I was fourteen when I first put into words what was different about me. I had always known there was something different that stood me apart from other girls my age. I’d never worked out what it was. I didn’t really understand the emotional games that they played. I remember preferring to play with my brothers and a distinct loathing of Barbie dolls. When I was fourteen I remember feeling a kinship of sorts with the Phantom of the Opera. I spent that year obsessing about the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, attempting to sing the very high notes like Sarah Brightman did. But I felt more like the Phantom – alone, alien in a world where I didn’t fit. I remember feeling different and suddenly I started to think about being a boy. I wanted so desperately to be a boy.

I grew up in an evangelical Christian family. Throughout my childhood we attended church and Sunday School every week, Friday Night Kid’s Club, church camps, and my uncle worked for the one Christian radio station in New Zealand at that time. So much of my life centred around our family’s Christian faith. I don’t think I even knew that people were gay or lesbian until I was about eleven years old and one of the girls who was in my brother’s year at school lived with her mother and her mother’s female partner. An old friend of the family was gay but I didn’t realise until I was much older. I certainly did not know of any transgender people until I read an article in a women’s magazine about a man who became a woman. I couldn’t understand it at the time.

Being very religious, I shoved the feelings of being trans underneath. I would estimate that I spent about six weeks of every year absolutely obsessing about becoming male until I finally blurted it out to my brother, who fortunately was very compassionate about it. He suggested I educate myself on the subject. For so long I had told myself that I was stupid and wrong. It took a long time to allow myself to accept that I was neither.

It was the end of June/early July 2010 when I first blurted it out to my brother, and shortly afterwards I came out to the rest of my family. I would not recommend doing it over the phone as I did with my father, but it was a case of getting in first and telling him I was questioning my gender identity before my sister got to him. He avoided me for about three months, but we spoke on the phone throughout that period. Somehow I knew that even if initially he struggled with the idea, I had his unconditional love, and we would make it through. I was right.

I spent six months having massive adrenaline rushes every time I came out to a new person. I had been so sure that I would ostracised and vilified and be a pariah but nothing could be farther from the truth. Almost everyone I told was so kind. My family found it really hard, which isn’t surprising, and I had a few angry conversations with one or two of them, but they’re all fine about it now.

In October 2010 I had my psychological assessment. I was nervous about going but it was fine. I hadn’t realised until after I received the report that I had been sure I was crazy. But no, I was very competent and highly intelligent according to the clinical psychologist who assessed me. That was a massive relief. My GP referred me to the endocrinologist after he received the report. I came out to my wider circle of friends in December 2010 after telling my boss. I have been fortunate to find that nearly all my friends are very accepting people. I have been lucky because so often it isn’t the case.

I saw the endocrinologist in May 2011 and received my first testosterone injection on July 19 2011. I felt like my body was tingling after that first injection but I don’t know if it was the excitement of it or not. I had my last period in around September 2011 and never looked back.

My body started to change. My shoulders bulked up, my voice started to drop, and I started to grow chest hair. Emotionally I changed too. I became much more likely to get angry rather than to get depressed. I had been something of a pushover prior to transition and once I was on testosterone the tendency to try to please everyone started to reduce. That could only be a good thing. I was never actually aggressive as such, although I have lost my temper several times, which is quite a change from pre-testosterone. On average I have lost my temper once a year since I started on testosterone. That’s not bad! I noticed that symptoms of PMS continued for two or three months following menstruation ceasing.

The first six months after coming out were the most stressful of my transition. Once I got past that period, I relaxed a lot. Until I went to see the endocrinologist I wrestled with an inner torment of “Am I stupid and wrong like I always told myself? Is it right for me to transition? Am I really trans?” I suspect that these feelings and thoughts are quite normal. I knew the night before I saw the endocrinologist the second time that I was on the right path when I started to panic that she would not allow me to go on testosterone because of my weight.

In late 2014 my endocrinologist discharged me but before doing so, she referred me to a gynaecologist for a hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy– removal of uterus and both ovaries. The initial consultation (November 2014)  was great – the surgeon was really nice, matter of fact and joked that I needed to grow taller for my weight, but he didn’t see any barriers for me getting onto the waiting list for the surgery. The second consultation (March 2015) was great too, although I had laryngitis and was worried that I would not be able to have the surgery the following Thursday. Unfortunately I was correct. Swollen tonsils don’t make for a safe anaesthesia so the anaesthetist postponed the surgery. Initially I was fine about this, but that evening I became really cranky – it turned out that emotions take longer to bubble up from beneath the surface for me these days. There was nothing I could do about it – I understand why I had to have the surgery postponed, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault. I was more pissed off with my body than anything. It highlighted how important this surgery is for me.  My next surgery date is coming up fast and I hope my health is better by then. My gender dysphoria has tended towards my bottom genitals rather than my chest.

The next step following my recovery from the hysterectomy and oophorectomy is chest surgery – a double mastectomy and ‘manscaping’ – surgery to make my chest masculine in shape. Unlike the former surgery, this surgery is not always publicly funded – it depends on the District Health Board.