In this new job, I get to hear lots of stories of youth transitioning. I see myself mirrored through them and watch myself as I transitioned 3 years ago. They show me the pain I haven’t let go of, the vulnerability I tried to leave behind as soon as I could “pass” as a man. They show me myself. This is to them, and me, and you, who are all One. (Note: any stories not about me were changed to protect the confidentiality of the youth.)

I hate that you’re in pain. I hate that you’re so nervous to be here today, so nervous to finally get on testosterone. I hate that your shoulders are slouched and you’re hiding your chest, hiding your heart from the world. I hate that I slouched for most of my life to hide the stupid fat that appeared on the front of my chest when I was 14. I hate that your parents don’t know what to do and you have to lead the way at 15 years old. I hate that I had to lead the way at 27 because no one I knew had gone through this before.

I hate that your parents kicked you out of the house when you came out. I hate that you don’t have a stable or safe place to go every night. I hate that your dad keeps trying to stop you from transitioning and won’t use the right pronouns. I hate that you’ve had to put up with that for several years now. I hate that you hate yourself because of his hate. I hate that this pain keeps continuing in you and me.

I hate all this pain I see. I hate how hard you have to work to do regular things. I hate that that means other things get delayed, like drivers’ licenses and college and healthy relationships. I hate that I couldn’t have healthy adult relationships with family and a partner until I was 28. I hate that I waited way too long to transition. I hate all the pain and cloudiness that came before that.

I hate seeing your pain. I hate seeing your intense vulnerability, your not knowing what to do or how to get out of the pain, your over-shielding from the tough world you face everyday. I hate the years that I over-shielded myself from the world, hiding in an incorrect lesbian identity.

I hate your pain because it’s my pain. You mirror my broken heart, and I don’t want to look at it. It shatters me. It shatters the thought that I have control over my life. We have no control. We blow with the wind and try to keep up. Storms come and go, tossing us this way and that. And sunny calm days come too, but none of it is up to us. We learn what it is to feel all the emotions, and hopefully we’re brave enough to keep feeling them.

My insides spilling out with emotion, raw and tumultuous. I haven’t looked at this stuff in 2 ½ years. I wanted to be done with it, to be a man and move on. But that’s not how it works. We can’t get away from our vulnerability. God, why is this so hard? You’re breaking me. You’re breaking what I thought was stable. You’re breaking what I thought this world was. You shatter the fragment I thought I was to show me I am everything. Wind cannot be broken.