‘Hey. Are you free tomorrow? There is something I want to talk to you about.’’
That’s the message I sent my best friend on a cold December night in 2020. That text was a stepping stone in allowing myself to come out of my shell. For the first time, another human being other than myself was going to know my truth. I was no longer going to be alone. That night, I went to bed petrified of what was to come. Had I made a mistake? Am I strong enough to go through with this? These questions swirled around my head for hours as I attempted to get some sleep. As I started to drift off, I was left with one thought: this would be my final night of lying to myself.
The next morning, I woke up in a sort of daze. My chest felt like it was being crushed by an elephant. My mind was moving at a thousand miles an hour with questions, thoughts and worst-case scenarios. I grabbed my coat, put on my shoes, took a deep breath and left my house towards the bus. Was I scared? Absolutely. Did I know what was to come? Not at all. I sat in a daze, staring into the distance, thinking how this conversation, this moment, will be what kick starts the beginning of my life. The bus came to a sudden stop and opened its doors. I stepped off, and there she was. Waiting for me with an expression that was both of happiness and concern. I walked over, said hello, and immediately she said, ‘‘What’s up?’’
‘‘I went home that day and realised for the first time; I wasn’t alone.’’
My voice caught in my throat. I couldn’t get the words out. I was terrified. All of a sudden, I said, ‘‘I’m trans… I’m… I’m a girl.’’ Her response was cool and collected. She said, ‘‘ok. Do you have a new name?’’ At this moment, the tears were ready to stream. But, after taking a deep breath, I said, ‘‘Its Caitlin.’’ Suddenly, my best friend jumped up with excitement. Filled with absolute joy, she explained how happy and proud she was. We talked for hours, going over all the changes I could no longer wait to make. It was then that the fear dripped away and was replaced by a clear sense of happiness. I went home that day and realised for the first time; I wasn’t alone.
To say I felt relief would be a gross understatement. For me, this was the start of my transition. A journey that was going to change my life forever. Days and weeks followed as I came out to more friends and slowly started telling family. Each time I told someone, I was ready to lose them. Not because they showed signs of bigotry or anything remotely transphobic. But, with a massive increase in transphobic rhetoric in the news, social media and in politics, I was convinced that everyone would turn away from me. In reality, those who genuinely cared for me have stood by my side, day in and day out.
Life after this changed, and it changed quick. Within a year, I was Caitlin at university and Caitlin at my job. However, there was one more thing I had to do before it was all final; I had to make the dreaded Facebook post that notified everyone else of this new me. A post on a social media platform that seemed like it may be better to just put an ad in a newspaper.
Coming out is not something that I, as a trans woman, took lightly. I knew the significance of telling people. The risks. The chance of rejection. Or even worse, blatant transphobia. With that, coming out to people one at a time is tiresome. You build yourself up, deal with hours of anxiety, tell the person, then come down. Each time this cycle repeats. Each time you hope you don’t have to do it again. The purpose of my post was to notify the rest of my friends, family and acquaintances that this change has happened and that from now on I am going to live my life authentically.
‘‘This is just a little update about me to my friends and family…’’
In my room at university, I sat around with my friends and drafted the post. ‘‘This is just a little update about me to my friends and family…’’ It’s important to note that there was nothing ‘little’ about what followed that sentence. As I finished writing, I read each word. Again. Again. And again. In the end, as my thumb nervously hovered over the post button, I took a breath and clicked ‘post’. I threw my phone onto my bed. I looked around at my friends and said, ‘it’s done’. My best friend hugged me and said, ‘‘I’m proud of you. You make me proud to be a woman’’. At that moment, I had a thought that if someone else is proud of me, why am I not proud of me?
The reality was that I was so caught up worrying about everyone else, I never stopped to think of how far I had come. In the span of a little more than a year, I went from crying alone in my bedroom to walking down the street as the girl I once dreamed about. I had accomplished what I once thought was impossible.
Today, four years later, I look back at these moments with a sense of relief. Little did that younger version of me know that coming out was the most positive thing she’d ever done. I now have confidence, joy and a desire to live. I go to work, walk down the street, and wake up as a woman. The girl who once tiptoed around the house, in dresses and wearing makeup, hoping no one would see, now leaves the house wearing dresses and makeup without a second thought.
Coming out unequivocally saved my life. If I didn’t take that first step and tell my friend, there is a world where I wouldn’t be here today. Reflecting on these moments is difficult. They are full of pain, hardship and anxiety. But I am glad I did it. I wouldn’t change my journey, my story, for the world.
“I don’t know what I am if I’m not a woman.”
Marsha P. Johnson