when the time is right

There was an apple tree in my garden when I was young. I remember its gnarled bark and twisted limbs, the way it would shift from boney twigs to perfumed white chiffon petals, to branches laden with fruit, sun-warmed and shining. We picked the apples, save the smallest which in time would fall and become brown and mushy and wasp-filled. They were cooking apples, with tough peel and sour flesh. But after we had turned them on the apple peeler to remove ribbons of skin, sprinkled them with sugar and cooked them on a gentle heat, they softened and liquified. Became a glistening and bubbling pot of sweet summer that sang on my tongue and sent a rush of warmth and golden light through me, a kind of surrender that made me want to weep.

I was officially ‘diagnosed’ as trans this year. It took a long time to get to this point, after battling my doubts and several false starts with another gender clinic. Now that I finally had an appointment, I was surprised that the doctor did not join the Zoom call from a medical setting but what looked to be her living room instead. I could see the wings of her green velvet armchair, the edge of a curtain and the bottom left corner of a painting – something abstract with hues of pink and brown and yellow.

We got into it straight away. Her first question: why now, at this stage of life? I sat with this for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to present it to her, to atone for not having been vocally trans from the moment I left the womb.The real answer is a mix of things. A strict religious background. Catholicism. Growing up in a small, rural, working class town. Section 28, which spanned my life from birth to age 15. No internet. No trans people on TV, except Hayley from Corrie. A culture where being gay was bad enough. A myriad of reasons that – purposefully or not – held back generations of queers.

I knew, however, that I was supposed to create a narrative that I had always known, instinctively, that I just hadn’t had the words.That it wasn’t a whim or a social media trend. And really, being trans has not been particularly fun so far, nor is it cheap – my appointment with her cost me £500 – so who would choose to be trans just to follow the crowd? 

There’s a funny thing where trans people have to be both aware of their transness from a young age, but not act on it. The UK government has ruled that trans children must not be given puberty blockers – life-saving medical care that delays puberty – lest it turns out to be a fad and they regret it later. This same regulation is not applicable to cisgender children, of course, and nevermind that puberty blockers simply pause puberty rather than prevent it entirely. So you can’t be a trans child, ok. But when you get through childhood and come out later in life, you’re questioned – like I was – on why you never said anything before. As if it’s easy to put a name to something that nobody ever told you.

Aware that I had spent too long musing on the perfect scenario, I blurted out a few instances in my life that might fit the bill. When I started puberty I would press my chest into the floor to stop the burgeoning breast buds. When going swimming suddenly became difficult, because I was no longer allowed to wear only a pair of bottoms. The pang of sadness when the teacher asked ‘four strong boys’ to volunteer, and I knew she would never mean me. Each of these she noted down as evidence. I felt ashamed that this was the best evidence of ‘male pursuits’ I could come up with, along with playing with my train set and wanting to be Julian from The Famous Five. Where was my love for football, boxing? What could I point to for a child that just liked to sit in a corner and read?

I spent a lot of time worrying about being too old to transition – and I’m only 35. I hadn’t come across a lot of stories about people who transitioned later in life, so I began to believe that transformation was only for the young. There’s no expiration date, though. Look at the orchard around you, for instance. Apple trees can spend up to 15 years growing before they bear any fruit. And some seeds lie dormant until the correct combination of sun and rain comes together and the earth that cradles them says: now. Nature doesn’t rush. To transition later in life is not to be late, it is simply to be in tune with your own rhythm: to feel the shifting winds, to learn the soil of your body.

Read the rest of the story: part 1, part 2