I knew early on that I was different. I was born male, but I always knew I was a girl.

My mother supports me and is full of love and nurturing. But when I was 13 years old, my mother was killed in a plane crash. Something broke in my heart that day.

When I was a teenager, I struggled to lose my mother. Losing the only person who has seen me is devastating. It took me a long time to accept myself, and it took even longer to find my voice as a transgender activist.

After my mother passed away, I moved from southern Ontario to the coastal area to live with my father. Things became more chaotic and complicated because I realized that besides wanting to be a girl, I am not straight. But I was surrounded by the attitude of the small town of Charlottetown, where safe and healthy options or support for sex and gender counseling are rare.

I moved to British Columbia as an adult. When I decided to transition, many of my friends and family members turned their backs on me.

My tattoo business in Surrey quickly went bankrupt, because many years of clients stopped calling. I don’t have stable housing. I participate in sex work to survive, and this is usually the only job available to trans women. That experience did not help my self-esteem and self-esteem in any way, and resulted in me being beaten and raped.

I have been torturing myself for many years. I am afraid of what impact my life will be if I finally stand up and embrace the real me. The impact on my mental health is profound. I found a way to bury or numb my naturally destructive drives and desires. I have struggled with heroin addiction for many years and have attempted suicide many times.

Shame and self-loathing are my eternal partners. At that time, society and my family told me that transgender people and homosexuals were weird or abnormal people, so I internalized this phobia.

Nine days after I moved into my basement apartment, three men kicked my door, beat me with bats, and scribbled “gay transgender” on the wall with lipstick. Not only did the police offer no help, they also hinted that I should deal with it “like a man.”

The injury I suffered resulted in major spinal surgery and some medical complications. I stayed in the hospital for almost a year and then recovered full-time. I have damaged nerves in my legs and it is very difficult to walk now. I will have to use a walker for the rest of my life.

Being a victim will do one of two things: it will either disappoint you or make you become.

The attack was a turning point for me.

Sometimes it feels like no one thinks transgender women are human, because we are more like ghosts than the flesh and more obsessed than reality. People think that my gender expression is a perverted trick-it will deceive people without their consent.

I don’t want to end up with stabbings and bullet holes because I am not considered a real woman.

I was motivated and motivated to stand up and fight back. Since the attack, I have become an active advocate and activist for transgender rights.

The life of a transgender person is very important.

Today, my scar is not a reminder of my pain, but a symbol of my strength. It takes real strength and courage to become who you are.

If telling my story, despite the risk of making myself a bigger goal, helps raise awareness or compassion for the difficult struggles facing transgender people, then my entire journey will be worthwhile.

The people we are destined to be worthy of a difficult journey, but only if we are to get rid of the burden of shame.

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