was a teenager, but that didn’t solve my problems with the church and gender. Looking back, aside from the dress issue, I actually had a lot of space to express myself in gender non-conforming ways. Sundays and picture days were really the only times when clothing was an issue--the rest of the time I delighted in wearing t-shirts and pants, and when I got older I wore button ups to church.

I also developed a deep love for church primarily through music and my relationship with my dad: I still remember begging him to sing his favorite hymn to me before going to sleep, On Eagle’s Wings. Those rare times he actually felt comfortable and confident enough in his voice to sing it to me, I associated many of the lyrics with my relationship with him. “You need not fear the terror of the night, Nor the arrow that flies by day, Though thousands fall about you, near you it shall not come.” I always felt so safe, protected, and completely supported by my dad. He was my hero, and the person I always wanted to be around and to be like.

In fact, my desire to be like my dad was intense. My strong associations with him were one of the ways that I was trying to express my gender identity to him, my family, and the rest of the world. I felt we were the same in terms of gender. He often told the story of how, when I was a small child in daycare, the boys all had blue blankets at nap time and the girls all had pink blankets. Well, I demanded a blue blanket and they actually gave it to me. Blue was my favorite color. I hated barbies, dresses; it’s not that there’s anything wrong with those things. But as a child who lacked the actual language of talking about gender, I was determined to send the message that I refused to be associated with the “pink” side and people should really see me as the “blue” side. 

Despite the childhood stress of feeling forced to accommodate other people’s understanding of my gender, I was largely free to express myself as I pleased and quite happy with this arrangement. After all, society does not punish girls who are “tomboys” with as much vigor as they do any hint of femininity in boys. But, there is a time limit on the freedom of expression I and others have enjoyed as children.

Puberty was not a gender affirming experience. I was not excited by the physical developments, I was not excited by the promise of a body that had so many female functions, I was not at all interested in being a wife, mother, or anything at all to do with femininity or being a woman. This was not a phase, nor was it me dragging my feet on the transition to adulthood. It was the first signs of gender dysphoria, triggered by my physical transformation into a body that felt wrong on every level. And so I began wearing baggy clothes, so that my body would not be read as feminine. I stopped having any interest in sports or physical activities where my body would move in ways that felt dysphoric and where other people could see female attributes on my body. My sister complained that I would never swim with her anymore. A friend asked “why do you always wear two t-shirts?” I was not overweight, I was not ashamed of my body, I did not deal with body dysmorphia (a mental health disorder in which you can't stop thinking about one or more perceived defects or flaws in your appearance — a flaw that appears minor or can't be seen by others).

This was a very distressing time. On top of the fact that I wasn’t excited by any of the changes and was not at all interested in being a wife or a mother, I also could not relate to any other teenagers who were going through puberty and wanting to start dating. I had zero interest in dating and zero interest in sex (largely due to gender dysphoria: who would want to have sex when you have the wrong body parts?). When I watched movies where a romance developed between the two heterosexual leads, I did relate to the men, and I did experience low-grade romantic attraction to women. But I felt it was pointless to pursue a woman because I only knew catholic women and I knew they would never see me as a man.

Plus, on top of all of this, I was very involved in the church, so even though I identified with men, I could never be one of them or explore the possibility of transition. Annoyingly, the church was always dividing people up into “men’s talks” and “women’s talks,” and at the women’s talks they always droned on about modesty and not wearing your skirt too short. My response to this was to refuse to show any skin because I was a boy and didn’t want to be seen as a girl.

I felt it was pointless to romantically pursue a woman, even though I was not motivated by wanting to have sex with a woman. I was told repeatedly by people ranging from Priests, to youth group leaders, to Opus Dei mentors that it would simply be scandalous for me to pursue or even have a chaste relationship with a woman (celibate gay christians and members of spiritual friendship would disagree). 

I soldiered on through the painful dysphoria of puberty and began doing a lot of research on the internet about catholicism, sexuality, and gender. I discovered the existence of asexuality, a sexual orientation defined not by lack of sexual activity or even libido but specifically by lack of sexual attraction to others. There I also discovered the difference between sexual attraction and romantic attraction, and gained the language to discuss my experiences mentioned above. 

I even discovered trans men on YouTube, and when they talked about getting top surgery, I knew deep within my bones it was something I wanted: I knew it would cure my gender dysphoria. But my dad disagreed--he said he thought it would be morally wrong for me to get this surgery. That one comment sent me back a decade, and informed what happened next.

Because I was unable to live out my gender identity or sexual orientation within the catholic world I lived in, I chose to throw all of my energy and attention into my career in the catholic video production world (and was quite successful with this endeavor). I didn’t realize it at the time, but because my life’s focus was work, and because I kept all the details of my gender identity and sexual orientation secret, I was essentially just a stranger to everyone I knew. I wasn’t able to connect with other people when they got married, had kids, and just generally lived their lives because I was not able to fully live my life. 

In 2018, I finally chose to leave the catholic professional world. When nothing bad happened (no lightning struck), I finally decided, after so many years, that I wanted to begin my transition. Now this was an area that I knew would be very controversial to a lot of people in my life, so I did my best to essentially expect the worst in regards to the reactions from people in my life. Unfortunately, these thought experiments did come true: my immediate family was cold, disrespectful, and did not listen to my story. They refused to use my name and pronouns. The catholic social and professional world I had built also fell apart: my so-called “friends” chose to shun me rather than practice the greatest commandment given by Jesus (love your neighbor). This experience was deeply upsetting and hurtful, and I still feel the pain of that rejection and cruelty deeply to this day (as anyone would feel when so deeply rejected by their family and entire community). At the same time, I was grateful to know the truth: that their love had been conditional the entire time.

Despite this deep pain, I have simultaneously experienced the deepest and most profound peace and happiness in my entire life since beginning my transition. Not only has transition made me feel so happy and whole in my body (with my deepening voice, gaining facial hair, etc), but it has also given me so much peace to be true to myself and to be received and interacted with as the man that I am. I have gained so much confidence because I now understand the importance of trusting myself, having self-awareness, and listening to my own body.

This experience, of coming to a great peace and happiness, was a huge relief and is something I am grateful for every day. Truly, I am so grateful every day for the opportunity to be true to myself. Even though I am saddened by the reaction of people I knew and also saddened for having to wait so long to be truly myself (28 years), I am content that I have the opportunity to be myself now and indeed, live my life fully alive.