When you were younger, you always felt something was off about you. The way you dressed, or more accurately, you were made to dress. The way your hair was always kept a certain length and the way your parents and friends always called you she, and by this girly name…

As your life went on, you made a friend at the beginning of secondary school, Andrew. He was a sweet lad. He kept to himself and was rather quiet in class. But you both became best friends and you felt like you could tell him anything. So you did… you told him what you thought was wrong with you.

You felt like you were in the wrong body. Something wasn’t right. You didn’t like the clothes you had to wear… the uniforms you had to wear with the skirts. It made you upset and kind of depressed. You confided in him that you felt happier wearing clothes that boys would wear. And by the end of this conversation, you ended up coming out to him as transgender, and he was nothing short of supportive and accepting. Using your preferred pronouns and name…

As you got older you became more comfortable and confident. You cut your hair and started binding your chest. You felt like you again.. but you would have your bad days. And one of them came along one day. You and Andrew were planning to go swimming and you realized that you couldn’t take off your shirt like most men do at the beach… so you kind of just sat on a towel in the sand, arms folded across your chest because somehow, the tank top you were wearing wasn’t doing enough covering up in your mind. Andrew had noticed something was wrong and he looked at you,

“You okay? Is it cold or something?”