As I’ve begun working on my memoir during the past week, it has required a substantial amount of emotional excavation. Memories and feelings long suppressed have come back to the surface. I’ve finally found the proper language for what I once referred to as teasing, bullying, and “guys being guys.” More on that later.

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My parents don’t like the fact that I’m so open. But if my being open helps save someone’s life or changes another person’s views, it makes it all worth it. I saw the person I became when I had to keep my feelings pinned up and suppressed, and I never want to be that person again. Because when you have feelings pinned up and you’re suppressing yourself, there’s eventually a release—and you did not want to be anywhere close to me when it happened. Unfortunately, it did happen, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself.

How much of it goes back to middle school and high school, or just the environment in which I was raised? I knew in seventh grade for sure, but I didn’t have the language or the words. It wasn’t until ninth grade that I first looked up “sex change” and “boy wants to be girl.” Even if I had said something to my parents, I don’t think they would have believed me, or they would have tried sending me to a mental institution. I can’t change the fact that I’m a straight Jewish woman in an AMAB body. It’s how I’m wired.

And then there were my high school experiences. I decided to look up the language the other day as I thought about it on the way back from the library. When I finally had the words, I had to re-read them. I was subjected to sexual assault, sexual harassment, and gender-based harassment for more days than I can count, and this lasted for four years. What I once dismissed as teasing or “guys being guys” had names. It’s no wonder that I ended up at Bradley for my freshman year and away from Kentucky. Without going to Bradley, I wouldn’t have seen Second City and ultimately ended up in Chicago.

There was so much pressure on me to conform to societal standards in the late 1990s and early 2000s. I learned how to clear browser history and internet cookies in high school because I didn’t want my parents finding out that I was reading so much trans fiction. We only had one computer, and even after I got my first laptop, we didn’t get Wi-Fi at home until 2007. Trans fiction became my escape—whether that was reading or writing. I couldn’t express who I was at home, so it became my only way of expressing myself.

There were other classic tells as well, but I always made sure to act on them when nobody was around. Although having an emotional attachment to blue was a subtle tell—not that anybody could have guessed. It’s clearly because I’m a Kentucky Wildcats fan, but if I have the opportunity to get a shirt in blue, I get it in blue. Royal blue preferred, followed by navy. It doesn’t matter if it’s T-shirts or nicer tops.

Looking back, I would have done things very differently in 2008. I would have actually acted instead of doing what I did best: repressing and suppressing myself. The economy crashing at the same time would have done me no favors when it came to affording a new wardrobe and doing the important things, like laser hair removal. But I would have been able to be myself in my early 20s instead of trying to be someone I’m not and could never be.

I faced ultimatum after ultimatum because of the economy. I’m coming up on 10 years back in Chicago when I should be celebrating 18 years this July. That’s 10 years of getting to be myself as of September 2026. But there’s a universe where I would have been myself for eight years longer, and that’s a regret I am going to have to live with. I had a friend circle, don’t get me wrong, but they didn’t get to see the real me—just the version of me that still had a lot of defensive armor around her, as if it were a shield. But every layer I’ve unearthed, every feeling I’ve reclaimed, reminds me that the person I am today could never be buried again. I’m done hiding, and I’m done apologizing for being who I was always meant to be.