"I am Leo"

When I was little, my parents used to make me and my sister put on dresses when we’d go to special events. My sister seemed fine with it, but I always wondered why I didn’t have the option to wear anything else. (When I got old enough to pick out my own clothes, I’d choose hoodies, sweatpants, or something black—things that didn’t scream girls’ department.) I also had long hair until I decided to have it cut off one day in sixth grade. It seemed like something I had to do to feel more like myself. I didn’t know how to describe my feelings, so I didn’t talk about them. Instead, I just thought of myself as weird.

Puberty hit in sixth grade, and that’s when I really started questioning my gender. I found a way to describe the strangeness I’d been feeling thanks to Instagram. Someone I followed called themselves a term I’d never heard before: non-binary. I went to Wikipedia and it said, “Non-binary is a spectrum of gender identities that are not exclusively masculine or exclusively feminine.” I was like, “Oh, interesting.”

I started to identify as non-binary. (At that time, I was still learning about what being transgender meant, and becoming male felt like a step I was not completely ready for yet). I didn’t think anyone I knew in my life outside the internet would understand what was going on in my head—all the thoughts and questions about who I really was (I didn’t even talk to my sister about it), which is why I confided in my online friends first. A lot of them were also questioning their identities and welcomed me with open arms. Their support gave me the courage to tell more people. 

In the spring of sixth grade, I came out as non-binary to my mom. I told her in the most honest form I knew how: through text. I said, “Can you refer to me with they/them pronouns from now on?” She agreed, then told my sister and my father. My sister adjusted immediately; my parents made an effort but would slip up from time to time. I knew they were trying, but every time I got misgendered it felt like my identity was being challenged. 

As seventh grade—and puberty—went on, I hated my body so much I avoided mirrors. Meanwhile, when I would see a guy’s flat chest or hear his deep voice, I’d get jealous and want it for myself. Things like that helped me realize I wasn’t non-binary, I was transgender. I was a boy. Figuring that out made me feel like I knew who I was—or who I was going to be. 

My transition was gradual. First I changed my pronouns on Instagram to he/they, then I changed my name. I felt like I had to change my name in order for people to start taking me seriously as a trans boy. I chose a name I liked and started saying, “I’m going by Leo now.” It took a while for people to catch on, but when they did, it felt amazing.

To help me pass as male and make me more comfortable in my body, I started to wear a chest binder, a tight undergarment that flattened my breasts. You’re not supposed to wear it all day, because it constricts your breathing. I asked my parents if I could start taking the male hormone testosterone, also known as T, to make me look more masculine, but they said no. For one thing, they were worried about health risks, like high blood pressure and diabetes, associated with taking it. They also wanted to make sure I wasn’t having a moment—they had to know that I envisioned my future as male. I was crushed. As a compromise, they let me take hormone blockers, which I got from an endocrinologist, a doctor specializing in hormones. The blockers stopped my period and further female development. 

I was perceived as a boy for the first time that summer (I was even in a boys’ bunk at camp). My friends were supportive, but explaining myself to other people was exhausting. When they asked questions like, “What were you born as?” or “What gender are you really?” or “What’s your real name?”, it felt like I was under a microscope. Even if most people meant well, it was as if they were doubting me or trying to debate me. I wish they’d just said “Cool” and left it at that. 

When I started eighth grade, I asked everyone to refer to me only with male pronouns. (If a substitute teacher took attendance and used my deadname—the one I had before—I wouldn’t answer.) Some kids gave me a hard time, and when I used the boys’ bathroom, I’d get a lot of looks. One time, a kid who had called me a transphobic slur came into the bathroom while I was there. I was so scared that I hid in a stall until he left. 

I stayed home from school a lot because I wasn’t comfortable with anything about myself. It was the worst I ever felt, but thankfully, there was a bright spot. After a year on hormone blockers, my parents finally said I could start testosterone. It’s highly recommended by doctors that you see a therapist before starting T, but I was already seeing one. I’d had trouble conveying my feelings, but a therapist’s job is not to judge you, and that helped me open up.

The testosterone made me feel much better about myself. My face shape changed completely, from soft and rounded to more square, and hair started to grow everywhere. My little mustache was my pride and joy. My voice dropped, and because I was beginning to like how it was sounding, I started talking more at school, which helped me make more friends and do better in my classes. 

For ninth grade, I chose a high school with all new kids. My name was changed in the district’s system, so everyone knew me as a boy from the start. 

Today, I’m in 11th grade, and I have so much more confidence—I’ve even been taking selfies! I used to spend energy worrying about how I was being perceived, but now I can relax a bit. Things at school and in my personal life are great, but it’s difficult to be a trans person. With our rights being rolled back, protections being removed, and hate-crime rates going up, it can be scary. On the way home from school one day, a man stopped me and asked, “Are you a boy or a girl?” I had no idea how to respond. I was so scared he might have a rude or violent reaction that I crossed the street. When I’m in a public bathroom, if somebody looks at me in a way that says “You don’t belong here,” I try to get in and out as fast as I can. I always try to remind myself that the world is changing and things will get better one day. 

The trans experience varies for every person. I have a supportive family and the privilege of being open about who I am. It helps that I am white and pass as male. So many trans people can’t live as themselves because it’s not safe. What we can all do is stand up for people and be kind. Because let’s be honest, we’re all just trying to figure ourselves out.