I have a distinct memory of being in sixth grade and thinking to myself “there’s gotta be a surgery that can make you be a boy.” Turns out, there are.

I didn’t learn what transgender was until four years later, in grade ten. I tell people that it felt like a puzzle piece clicked inside of me somewhere, and I went ‘ooooh, that’s what that feeling is’, and then I promptly went into denial. I had so little information on what transgender was, and what to do, and how to be, and it was terrifying- so I decided to just try really hard to be a girl, instead. That did not work. Obviously.

My ‘gender journey’ has not been very linear. First I found out what transgender was, and then I went into denial. Then I figured out that being a girl was not going to work, so I said ‘okay, what if I say I’m genderfluid?’ because committing to being 100% a boy was too much commitment. Eventually, I circled back to ‘yup, I’m a boy. I’m a trans boy’. I’ve continued to change and evolve as time has gone on- currently I say I’m non-binary, specifically ‘trans masculine’. It fits for now.

My coming-out process was pretty standard for the time- come out to some friends to see if you get rejected, eventually come out to family, and along the way spiral into a pit of depression and/or other mental illness. I’m not gonna glamorize it. It was hard, and it was hard for a good few years. I’m simultaneously jealous of, and absolutely ecstatic for, people who find out they’re trans now- there’s so much more information, and knowledge, and it’s so much more accessible. It’s absolutely still hard, but I like to think things have improved.

Grade eleven was a downhill journey for me. At the end of grade ten, I told my mum I wanted to start seeing a therapist. That was the start of my depression. I saw a range of therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists. If I didn’t like the therapist or whatever, I just wouldn’t go back. Wouldn’t answer their phone calls, wouldn’t go see them. I think that drove my parents a little bit mad. I managed to settle on a psychiatrist I would actually talk to pretty quickly, so I would talk to her, and she would refer me out to new therapists. Part of the problem, after I came out, was that every new person I saw, I had to explain what being transgender was. None of them knew what trans was- except my psychiatrist. She was good.

I came out to my psychiatrist before I came out to my parents. I kept a ‘therapy journal’ at the time, because otherwise I would just forget what had happened during the week. I came out to her through my journal. I don’t remember exactly what I wrote- it was like one line, probably ‘I think I am transgender’, and she knew what it was. I remember, at some point, her asking if I wanted to go on hormones, and I said ‘yes’, and she went ‘oh well that makes things MUCH easier! We just have to find the right meds until you get on hormones, and hormones will help to improve your mental health dramatically’- and she was right.

I came out to my parents the same way I came out to my psychiatrist- with my therapy journal. My mum and dad were sitting out in their chairs in the living room, and I went up behind my mum’s chair, handed her the journal, pointed to what I wanted her to read, and stood back. My mum read it, and looked at me and asked if she could give it to my dad to read, and I nodded. My dad read it, and said “okay”. Realistically, there was not much to worry about with my parents. My parents had made it clear long ago that 2SLGBTQIA+ people were safe and welcome with them. I worried nonetheless. My mum looked at me and asked ‘so what does that mean?’ I’m not sure if they had really heard the word ‘transgender’ before. I told them that it meant I was pretty sure I was a boy, and I wanted to be called ‘he’- I hadn’t decided on a name, yet. My mum’s main response was to go and read the first 13 pages of google results for ‘transgender’. My dad’s response was to just roll with it. They both accepted it without question. At the time, that was not the usual response, so I like to say they’re pretty weird for that. Weird in the best way.

When I came out, there was a kid in my grade eleven drama class who… well, he was a dick. Whenever I did or said something that happened to annoy him, he would say “okay [deadname]”. I still remember exactly what it feels like to have someone purposefully look at me and tell me ‘your existence is worthless, your identity is worthless to me’. Because that’s what I heard. It felt like being punched in the stomach. It hurt- I experienced a physical sensation of hurt. I have been telling people this story for ten years, and I still don’t have adequate language to get across just how much it hurts to be shown that your identity- your innate existence- does not matter. There’s been a lot of stuff that has happened to me because I’m queer, because I’m trans- but I still vividly remember sitting in the cafeteria while this kid punched me in the stomach.

I skipped a lot of classes in grade eleven, but I somehow managed to pass the grade. Mostly. I took social 20 in summer school. That was the last time I was properly in school for quite a while. I tried going in my first semester of grade twelve- dropped out. Second semester- dropped out. Third semester, then at Centre High- dropped out. Then I took a year off, got top-surgery, and stable mental health, and finally went back to Centre High and got my high school diploma. There’s about three years of my life- from eleventh grade to when I finally went back for my diploma- that I don’t really remember much of. Apparently, depression can really mess with your memory.

I got my Social Work diploma and Bachelor of Child and Youth Care through MacEwan. The goal at the end was to work with 2SLGBTQIA+ youth, and basically just try to make things suck less for them than they did for me. I’ve worked in a few different positions with 2SLBTQIA+ youth, and it has been surprisingly hard. Working within community, with those dual relationships, where me and my youth are accessing the same resources, is hard and sometimes just really weird. I’ve taken to working at organizations that don’t focus specifically on 2SLGBTQIA+ community, and instead working with the 2SLGBTQIA+ youth that happen to be served by that organization. I’m full of resources, and an excessive amount of knowledge about chest binding, so I like to think I’m useful for that.

I’m twenty-six, now. It’s been ten years since I found out what transgender was, and started to come out. I still come out to people, almost every day of my life, because you never stop coming out. Coming out to coworkers so they stop referring to me excessively as ‘male’, coming out to potential partners on dating sites and apps, coming out to doctors and therapists. Sometimes it’s tedious, sometimes scary, but I also kinda love it. I love being visible when I can be, and showing that ‘hey, look, there’s a queer person here. It’s okay to be queer here.’ It happened most recently at my new job, where I told my supervisor ‘hey, BTW, I’m trans’. The practicum student who was in the room with us came up to me afterwards and said ‘hey, I really appreciate you telling the supervisor that, because I’m non-binary’.

Ian Brown

Ian Brown is a 26 year-old, queer trans masculine human who has lived in Edmonton his whole life. During the day, he is a youth worker- the rest of the time, he yells at people about safer chest binding practices, works on the Pride Centre of Edmonton’s library as head librarian, and chases cats. Ian has an intense passion for educating those within 2SLGBTQIA+ communities, as well as others outside of communities. He hopes to continue adding to Edmonton’s queer history, working to better the community, and to pet many more cats.

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