This is how my story unfolded—my own personal journey, because every trans person’s experience is different, with its own highs and lows.

I was born in the 1970s, but behind the fun and nostalgia, the later 80’s, 90’s and 00’s weren’t kind to those of us who were trans. Back then, I absorbed what I was told, even if I didn’t understand it all.

Learning ‘Being Trans Is Wrong’

During my early childhood, the media portrayed trans women in the worst light. They were dismissed as “men who thought they were women” but were still labeled as men or mere ‘crossdressers’. The tabloids made trans people into objects of ridicule, fueling harmful stereotypes. I grew up seeing those stories lying around the house in newspapers or on TV, and I vividly remember the laughter that followed. Watching and seeing those things in the presence of my parents, I would blush with embarrassment, feeling a deep sense of shame, like I was wrong for relating to what I was seeing. I thought if I blushed or looked too closely, they would find out my secret—that I knew I was a girl with boy parts, even though everything around me said that was impossible. I knew that I had the wrong genitalia and desperately tried to remedy it (diy surgery is never a good thing), grappling with the confusion and dissonance. Those headlines, that ridicule, and my shame all combined to teach me one thing: Being trans is wrong. Or so I believed, for far too long.

A Time of Suppression and Self-Hatred

Even as a child, I knew what was wrong with me—I was a girl trapped in a boy’s body. I had a typical family—two ‘normal’ parents, a sister, and friends to play with—but that sense of being out of place never left me. By the time I went to secondary school, those feelings became overwhelming. At an all-boys’ school, I felt even more awkward and out of place. “Gay” was the insult of choice; I was targeted and I was always on edge. I tried to bury the truth, spending most of my time isolated, playing Nintendo and pretending to fit into a world that wasn’t built for me. The media didn’t help either—shows like Jerry Springer portrayed trans people as homewreckers, unstable, or deceptive, reinforcing the fear that I had to hide who I really was.

Hiding Myself

For the next 20 odd years, I lived a life that wasn’t my own. I hid my trans self away, terrified of what people would think. The fear was constant, overwhelming. I watched as my friends and peers enjoyed their 20s, but I couldn’t let myself experience life in the same way. I distracted myself with everything I could—girlfriends (unbelievably), work, university— but it didn’t matter. Nothing filled the void. I went from binge drinking to obsessively working out, but none of it took away the deep self-loathing. I still heard those voices from my past, those headlines, my schoolmates mocking me and people like me. I was convinced that if I came out, everyone would abandon me.

After years of anxiety, depression, and emotional breakdowns, I reached a point where I felt like I couldn’t continue. I hit rock bottom and made the decision to end my life. The weight of hiding my true self had become unbearable, and I saw no way forward. But just as I was on the brink, the thought of my three children stopped me. I couldn’t leave them. In that moment of clarity, I thought: Why not try being myself first? That thought—of my children and a chance at living authentically—saved me.

Coming to Terms with My Truth

I was terrified, but after living with fear for so long, it had become a familiar companion. I reached out online, and I was incredibly fortunate to find a kindred spirit—a great friend, mentor, and someone who truly understood me. Over time, that friendship grew into something much deeper, and that mentor is now my amazing partner. With Jess’ support, I started to unravel the years of prejudice and internalised transphobia that had kept me trapped. It was the first step toward finally living authentically. In 2023, I was formally diagnosed with what I had long known. I had gender dysphoria and was living my life in the wrong body.

The next steps of my journey were far from easy. There were countless setbacks, difficult conversations, and painful losses. My marriage ended during this time—truth be told, it was over for both of us many years previous, but my transition brought the closure that was needed for all. Navigating the reactions of my children proved even more challenging. Two of them do not truly understand who I am, and I hope that they are not filled with lies, resentment and the nonsense of social media. Knowing they are being shielded from my truth and not wanting to be a part of my life, is utterly heartbreaking. Although initially reluctant, my oldest daughter has accepted me (to some level) and accepted my partner (who is also trans), certainly enough to refer to her as ‘step mum’.

But through it all, I keep going, facing my fears head-on. Every time I take a deep breath, I push forward forward and I get stronger.

Finding Joy in Authenticity

Now, here I am, Khloe Quinn. Trans, proud, and finally my true self. The journey wasn’t (and stil isn’t) easy, but I can say without hesitation that I was wrong about transitioning. It’s been the most freeing experience of my life. I have a fulfilling life, an incredible friend, and most importantly, I have someone by my side who loves me for who I truly am. She is my best friend, my mentor, my confidante and I’ll never take that for granted.

Society is changing. Trans people are stepping out of the shadows, and I’m proud to be part of that. If you’re scared to be yourself, know that there are people out there who will support you. There are people who love you. All it takes is that first deep breath, and you’ll find the strength to embrace who you are.