International Coming Out Day

Five days ago when I began writing what will possibly be the most important letter of my life I didn't know when I would send it. After months of circling the drain it was a relief to sit at the keyboard and let the words fall from my fingertips.

I have lived a lifetime in fragments. For nearly thirty years I could not have told you why my pieces didn't fit together. But they didn't. Life was just about the hardest thing I could imagine and yet I had few obstacles to achievement; I was born into a secure white, upper middle class home, in a regular Australian suburb where nothing much happened. Education was plentiful and free and apart from a deep antipathy toward maths I excelled at school.

And yet.

And yet I did not fit. I didn't fit the world around me and I didn't fit my self.

When I was 14 and had language for my attraction to girls 'lesbian' provided a solution to the dissonance. I was a lesbian and that was why I wanted to cut my hair short, loathed all things female and longed to dress like a boy.

And yet.

And yet as puberty progressed and I valiantly navigated the savage waters of coming out in the late 80's there was a something I couldn't name. I could only see it out of the corner of my eye, a fleeting glimpse of......? I didn't have language, I couldn't see myself but I could seize hold of the prescription for lesbian; Levis 501's, white t-shirt, doc marten boots, women's only spaces, feminism, wymyn who love wymyn.

And yet.

And yet even on the wild, queer fringe of society I was stateless, isolated and deeply tormented. No matter the uniform or the career path, no matter the booze or the drugs I couldn't find a place of peace. I've been overweight and underweight, wildly unfit and an obsessed runner, I've been a raw food vegan and staunchly paddock to plate. Short hair, long hair,make up and no make up. I've been self-employed, unemployed, student and sales driven professional. I've been stoned and drunk for years on end, I've been a dry drunk and today I am in recovery and fifteen months sober. I've lived in the heart of the queer community and lived in the middle of the whitest, most staunchly conservative heteronormative region of Australia.

14 months ago I sat in a women's recovery meeting, one I normally wouldn't have been able to join and one that I never went back to again and heard myself say 'I drink to erase myself'. It was the truest thing I have ever said. But in that moment I could not acknowledge what I was trying to erase.

Twenty four hours later I would say to my partner 'I think I'm trans' and she would agree with me.

I created an 'island' and invited a small, select group of queer friends to join me on it. I was fierce and fearless in protecting its borders. As the year progressed I grew to understand more about myself and the story of my life. As I learned I shared with my island friends, when I was lost in the maze I told them and they held space for me. Slowly I began to socially transition, I discovered names that gave form for my new content.

In the early days that island gave so much freedom, but I knew it was only ever a temporary home. As the months passed I met new people and introduced myself as Jack or TJ. I got married and my wife calls me 'husband'. But in all of this my biological family were excluded.

During this time of recovery and self-discovery I could not hold space for my journey and their journey. It was exhausting maintaining the facade of daughter, sister and aunty but it was necessary. I have no regrets. This last year has taught me that when I can clearly identify what I need to do to remain safe, to enjoy good mental, emotional and spiritual health - do it.

Yesterday, on what turned out to be International Coming Out Day, I sent a letter to my family and brought an end to a lifetime of confusion and a year spent shifting backwards and forwards between identities. I was entirely honest about why they were the last to the party, but I also told them that I love them and hope to have a significantly better relationship with them now that I have relationship with myself.

I'm 47 years old and until today I had not known what it is to live life as a coherent being, to be seen and to want to be seen. It is everything I ever imagined it could be and so much more.