I woke up in a cold sweat. It was one of those theatre kid nightmares. You know, the one where it’s opening night but you don’t know any of your lines. The one where everyone else is ready to go but you haven’t been to any of the rehearsals. I’ve had the dream before, and usually it’s for a show I never got to do or the role I never got to play. I’ve also had it where I didn’t have any rehearsal, but I’ve wanted to play the role for so long it didn’t matter and I still did the show just fine. (Okay, that was just for Cassie in A Chorus Line. Which I think I’m still too young for, and at this point far too out of shape.)

But this time, it was our senior musical in High School. I was playing Albert in Bye Bye Birdie. They picked the show for me, which is actually true even though I never thought that was the show you pick for me. If you wanted to pick a show to be my senior musical, you would cast me as The Cat In The Hat in Seussical the Musical. (I’d go on to do it for a second time the next year, and then direct Seussical a few years later.) But the thing is, I wasn’t in Bye Bye Birdie my senior year. They allegedly chose the show for me, but I didn’t end up playing Albert. I was the choreographer. So when I woke up this morning from a dream where I played Albert, I wondered how much I could have avoided by being in the show.

Maybe if I hadn’t been picked to choreograph the school musicals while I was still a student, I would have been backstage with my peers instead of in the audience with the director. Maybe if I was backstage with my peers I would have been acting like the kid I was instead of trying to fit in with the adults. Maybe if I wasn’t trying to fit in with the adults I wouldn’t have my director’s phone number and be texting him at night about the shows. Maybe if I didn’t have his number I wouldn’t have texted him “I’m no longer a student“ on the day that I graduated. Maybe if I didn’t text him that he never would have kissed me. Maybe if he never kissed me I never would have ended up at his apartment. Maybe if I never went to his apartment I would have been able to make more friends at college. Maybe if I had more friends in college I wouldn’t have been leaving after class every day to still choreograph my High School’s musicals. Or maybe if he didn’t kiss me in his car while “I Can Hear The Bells“ was playing he would have let me choreograph that number when we did Hairspray and not have a student do it without telling me.

I was spiraling down this rabbit hole of maybes and what ifs when I stopped and realized there was no decision I could make that would have made him not be a predator. The moment he saw me choreographing for the Pep Rally and asked me to choreograph the musical my junior year (when I played Nathan Detroit in Guys & Dolls AND Choreographed the show) I was already being groomed. I didn’t even want to play Nathan, I auditioned for Benny Southstreet. I figured a supporting role would make more sense so I would have more time to focus on the dances. But the cast list came out and I was leading the musical while choreographing it. And of course, at 16 years old, my ego let me love it. I was chosen. I was seen. I didn’t think anything bad was coming, I just thought someone had seen how special and talented I was.

The unfortunate reality was, this teacher didn’t just see how special I was. He probably also saw how vulnerable I was. And over the years that we worked together, he learned how lonely I was. He saw how much I appreciated his mentorship. He knew I trusted him. He was actually the first adult I had told about the other man who had groomed me. I thought I was confiding in someone who would protect me. Instead, I was giving him the cheat codes to do the same thing. But he was smarter. He was more careful. He waited until I was in college, he waited until I turned 18. But then when I broke up with my boyfriend my freshman year of college, he told me his boyfriend had broken up with him, too. So we were both single, and we started spending more and more time together. Sure, I was of legal age. Sure I wasn’t technically his student anymore. But I met that man when I was 15. And he was around the age I am now, writing this. When I look at people who are 15, 18, even 21, I am looking at people who are young. I am looking at people I don’t consider to be my peers. I am looking at people who are not part of my dating pool. I am not looking at potential conquests. I am looking at children as an elder.

I was 15 when he first showed a special interest in me. I was 16 when he made me President of Drama Club without a vote. I was 17 when he bench pressed me in front of my peers. I was 18 when he kissed me outside of an Applebee’s. I was 19 when he asked me to stop coming to rehearsals because the students liked me better than him. I was 20 when he hid my car keys in his underwear so I would have to touch him in order to drive home. And that was the last time I saw him.

This is unfortunately your future. You are going to meet this man, and he is going to be cool and fun and new and, I’ll admit, conventionally attractive so you’ll want to say yes to every opportunity he throws at you. And that’s okay. You’re not to blame for his actions. You’re not at fault when a grown man takes advantage of you as a child. You did nothing wrong. He did. I don’t know if he meant to from the beginning, I’ve heard rumors about him with other kids, but you are not responsible for the actions of a man who is taking advantage of you. I wish I could be responsible for him no longer having that access to children. But after getting a man arrested and seeing what the process looks like, I knew this case would go no where. There’s no legal protections for being groomed by someone who waited until you turned 18. There are no consequences that would actually keep him away from schools.

I wish I had a better ending to tell you besides the fact that he’s no longer directing those shows. I wish I could tell you he was no longer teaching, but I actually think he’s gotten promoted since then. What I can tell you is that the confidence he has in you will be reflected in others for the rest of your life. He won’t just give you opportunities because he’s attracted to you. He will give you opportunities because you ARE special and you do deserve to be pushed. While you’re working with him you two will have a 5 year plan for you to become a guidance counselor at the school and he would become principal. He then would produce the musicals while you directed and choreographed. But two years into college, you will leave Long Island and the Psychology program you’re studying to pursue theatre more professionally. And now my career is so much bigger and better than I could have imagined under his plan for me. You will quickly outgrow a man you once held on a pedestal and realize you are. so much more than anything he could have seen for you.

Then one day, when you’re older than he was when you first met, you will wake up from a dream about when you were in High School and realize how far you’ve come. And until then, you haven’t thought about him much at all.

Your Future,

Mae

For you June is a month where you get off school for the summer to begin your laziest time of the year. For me, throughout our adulthood, June has become the busiest time of year. And that’s because June is what we call Pride Month. There’s a couple of different ways people will describe and talk about Pride Month, but you’ll find that very few of those ways actually make sense to us.

Your first exposure to Pride will be in college. You’ll go with your college… not boyfriend, but.. ugh, we don’t have time to explain my relationship with Adam to you, but you’ll go with Adam. You and Adam will get on a train to NYC and go stand outside the parade and try to make sense of what is going on. See, Pride is supposed to be a celebration of LGBTQ identities. And while you’re still getting your footing on where in that acronym you fall, you’ll look at this parade and be confused why none of this is helping. You won’t feel like this parade is for you, and you definitely don’t see yourself represented in it. But you’re not really having these thoughts in real time. You’re not watching this parade at 19 years old thinking “this really isn’t the vibe for me, I need to find something that is more my speed.“ No, you’re more likely to be thinking “this is what I need to become to be part of this community.“

I wish that you could realize faster that when you meet up with another friend at the end of the parade route, that is where you and your energy belong. Not at the end of a parade route, but with the friend who matches your energy. I wish you understood the relief you felt seeing her. I actually don’t remember anything else about that day. I remember watching the parade, vaguely. I remember running into our cousin at the Starbucks Adam ran in to pee, and having a very awkward but not at all verbal coming out conversation. And I remember the relief of finally seeing someone who felt more like me. But I wasn’t aware enough at the time to appreciate her.

The show of Pride never made sense to me. I started to appreciate it as a holiday more when I learned the history of why June is celebrated as Pride. When I learned about the trans and queer leaders who stood up to the police and fought back against their brutality and mistreatment at the end of June 1969. That felt like something worth celebrating, worth remembering. But the parades and the parties I was seeing didn’t feel connected to that origin.

In the years since that first parade I attended, I have of course found more meaningful versions of Pride. Well, more in line with the celebrations and conversations I wanted to be having. But still, I can’t really get over the fact that the concept of “Pride“ just never felt right to me. I get that it makes sense for a lot of people, and I’m not looking to take it away from anyone. But I think in my ideal world we wouldn’t need to be proud of our identities. They could just be a part of us, a given. I have plenty of things that I’m proud of myself for. Being a woman isn’t necessarily one of them. My identity is not an accomplishment. I have pride in my community, pride in the legacy that got us here, but most of the time what is celebrated as “Pride“ feels disconnected from that. Maybe I’m taking for granted how easy it is for me to move through the world, maybe that is the impact of Pride and the legacy of the Stonewall riots. But I’d much rather June be about that legacy, be about that community, be about the movement and the momentum and the fight. “Pride“ feels too selfish. “Pride” feels individualistic. “Pride” feels too surface level for what I want to be feeling.

I don’t want us to just be proud. Pride doesn’t feel active. I want us to be engaged. I want us to be evolving. I want us to be effective. I want us to be educating. I want us to be pushing boundaries. I want us to be connected. I want us to be honoring the legacy that got us here. I want us to be unabashed, unapologetic, and unstoppable. I want the riots to never stop until the world changes. I want the respect we deserve. I want the safety that our communities deserve. I want restorative justice. I want restructure and cultural shifts and impactful change. I want what is rightfully ours.

I want so much more than Pride. I want us to be everything.

Five years ago I left New York City, the place I thought I was going to live for my whole life. Last weekend I visited the last neighborhood I lived in and I felt no attachment to it. In fact, I was so glad I had left. I go back to the city pretty regularly for work or to see friends and family, and every time I do I am reminded that I made the right choice in leaving.

When you start college you’ll stay on Long Island. The first school you go to is a community college and you’ll live with our parents. Dad will refuse to convert the basement into an apartment for you like the neighbors across the street did. He will say it’s because legally those windows can’t make a bedroom, but I think he was trying to make sure we didn’t end up staying there long term. The next semester you’ll transfer to a state school and dad will encourage you to dorm there even though it is 15 minutes from our house. He’ll tell you how he never got the college dorm experience, then he had something similar for work in his 40s and regretted not having it earlier. And honestly, if he didn’t push us to leave the nest I’m almost scared we never would have.

Leaving home and dorming was crucial in us discovering who we are. Leaving the nest, even if it was just a town over, helped us to leave our comfort zone and discover who we are outside the context of that home. By the end of your Sophomore year, this will have given you the confidence to transfer schools yet again to pursue a career in theatre. But this time, you’re moving to NYC.

Your first week in New York, you’ll feel a sense of calm wash over you. You’ll text your friend Alyssa and ask her if it’s weird that you feel calm in a place that is infamous for it’s hustle and bustle. But she’ll tell you it makes sense. You’ve always been so chaotic and fast-paced, you now fit in with your surroundings. You found a place you belong. You fall in love with NYC and the ability to walk everywhere and get food at any time and be whoever you want to be no matter what.

You’ll bounce around different apartments in New York, from upper Manhattan to Brooklyn, moving about once a year for eight years. (the longest I stayed at a place was under three years.) Then, when you move into your last apartment, something will shift. You’ll move into this apartment at the end of March 2020. And not to give too many spoilers, but you’re going to spend a lot of time in that apartment in 2020. You won’t have the hustle and bustle of New York City that you’re used to. Things will slow down. Not just for you, for the world. That apartment will have four bedrooms, like the last apartment before it. You’ve grown very accustomed to having roommates, but they won’t be home. For the first two full weeks in this apartment you will be living alone. In a new place, in a huge place, all by yourself. And that will make you realize you WANT that. You like being on your own. You like being away from the hustle and bustle. You like slowing down and spending time with yourself. But you’re in this place for a year. So when the roommates come back and the apartment is full you try and decide if this is right for you.

When you leave that apartment (a little less than a year later) you will be leaving New York completely. You’ll have colleagues in Philadelphia, and after a few work trips there you are interested in trying out life in a new city. So you move to Philly. While the world is still notably quieter than it has been, you figure you’ll go for a year and if you don’t like it you can move back. I’ve been here for five years now. I met the man of my dreams and we live with our dog and my life looks nothing like I thought it would five or ten years ago. I have slowed down. The world picked back up, but I have slowed down. And I don’t really know if it’s with age or if this is actually the vibe that would have worked better for me all along. But I’m so glad I did it.

Last weekend I was back in the Brooklyn neighborhood where that last apartment was. My boyfriend and I walked past the apartment building on the way to a hotel and I was showing him the area. But it felt so foreign to me. For a pretty nostalgic person, I didn’t feel connected to it at all. We went to our brother’s wedding that night, and I realized that so much of me has changed. I couldn’t keep up with the late night party. We crashed early and went back to the hotel. I had lost one of my ear plugs and the bare ear was ringing for days. I was never much of a partier, but I used to be such a night owl. Now I still feel like I’m recovering from one late night nine days ago. This is much more understandably about my age, but we were also some of the youngest people at the wedding. Mom and dad were still there when we left! But I don’t feel like I’ve lost anything in not being able to party all night or keep up with NYC. I actually feel like I’ve gained what I was missing for so long - joy. A quality of life based on what I actually want and need, not an idea of what’s supposed to happen or how I’m supposed to live.

My life now looks like nothing I’d ever imagined. We’re even talking about moving to the suburbs. I have a car after a decade of walking everywhere. I have a dog after years of knowing my schedule wouldn’t allow it. But I also have myself, and I’ve learned how to keep me happy. I’ve learned my limits, I’ve learned how to reset, and I know what I need to succeed. It just took me until my 30s to understand myself on this level. But I guess gender came first…

Your future,

Mae

I am currently in our longest and … only long term relationship. Before I met him, no relationship lasted more than a few months, the longest being eight months. And when I look back, the three most significant of those relationships were all with men I ultimately cheated on.

In retrospect, these were all relationships I probably shouldn’t have been in. Either because I wasn’t ready, he wasn’t right, or we weren’t compatible. My college romance with Lands, I was not ready for. And ironically, I met him while I was still with Caleb. Caleb should never have become my boyfriend, but we were quickly convinced when an older guy put in that much effort. Matthew was a different story, and the hardest one for me to think about today.

You’ll meet Matthew on a dating app when you’re about 25 years old. You’ll be selling merch in a Broadway theatre and he’ll be doing hair in another, so you’ll go on dates in Times Square and Hell’s Kitchen and start to bloom what feels like your first adult relationship. Matthew is the first guy you’ll date who lives alone, has a good job, and a steady life. Matthew is the first guy you’ll date where thinking about the future doesn’t just feel like a fantasy. But that future will also look different than the future you might want. Matthew won’t want you to meet his family, protecting you from their bigotry. He also wants to live alone for his whole life, his ideal being separate apartments in the same building. At the time that relationship would have worked for me. But knowing the person I grew into since then, I can’t imagine it would have worked out.

After a month or several weeks of dating, you’ll have the relationship-defining conversation with Matthew. You’ll talk about the terms boyfriend and partner, and ultimately decide to call each other “special someone“ to avoid complicating either of your baggage. You’ll also talk about how different this relationship feels. Matthew will tell you that you’re not like other people he’s met. Everyone else feels like they’re looking for the next best thing while they’re talking to you. But you will be focused on Matthew. And that’s true. You won’t think much about other people, you’ll be very happy to start to settle into something real. I also know at some point early in our dating the topic of monogamy and open relationships came up, because I’d been in a few. But Matthew will make it abundantly clear to you that is not something he wants. And I didn’t consider it a necessary thing, so it wasn’t talked about again.

Matthew is one of the funniest people you’ll ever meet. He’s a sweet guy who loves so wholly. He knew I loved corny dad jokes, and would keep a note on his phone of ones he heard or thought of so he could tell them to me on out next date. He was such a champion of all the weird work I was doing, and defended my identity with a ferocity I had not experienced before. He’ll be your first true partner, even though he doesn’t like to use that term, and one of the people in our life who raised the bar on how we deserve to be treated.

Quickly after you become official, Matthew will get an incredible career opportunity that will take him out of town for three months. After celebrating, he will tell you that he understands if it’s too early in your relationship for him to leave. I remember being so thrown off because I didn’t for a second consider that I wouldn’t wait for him. He will leave the city for three months and you’ll actually be fine. You’ll text every day, with occasional calls, and that genuinely will be enough for you.

Now, I’ve told you that you’re going to grow up to have a damaged relationship to sex and intimacy. And in the alternate version of these events, our special someone being gone for 3 months would not go over well. It’s probably the longest span of time you’ll spend not having sex since college. And there’s a very very high chance you’d get lonely, feel abandoned, and go meet a stranger in a hotel room. But that thought never crossed your mind. You didn’t even think about downloading an app to meet someone else. Matthew, even as a glorified pen pal in your phone, is enough for you.

It’s not until after Matthew gets back that something shifts. I don’t know what changed exactly, other than time passed, but suddenly your intimacy will feel disconnected. You won’t feel Matthew participating, and a whole lot of your investment in a relationship hinges on your physical chemistry. But you love him, so you keep going. You keep dating a man who barely touches you. You stay with a guy you never get to make out with. You hold hands on the way to his apartment only to be asked to leave before he goes to bed because he doesn’t like sleeping next to you. You try to talk to him about it, but he blames his body image issues. You don’t really see the connection there, because you don’t mind when he keeps his shirt on or how he has insecurities. You mind that you don’t feel important. You feel like he’s not meeting the bar that he raised on how you should be treated. And you feel like there’s no reaction from him when you beg for some affection.

After a few conversations about this, you’ll be sitting at the edge of his bed crying and begging him to touch you. Not necessarily in a sexual way, you just want to be held or something, anything. But he’ll just sit there and watch you cry. Before you leave that night, you’ll tell him you want to have sex. You deserve to have good sex, and you would love for it to be with him. You don’t mean that night, you’re not pressuring him into anything, but you deserve to feel desired by your special someone. Up until that point I’d been getting him off while feeling ignored. I don’t even remember if he kissed me goodnight that night.

That weekend, Matthew will go out of town for a gig. Just one weekend this time. But since you’ve been having issues with feeling desirable, this time you actually do download an app where you can meet someone. And you do. You meet up with a man who has offered to give you a massage, knowing the massage won’t be rated PG. But I think you think that telling yourself it’s just a massage pads the guilt of making the decision you’re ultimately making. And here’s the brutal truth, it was more than a massage. But I have no idea who that man was. Because I was wishing and imagining it was Matthew the whole time. I was pretending we had never lost our dynamic and we were in sync and he found me beautiful and he wanted to touch me. It wasn’t until my walk home that I finally admitted to myself that what I had just done was cheat on the man I love.

I called my best friend to talk about it and she asked me how I felt. And I said good. I didn’t regret it. I told him I deserved to have good sex, and then I met someone who would make me feel good. I didn’t love the undercurrent of what it all meant, and I probably should have just ended the relationship before it happened, but I didn’t necessarily regret it. I regret how it would make Matthew feel. I regret breaking his trust and his heart all at once when I went to go tell him about it. But as I sat there in his bed holding him while he sobbed into my chest, I realized that I was doing for him what I had been begging him to do for me. I was holding him. I was hurting him, but I was also taking care of him as a result of that pain. And in that moment, I was okay with it ending.

Matthew didn’t forgive me. I never saw him again, except once across a train platform. And while I wish it had ended differently, I don’t really regret what I did. I tried to tell him beforehand, and neither of us were brave enough to know that should have been the end. But what I learned from this is that I don’t really understand the concept of cheating. Maybe it’s just because it hasn’t been done to me, but I really don’t understand the big deal. I understand having boundaries around safety and personal health and whatnot, but I don’t really care if my partner has sex with someone else. And now I’m in an open relationship. Which makes sense for me, because I know that one person doesn’t have to be my everything. If Matthew had been open to the idea of an open relationship, I still don’t think we would have been together forever. But I do think the ending would have been easier for him.

Ultimately Matthew and I were not right for each other. We might have been compatible, but our baggage wasn’t. I like to say we were broken in ways that didn’t fit together. I wish I had seen it sooner instead of shattering his trust in irreparable ways. But at that stage of my life, I would have rather hold onto a dying relationship than admit that it isn’t working. I wish I had the courage to tell him it was over instead of telling him that I had cheated. But in the end, I might regret how it happened, but I don’t regret that it did.

Your Future,

Mae

You think that life is supposed to be hard. You think that struggle is how you show your worth. You think that overcoming is the only way to be. You don’t know that people have the option to just be. You hate the world around you. You hate the struggle and the pain. You hate life, if we’re being honest. You just don’t know that what you’re doing is hating life. You think you’re happy. You think you’re proving yourself.

But I’ve grown up to realize that there are people without the struggle. I learned about how other people live, I learned about other people’s lives and realized that it didn’t always have to be hard. It wasn’t supposed to be hard. But the powers that be make it hard for us. So I buried the idea of overcoming as a means of being, and decided to find a way to just be. I guess in a way that was still overcoming, but I wanted to break free and find an overcoming that could become overcame. I forgot what thinking we’re happy felt like. I forgot about the sense of accomplishment that came from struggle and hustle. I forgot about that way of life, and I started to find my way to actual joy.

I forgive you for who you are in those circumstances. You are doing your best, even when your best doesn’t show up. And in retrospect, I’ve ended up forgiving a lot of people around us. I realized that they, too, were often doing their best. I live now, not in defiance, but on a journey towards joy. I found a way that I can be. Just be. And I’m going to be. I demand to be. I demand joy. I demand freedom. I am finding a quality of life that makes me happy, not a quality of work that helps me prove it.

I dream of this reality, not of this wish. I need this to be true and therefore it will be true. I will find out what happiness actually feels like. I will find joy in this life. I am. I can be. I have joy and fulfillment. Fulfillment! Maybe it’s not joy. Maybe joy is only ever temporary. But fulfillment. Fulfillment feels possible. Fulfillment can be sustainable. And it can be malleable. And it can be imperfect. And it can be good.

You used to think that life was supposed to be hard. But now I know that it can be good.

Your Future,

Mae

I know that you don’t know who I am today is an option for you. But I know you think about me, in a way. I know you consider the possibility of growing up into the woman I’ve become. Growing up trans, we tend to focus a lot on the negatives - the lost opportunities, the things we missed out on. But I want to instead focus on what I consider to be a beautiful symptom of our transition, I’m a millennial woman who loves how she looks.

Now I know this is not something only achieved through transition, and I also know that there are plenty of trans women who are not in the same position as me. I think my confidence and self love come partially from the politics I’ve studied and adapted as an adult. But the other part comes from not being taught to hate my appearance. Well, not the way most women my age were.

Millennials are known for a lot of things, but body image issues are definitely on the list. We grew up in the era of low rise jeans and toothpick beauty standards. A lot of what we saw then is still around today, the beauty industry thrives off of giving people insecurities so that they can turn around and sell them the solution to a problem that wouldn’t have even been there in the first place. But somehow, with the combination of being assumed to be a boy, naturally thin, white, and relatively conventionally attractive, I didn’t internalize much of that messaging.

You’re not growing up with a mother who picks apart your appearance. You didn’t inherit her body image issues. Sure, she will discourage your femininity and that will take some healing. But overall I really think so much of my love for my body and appearance is due to not having been raised as a daughter. As messed up as that even feels to write out, it’s true. I avoided the early childhood insecurities that still haunt so many of my peers.

I don’t know if the gender shame is easier to overcome or if my unlearning of shame was just more effective than it was on other people, but I have grown into an adult that genuinely loves the way I look. I’ve already told you about my joy for my body growing in size. And while I know that I’m not what some people would expect a woman to look like, I love looking like me. I love looking like a trans woman, because I love being a trans woman.

I recently got compared to Jay Leno by a transphobic man who didn’t like me rejecting his advances. (The Jay Leno reference has actually come up multiple times. I think some comedian must have made a joke about trans women that’s getting repeated.) I posted about it, and was met with comments about my defined chin and jawline. These are apparently seen as indicators of masculinity, but I couldn’t care less about them. I often see other trans women talking about their brow ridge or their shoulder width and all of these things that I never considered caring about.

It was then, reading comments about my chin, that I realized how easy it is to brush off comments about my appearance when I genuinely love how I look. So my chin is considered masculine to some people? It’s our chin. Without it we wouldn’t look like us. Oh my nose is too big? It’s actually nearly identical to our mom’s nose. Without it I wouldn’t look like our family. My shoulders are too broad? Then why do my bra straps keep slipping off them?? I know for a lot of people hearing comments like these about themselves can send them into a spiral of self doubt and criticism and hatred. I guess I just consider myself really lucky that I never bought into caring too deeply about it.

I don’t know what exactly made me seemingly immune to the predatory judgmental messaging that targets women’s insecurities. But spending our whole childhood not knowing you’re a girl does come with the benefit of growing up without internalizing those messages.

You get to just be you.

Until you get to just be me.

Your future,

Mae

Seventeen years ago today, (or in four years for you,) I called our brother and told him I was gay. I won’t tell you which one, because at this point he had already told me he was gay and I don’t want to spoil that moment for you. Actually, he asked if I was joking when I called him because it was literally his anniversary with his first boyfriend. We both understood ourselves to be gay on the same day in the same year of High School, and that felt like a wild coincidence. But as you probably already know, me thinking I was gay did not last very long. In fact, looking back over my evolving understanding of my identity, I think “gay” is the label that was around for the shortest amount of time.

Fifteen years ago for me, (or in six years for you,) I told my boyfriend at the time that I was a girl. This didn’t happen in April, not all of our self discoveries lined up in the same day, but around this time. (It was actually just at the tail end of sixteen years ago.) Yes, you’ll have a boyfriend, this isn’t even your first one. While you’re in your first semester of college, you’ll start exploring your gender expression and deciding how you want to present yourself to the world. He’ll notice you start wearing some eyeliner every day and start asking questions about it. So one night in your car, you’ll pull over to drop him at home and tell him that you think you might be a girl. I don’t actually remember the conversation, I don’t think I really knew or understood the word trans at the time. All I remember was that he did not like the idea. I remember him essentially saying no. So I figured if rom coms had taught me anything, it was that this man was supposed to know me better than I know myself, so I figured I was wrong. I figured it wasn’t true. But also, saying I was a girl didn’t quite feel right, so it was easy for him to shut down. And he did, pretty effectively. I didn’t really think about it again for at least a year.

Fourteen years ago for me, (or in seven years for you,) I was taking a class on Philosophical Issues of Race and Gender where I had to read some of Judith Butler’s work. I read writings about gender and how diverse and unlimited our bodies are. I read about how the two category system of gender we’ve been taught is not actually as cut and dry as we make it out to me. I read about women with high testosterone levels and men with breasts. And something in me burst open. I went down a rabbit hole on Tumblr (Oh, you’ll love Tumblr.) where I found people who were using all kinds of words and language I had never heard before to talk about their genders. This is when I started identifying as genderqueer. (This time the realization actually was right around April again!) I started using she/her pronouns with people who knew enough to ask. At the time genderqueer was kind of the umbrella that I now think of as non-binary. But for years I oscillated between different identities within these categories. Genderqueer, agender, genderless, non-binary…

Twelve years ago for me, (or in nine years for you,) I changed our name to Maybe. I had been using the name for a couple of years, but there was a popular song at the time titled “Call Me Maybe,“ so I waited for the cultural phenomenon to die down a little. I ended up having the name changed legally at the tail end of the year I graduated college. Jumping into the real world with a new name. With the new name also came a new set of pronouns, and I started using they/them. I wanted very little to do with gender and tried to rid myself of any gender specific references. And that felt freeing for a while, until I started to feel like it was actually limiting me.

Seven years ago for me, (or in fourteen years for you,) Dad slipped up at a family gathering and called me she. And I had this weird feeling - this right feeling? - that he wasn’t making a mistake. That’s when I started to think of myself as a woman (again). I think the girl I told that boyfriend about was part of me the whole time, I just needed to go on my own journey to understand her. But after years of explaining myself to not have a gender and coaching people on how to use singular they pronouns, it felt even more intimidating and scary to disclose a whole other gender. So I started small. I asked a few close friends, mostly other trans women, to start using she/her pronouns and shorten Maybe to Mae. I had been feeling a missing link in my connection with other trans women, because I had essentially been telling them that I was not one of them. They were affirming the identity I had told to them, but it wasn’t fully accurate. It was in these conversations and through this sisterhood that I learned the real truth behind my identity. Though I love the idea of not having a gender, I do have one. The more I spent with myself and my thoughts, (six years ago I got a lot of that time,) the more I realized being a woman was not this big scary commitment I needed to live up to, but rather a description of who I’ve been this whole time.

Five years ago for me, (or in sixteen years for you,) I started calling myself a demiwoman, and started going by they/she pronouns. I was still very attached to my non-binary identity, and wanted to use a term that encapsulated all of my complexities. I see my gender as being rooted partially in being a woman and partially in being non-binary, so demiwoman felt like the right way to describe that. But, for me, the labels I’ve used over the years were often about communication. They were more about getting people to understand where my identity fell more than they were descriptive of my whole identity. Because at the end of the day, we don’t have the words that will fully encapsulate my relationship to gender. That is unspoken. That is a feeling, a thought, and experience. And that experience can be just for me.

Four years ago for me, (or in seventeen years for you,) I started my medical transition. This is something I had gone back and forth on for the decade prior. I had spent a lot of time explaining to people why that wasn’t the right option for me, and debating with myself whether or not the effects were going to be beneficial to me. But I ultimately decided that I owed it to myself to try and see what was possible. A lot of the things I wasn’t sure about immediately became very clear and certain. I don’t wish I had started earlier, I actually think my slow and gradual timeline was perfect for me. But I often wonder how things would be different if I made this decision earlier.

Three years ago for me, (or in eighteen years for you,) I stopped trying to explain my fullness to everyone. I just call myself a woman now. I just go by she/her pronouns now. That’s not because I no longer identify as non-binary, but because it’s no longer as important to me that people know that I am. I would rather people know me as a woman and not understand that I’m also non-binary than have people know me as non-binary and not understand that I’m also a woman. The funny thing is, barely anyone in my life questioned it. I was hesitant to have to disclose a new identity after all the work it took to explain myself as non-binary. But what I didn’t consider is that all of the work I did to explain identities to people helped them understand that identities shift and change over time. So most people just saw me talking about myself as a woman and followed suit. I didn’t really have to explain myself over again. I don’t think I was expecting any pushback, but I was surprised at the relief that came with it.

This is a story of identity, not the story of our life. We are so much more than these identities, but these identities have brought us so much in life. There is so much joy and community and wonder that has come from being trans, and I honestly don’t know if I would be the woman I am today without this lineage of identities as part of my journey. I love being trans. I love being queer. I love being Maybe.

I love being us.

Your future,

Mae

I went to HersheyPark last week. Well, I went to Chocolate World, the park wasn’t open on weekdays yet. Being there always floods me with memories of you and joy and childhood. I would be lying if I didn’t tell you I got emotional and cried on my way back to the hotel. But I promise they were tears of happiness. Tears of growth. Tears of beauty.

You go to Hershey pretty regularly with our family. I have so many memories from then, from the year I was finally tall enough to ride all the rides, the ring we got made with your name on it that I wore well after changing to my name, and several memories you don’t even know are coming for you. So I was sitting at Hershey Social after work the night I got there (That’s a new restaurant where you have a Houlian’s) reminiscing on all my memories in a place that looks quite different from when I was you. And that’s when I realized how much I’d grown up. Not only was I on a work trip to what is arguably my favorite place in the world and getting to work in the Hershey Theatre with the national tour of the Broadway show I consult on is an incredible sentence I wouldn’t have even known I could string together four years ago. But I also remembered a life-altering moment you’ll have in Hershey the summer before college.

As you get older, I’m not sure it’s happening yet, you and the older cousins will split off from our parents, aunts, uncles, and younger cousins when we get to the park. Mostly because there are different areas of the park for different ages. (and heights!) You’ll always start with Chaos as a warmup to the bigger roller coasters, which works because you are actually terrified of roller coasters. You know, it happens all the time. You’ll wait in the long line, dad will come with you. You’ll get up to your turn, you’ll sit in the seats. Dad will ask if you’re ready, and you’ll turn to him with tears in your eyes. He’ll unbuckle you, you’ll go out the exit and wait for your brothers while they actually ride the roller coaster. (Years later you’ll realize how annoying and/or disappointing this must be for dad, we basically wait around all day to ride none of the big coasters.)

But for some reason this year, dad wasn’t with us. So when we got off Chaos and they decided to go straight for the Great Bear, our heart sank a little. One of our brothers knew we’d be scared, so he told me to wait by the exit for them, like we used to do with dad. But that idea sounded scarier. I was juggling two major fears, and had to choose one to confront. Because while I didn’t know if I was ready to ride the big roller coaster, I was also not ready to confront my very real fear of being alone in public. At least not in such an unpredictable place as an amusement park. So I let my social anxiety win, and I rode the Great Bear. And I LOVED IT. I had so much fun, and never thought twice about getting on the big roller coaster again. I look back at that trip a lot, reminding me how important it can be to leave my comfort zone and tackle the big and scary.

Reminiscing on that summer, it then hit me that I was sitting eating dinner alone in Hershey. The restaurant I had initially planned to go to was closed so I thought I would just grab some take out at the Red Robin and bring it back to my hotel. But I decided instead that I owed it to myself to try a new place (apparently Hershey Social literally opened last month) and enjoy my night in the sweetest place on Earth. I wasn’t even cognizantly trying to reclaim my fear of being alone in public. I mean, in general I don’t love to spend too much time alone in public in the middle of Pennsylvania for safety reasons. But I figured one meal would be worth it. And it was. I was proud of myself for conquering the fear that helped me conquer the other fear.

The next morning I woke up and took myself to Chocolate World on a solo trip to stock up on some Hershey’s Kisses merch. Back in 2019, I went to the park for the first time in four years to discover they were doing construction and redesigns. The characters had been re-drawn, and specifically the Hershey’s Kiss was looking notably different. The Kiss was always our character, as they youngest of three we related to the shortest of the three main candies in the park. You know the character to be the standard kiss in silver wrapping, with arms going into white gloves and legs going into blue converse. But now, with this redesign, suddenly the Hershey’s Kiss was in pink heels. She has blush on. She has eyelashes. All of the cartoon indicators of femininity that weren’t there before. Cut to me crying in the park in 2019 realizing the character I grew up identifying with transitioned alongside me.

So now every time I go to Hershey, I stop into Chocolate World and get me some Kisses merch. Because I like to keep pieces of our childhood close to me. That’s why I write you these letters. I’m an incredibly nostalgic person. But sitting at the Hershey Social last week, I realized how important it is for me to embrace nostalgia as a trans woman. The expectation is often for trans people to distance ourselves from our pasts. But when I visit Hershey or listen to musicals you’re performing in, or tell stories from our past and your future, I am celebrating all of the mes we have been and you will become. I am reclaiming my childhood, and affirming that you are a part of me and I have always been the biggest and loudest part of you. I don’t want to push away our childhood. I don’t want to let go of the beautiful life I have lived. I deserve every joy, every memory, and every life lesson we have been lucky enough to experience.

I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to hide away. I don’t want to let fear stop me from doing the things I love. I want to let love stop me from fearing the things that I do.

Trust me. It’s much better this way.

Your Future,

Maybz

Growing up like we did, you’ll hear a lot of people say, “You shouldn’t care what people think.“ I know those people think it’s good advice, I know they’re parroting advice they’ve heard for other people who have been bullied and othered. But I don’t actually think that is good advice. In fact, looking back on my childhood, I fear that advice being repeated to us at a young age ended up damaging a lot of our social and interpersonal skills.

Constantly being told not to care what other people think quickly evolved into me not caring about other people, or trying to convince myself that I could get by alone. This made me bad at, but also pretty uninterested in, maintaining a lot of the relationships in my life. To this day, I can quickly go from a minor inconvenience to convincing myself I should cut off all ties and stop talking to anyone because I’d be better off on my own. I now know that is just a pattern of thought I’ve learned, and I don’t actually believe it anymore. But there’s an obvious track record in our life of cutting people out and moving on. You’re about to do your first big one. Spoiler alert, but the summer between 8th and 9th grade, you’ll stop talking to your core friend group and start High School with basically no one in your corner. Then every year of High School you’ll basically befriend whoever hold the most social capital in your circles, usually the seniors in Drama Club. So by the time you’re a senior, you’ll actually not even be in the Spring musical, but choreographing it and hanging out with the teachers.

When you go to college, we ended up going to three different schools in four years, so I barely have any lasting friendships from that time. And then right out of college, early in our transition, we start to cut out members of our family. You won’t talk to one of our brothers for 2 years. Your relationship with Dad’s sisters will never look the same. Essentially, every year or so our social life and circles look completely different. And I don’t know if it’s a positive or negative, or some neutral factor that’s just a truth about our life. Because, especially as we transition, understanding how and what other people think about us is also a means of safety and survival.

We need to care what people think, because if we don’t they can hurt us. We need to become aware of how people respond to us. I have become very good at detecting from mere glances what somebody thinks about me. I think of it as a superpower now, getting on a train and detecting stares, categorizing them by attraction, repulsion, violence, and/or apathy. Does this guy want to sleep with me or kill me? Or both? I have to care about what he thinks, unfortunately, because I need to be on alert when he starts following me to my car.

So yes, we can care what people think about us. What we can’t do is let that perception become our perception. We can’t let what other people think about us become what we think about ourselves. We can’t agree with someone’s biased or uneducated opinions about who we are. We have to know who we are. We have to have the audacity to stay true to that self, without judgement or shame. And, I’ve learned, we can choose whose opinions we listen to. I don’t care about what some random person who’s in my life for 20 minutes thinks about me or my life or my decisions. But I will call my best friend for a reality check from time to time. Because I trust her judgement and I know she’s on our team. I know she wants the best for me, and I pride myself on being a person she respects. But that’s because I respect her back and value her input on my life. I take into account what she thinks about me, because she is a person who knows me well enough for it to matter.

I’ve stopped seeking the approval of people whose opinions I don’t care about. I’ve freed myself from the constraints of appeasing people who I don’t value opinions from. I know there are many people in your life growing up who think wildly different of me today than they did of you. And that’s okay, because I also look at them very differently. And I’ve let go of wanting to repair any of those relationships. Because at the end of the day, they were conditional on me being palatable for them. And I refuse to dull my shine for the comfort of anyone else.

I still care what people think about me. I think it’s pretty irrational to pretend like I won’t. But I don’t let what other people think about me define who I am. That’s for me.

Your Future,

Mae

I’m very visible. Not just like.. physically, though I do put myself out in public (or the internet) every day. You do it too, we’ve been on stages since the 4th grade. Audiences are second nature for us. But as you grow into the woman I am today, that visibility starts to mean something different. And as a trans woman, we literally have a day to acknowledge it.

This day, Transgender Day of Visibility, was started by Rachel Crandall, the head of an organization called Transgender Michigan. The first TDOV was our senior year of high school. (By the end of that year, you’ll tell your boyfriend you’re a girl for the first time.) This day was intended to be a distraction from the overwhelming majority of media stories about transgender people being focused on violence. It is a day to celebrate the lives of trans people, before they are taken from us.

Without visibility, I don’t exist in the ways that I do today. But I’m not talking about my own visibility, I’m talking about the people I’ve been able to see. If I didn’t have the mentors and mothers and role models to look up to, I don’t think I would have been able to transition. If I didn’t take a class on Philosophical Issues of Race and Gender in college that had me read Judith Butler and think about gender beyond a binary, I never would have had the understanding to embrace my fullest self. I am the result of so much visibility, so much love and community, so much education and diversity. I am the product of a community that taught me what it meant to listen to my gut and follow my heart.

There’s a quote from a trans man named Tiq Milan that I think about all the time. He said, “The more we are seen, the more we are violated.” And every year since I first heard that it becomes more and more clear. Rising conversations around trans and non-binary communities are wonderful. I wouldn’t be where I am without them. But the more people know how to talk about us, the more language and tools they have to attack us with. Alongside this gradual increase of representation, we also have this increase in public displays of attacks against us. We see that in legislation, we see that in schools, in sports, and entertainment. While we are seeing rising visibility and representation for trans and non-binary folks, we are also hearing story after story that directly harms our communities.

Visibility can be a gift. It has brought me many joys, and taught me incredible lessons. But visibility is also a responsibility. And visibility can be dangerous. It’s sometimes hard for me to find the joy and strength in visibility when there are constantly very visible attacks against people like me. Physical attacks, legislative attacks, life altering attacks, life ending attacks. Visibility can be life saving. I know that first-hand. But visibility in a community without accountability can be dangerous. And sometimes all I can think about is how much we have left. How years of growing visibility have led us to this point and how we have to face repercussions for that visibility.

But we can’t let the visibility go away. We can’t go away. Trans people aren’t hurting anyone. But a lot of people want to hurt us. Trans people, especially Black trans women, are responsible for some much of the good we have in this world. So much culture, so much art, so much innovation. This world would not be the same without trans people. Because trans people are everywhere. And we’re everything.

Your future,

Mae

I don’t know why I’ve been gaining weight. You’ve always been incredibly thin, and that will last you well into your 20s. I remember for the longest time as a teenager and young adult, I had a goal weight of 150 pounds. I would try to build muscle, I would try to eat differently, but our body had a fast metabolism, we were constantly moving our body, and it felt like we were naturally going to remain stick thin. But slowly, as I stopped dancing and left New York City and redistributed our sex hormones and turned 30 and bought a car, I surpassed that 150 pounds. By a lot. I don’t think we can attribute the weight gain to one specific factor, but I think it was a combination of those things all happening over the course of a few years.

Adjusting to our body growing wasn’t as easy as I’d like to make it sound. Some clothes fit me better now and I love to look at myself in the mirror and I love the way my body feels. But some clothes I really loved have torn or become unwearable. Sometimes I look in the mirror and suck in my stomach. I didn’t feel desirable or sexy for a while with my belly out. I clocked pretty early on that the negative self image was only coming from external pressure. Though you’re not growing up fat, we grew up in a society that is incredibly fatphobic. So I had a lot of assumptions and hesitations about how people would view me in a bigger body. It wasn’t that I didn’t like how I looked, it was that I knew other people might not like it as much as when I was thin. I would look at myself in the mirror and feel the confidence, the joy, the love, but I would think about sharing myself with another person and all of a sudden I had all of these insecurities that I had never experienced before.

I wish I could tell you that all of the work I did on myself overcame those insecurities. But the truth is I fell in love with a man who never once made me question the way that I looked. I am loved so fully by a man who I believe would continue to love me no matter how my physical form shifted. Not that he loves me in spite of my body, but he loves me and my body so fully there is no stopping it. Never once with him have I thought to suck in my stomach or hold my body at a more flattering angle. Those kinds of thoughts don’t even exist when we’re together. The me that was looking in the mirror with confidence and joy and love is the me that he gets. And the me that has those insecurities fades to the background.

I think I owe a lot of my confidence and joy in my body to the countless fat activists and body neutrality advocates I’ve learned from over the years. I started learning from these people in an allyship capacity, not knowing that I would one day be joining that community. But I genuinely believe that without their wisdom and guidance I would not be able to cut through the societal fatphobia to experience joy in my body growing. And I know there are people who wouldn’t necessarily categorize me as plus size. I know there are people who still think of fat as a bad thing. I know that I’m what some people consider mid size or a cheeky term I love called small fat. But there is something liberating for me to be using any of these terms to describe myself. And I think there’s something radical about wanting to be fat in a world that wants to keep us as small as possible.

Fatphobia never went away, but in my 20s it was definitely a little more subtle. Growing up in the 90s and early 2000s, stick thin was in. But in the 2010s, people started to appreciate a butt. People started to embrace curves and thickness and difference. But, seemingly as my body grew bigger, fatphobic messaging grew louder and more direct. Weight loss commercials, shots you can take to curb your appetite, celebrities losing weight at scary rates. Suddenly, thin was back in. And as much as I hate to admit it, I looked into weight loss options. I never acted on them, and told myself it was mostly because I didn’t want to have to buy new clothes. But I considered a happy medium, probably just above that 150 goal you’ll soon have, where I could have the benefits of some curves and remain straight size (able to find clothes my size in most clothing stores).

But the reality is, I don’t care that much. Sure, when a commercial is doing it’s job I think about it, but I don’t typically let my weight or my size consume my daily thoughts. I keep referencing that 150 pounds, but I actually don’t know the number of how much I weigh right now. I am able to live my full, happy life in a body that is this size. I do not long for any version of my life when I was thinner. I don’t believe that anything in my life was taken from me because I got fatter. I don’t think I’m missing any opportunities, I don’t long for the way I used to look, and I don’t want much about my life right now to change. I just live in a world that tries to convince me that skinny is a goal.

My main goal is joy. My goal is fulfillment. My goal is living my best life with no regard to the people who want me to change. My goals can be met while my clothing is plus size. My goals are being met regardless of my size. My goals can grow with my tummy.

Your future,

Mae

You are growing up in a very thin body. You are constantly hearing jokes about your small size, being tossed around in dance numbers on stage, and dreaming of a bigger body. I don’t actually know how much of that is linked to gender and how much is just true for your body regardless, but I’m happy to report that bigger body has come, and I’m living in it.

As you grow up, you’ll try to get your body bigger. We could eat all day long and never gain weight, but we would focus on lifting weights to try to become big and strong. I also tried to bike for a long time, trying to grow thicker legs. This all resulted in pretty toned and defined arms and legs, but never really amounted to any growth. We were always dancing, always moving, always working on something that kept our life fast-paced, and we would be burning so much energy with such a fast metabolism, we just stayed skinny. It wasn’t until I stopped performing in musicals as much that our body started to shift a bit, but we were still notably thin for a long time.

Then, as I was approaching 30 years old, I made the decision to go on hormones, to switch our dominant hormone from the testosterone you’re about to experience to the estrogen I am currently enjoying. The decision came for so many reasons that weren’t even physical, and if I’m being honest I was actually nervous for a lot of the physical changes. I wasn’t sure if I’d want boobs, though I knew it would come with some weight gain. For years I debated starting this treatment, but as much as I wanted to experience a bigger body, I also had grown comfortable with the body I was in. I knew how it worked, I knew what it could get me (professionally and intimately), and I knew how to decorate it. That big of a change at 30 felt intimidating. Ultimately I realized I was going to the gym with a distinct goal of making my chest and hips bigger. Then one day it clicked and I thought, “oh sweetie, there’s pills for that.“

I started HRT (hormone replacement therapy) three months before I turned 30. Slowly and gradually, the emotional and mental shifts I wanted to experience happened. Along with them came weight gain, also slow and gradual, along with fat redistribution and yes, boobs. I now laugh at the fact that I hesitated on wanting boobs because they have become my favorite thing on my body. They have their own life and personalities, but we get along just fine. My legs have also widened and my hips have followed suit. With all of this has come a bigger belly, and my arms have widened with the rest of me.

This has come to mean that a lot of the clothes I used to wear don’t fit anymore, though some things fit better. I overall enjoy dressing myself more now, with the new shape my body has taken, though I won’t pretend I don’t get frustrated when I won’t fit into something, especially if it’s a piece I used to love. Of course I am still falling pressure to the standards society has set out, but I have done enough work on myself and learning in the world to love the body I’m in outside of external validation and pressure. I know that back in my twink days I was seen as much more desirable, especially as an actor I was working more, and as a human being I was being pursued. But now, with my belly, my boobs, my hips, and my fullness, I am still being pursued. I am still desirable, though to different people. I have had to relearn how to feel sexy and confident in my body this way, but it has happened. I have loved my body through it all.

A few years ago, I bought a skirt that I really wanted. It was a design I really liked, but when I got home from the thrift store I realized it was a little big on me. It was a plus size skirt, and probably the first plus size I had ever owned. It worked when I tucked a sweater into it, and since I thrifted it I figured I could sew some elastic in to help it fit otherwise. But here’s the thing about my ADHD brain, I never got around to the alterations. I forgot about it, almost completely.

Recently, I was going through my closet and getting rid of clothes that didn’t fit anymore. In that process, I found the skirt again. When I put it on, it fit. No elastic needed, no sweater tucked in. I was a plus size. A few weeks later, I went shopping before a beach vacation. I didn’t have any shorts that fit me. I was looking in the juniors section, but everything I held up felt risky. I made my way over to the plus size section, and the first pair I picked up fit. I was almost giddy in the store. I know this is not the expected reaction, or what most people’s reactions would be, but I was genuinely excited to buy a plus size piece of clothing.

I know there are people who will look at me now who knew us when we were young and think that I’ve “let myself go.” And honestly I find it ironic, because if anything I gained weight intentionally and being skinny was me letting myself be. I also know there are people who will look at me and think I’m still relatively thin, or straight size. I know that how a clothing store labels their clothes doesn’t determine my identity. But recently I got to do a reading of a play where I was playing a character who had also gained weight. I got to stand on a stage and say things like “I got fat,“ and “I love my tummy.“ And I don’t know why, but something about it felt like home. It was my first time really referring to my body as fat, and I loved doing it. And I do love my belly. I love my chins. I love my size and my growth and my silhouette and my whole self.

Your future,
Mae

When you are fourteen years old you will meet a man who is twenty-three. That man will pick you up in his car late at night and drive you around. You will sneak out of the back door of the basement so no one sees. He will drive around for however long he wants before he makes his move. He will put his hand on your knee, your other hand still steering the car. For years since anytime somebody touched my knee, I felt his hand. That feeling will go away, I promise you. But he will never see a day in prison.

As you drive, his hand will creep up your thigh, into your shorts. You’ll usually be wearing loose fit shorts. The conversation will fall silent by this point. You won’t talk about anything. We didn’t talk about what was happening. He never asked me if I wanted him touching me. But he will never see a day in prison.

This happened to me for a long time. Too long. With too many people. I was well aware that I was not the only kid he was doing this to. He would send me naked pictures of kids I was friends with. Pictures I now refer to as child pornography. These would sometimes be pictures they sent to him, but often were stolen. He told me he would send himself pictures from their phones when they weren’t looking, or take pictures of them in dressing rooms. He once sent me a picture of my friend sleeping in a hospital bed because he thought he looked “hot” without his shirt on. He would tell me about picking kids up from school or finding an empty parking lot late at night. He would drive around with them the same way he will do with you. Getting them to trust him. Getting to touch them. He had a network of young people who were craving attention and he normalized the idea of using our bodies for his own pleasure. But he will never see a day in prison.

On your 18th birthday you’ll tell yourself it’s over, that you’re now too old for him. You’ll be wrong. By my 20th birthday I figured I was an adult so I wouldn’t have to deal with a pedophile anymore. But I was addicted. Every time I got lonely, or sad, or experienced any heightened emotion, my body knew he would be there. I started resembling what could have been mistaken for consent. I would reach out to him, I would initiate conversations. But that’s what he conditioned me to do. His calculated moves made sure he was the one I called when I was lonely. But he will never see a day in prison.

Eventually, I broke the cycle. I would leave him waiting outside when he came to pick me up so he’d get mad. I would cancel on him until he lost interest, so I couldn’t turn to him anymore. Years later, when he was probably about 30, I found out he went on a cruise with a kid who had just graduated from High School. A recent High School graduate might not legally be a minor, but how long was this going on? How long did he manipulate him before getting him to go on a cruise together? How long was it before they started calling each other “Bubby”? I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I hadn’t realized that just because I outgrew him, that didn’t mean he outgrew this sickness he has. He is a pedophile. But he will never see a day in prison.

So I decided to speak up. Something I had always put off doing, as many victims of sexual assault do. I was constantly belittling my experience, telling myself it wasn’t that big of a deal, buying into the lies so much of the world tells us about our bodies and sex. But knowing it was happening to other people, knowing it was still happening, I couldn’t stay silent anymore. I reported what he had done to me. I told the police the things he did to me when I was a minor, and how many other kids he took advantage of. I had to go through everything, how we met, how I snuck out at night, how he touched me, where he put his mouth. I had to re-live everything I spent years trying to forget. But he will never see a day in prison.

The next day, the detective working on the case had me call him. Apparently, that’s the typical next step they take. Have me try to get him to confess. They recorded the conversation. I was instructed to say his name, get him to say my name, talk about how he touched me, and have him acknowledge that he knew I was underage. Bonus points if we talked about someone else, too. I was verbally manipulating the man who sexually manipulated me for years. I thought I was going to vomit. Vomiting used to be one of my biggest fears, but, of course, I had never considered the option of having a phone conversation with the man who used to rape me while sitting across from a detective I had just met. But he will never see a day in prison.

They arrested him a full two months later. He made bail that same night. He only spent a few hours behind bars. The police have two written confessions from him and a recording of the phone call where he told me, “I was aware that you were underage and I took advantage of you and others.” But he will never see a day in prison.

I had to testify in front of the Grand Jury. When I walked in, four men laughed. I’m still not sure if it was at the way I looked or just at the fact that I was abused as a child. One man didn’t stop laughing the whole time I was there.

They swear me in.

They laugh.

I am asked the standard questions. I recount my sexual trauma.

They laugh.

“He put his hand down the back of my pants.”

Laugh.

“He put his mouth on my penis.”

Laugh.

“He made me feel like I was special.”

Laugh.

But he will never see a day in prison.

When I decided to report him, I knew I was one of at least six people he had done this to. My count has since doubled; I’m sure there are more. More innocence he’s stolen. More lonely kids he’s made feel special for his own benefit. Only one other person felt comfortable coming forward with me. The rest are either still in denial, scared of the stigma of being a victim, or trying to get on with their lives and forget he ever happened to them. I respect their choices, and I know now why so many people don’t report or follow through on reporting sexual assault. The process is long, emotional, and incredibly personal. My sex life was under a microscope. I was asked questions I never would have even thought were relevant. My body and my choices became mere pieces of information and topics of discussion. But he will never see a day in prison.

They offered him a plea deal with no jail time. They offered him, a man who has raped more people than I can count on both hands, the chance to get off without going to prison. This, I’m sure, can be credited mainly to his whiteness. As a white man, his actions, even when proved to have a pattern, are seen as mistakes. People are so ready to defend the reputation of white men in this country, discounting the lives they have ruined or severely impacted even when they have three official confessions on record. He confessed to things I didn’t even mention, proving that all of this and more really happened, and they still offered him the smallest possible punishment. Level One Sex Offender and ten years probation. But he will never see a day in prison.

He got thirty people to write letters on his behalf, promising that he is a good guy. We call them “good guy” letters. They prove nothing besides the fact that he’s a charming, nice person who could easily get kids to trust him. The people he chose to write these letters clearly need a lesson on what consent looks like. Sexual assault is not always forceful or violent. Coercion is a form of assault. The worst part is, nine of the letters were written by people I know. Three of them were people I once considered friends. When their letters were read to me, it was apparent that they did not think what he did was wrong. And when the court sentenced you without jail time, it was clear that they didn’t either, even though he ruined the innocence of at least one dozen children in my life. But he will never see a day in prison.

I don’t even know if I necessarily want him to go to prison. I grapple with how flawed our prison system is and how he won’t get what he really needs there. However, letting him go with such a small slap on the wrist is simply unfair. It is telling all of the people he hurt that their pain doesn’t matter. It is telling him that his actions don’t have significant consequences. It is perpetuating the myth that sexual assault, even when proven to have a pattern, is not a big deal. Again, this decision is severely impacted by his being a white man, and I’m sure aided by our being queer. People are still so quick to belittle sexual assault, even more so when the victims are not cis women. With the over-sexualization of queer men and trans people in our culture, consent is assumed to be a given in most situations. People are still being influenced by the misconception that an erection is consent. No matter what external factors there were, I could have showed up to his house naked and begging him to touch me, but I was still underage. It was still wrong. It was still illegal. But he will never see a day in prison.

Ten years ago I had to call my father to explain to him how I was raped. I’ve had to explain it to my mother, my brothers, friends, countless partners I’ve ever tried to have sex with, a detective for special victims, three Assistant District Attorneys, a woman they call my “Victim Advocate”, and a room of roughly 30 people known as the Grand Jury.

But he will never see a day in prison.

It might be obvious to other people, but it took me a while to understand the stories we were told as a kid were all written by different people. I understood that books had authors, I understood that writing was a thing we did in English class, but I didn’t always realize that the TV shows and movies and musicals we were watching were written by different people. It wasn’t until surprisingly late in life when I actually understood that people were writing the musicals that you’re growing up performing in, and that “Broadway“ wasn’t just creating them.

As you grow into me, this gap in your knowledge will be funny because I now am a writer, and I have even written plays. I have been on TV, I have met the people who are writing and creating these stories. But furthermore, I have come to understand the value in knowing who a story is being told by. Knowing where our information is coming from, knowing who is telling the narrative you’re hearing, is just as important as the actual information. Because as we’ve seen throughout history and is very clearly true today, who’s telling the story can change what story is being told.

As you grow up and start to understand the world, there will be moments in musicals you’re performing in that give you pause. You’ll think things like “is it really okay to say that?“ or question if a certain story line is appropriate. And unfortunately, while you’re still young, you’ll also think things like “well it’s on Broadway, so it has to be good.“ But now as an adult I have an understanding that just being produced, be it on Broadway, by Hollywood, or even published in print, doesn’t make something morally good or okay. In fact, whatever is profitable and/or backed by money is going to get made. So you’re right to be questioning certain narratives as a young kid. But your trust in these institutions will break down over time.

But the real worry I have is about who is funding - who is owning and producing - the media we are consuming. The individual writers and people working directly on a project are unfortunately only a piece of the puzzle. Knowing who is footing the bill, knowing who is at the head of the table, knowing who makes final decisions is key. And when you look at the current state of media in our modern world, it’s surprisingly few people at the top.

Just recently, the most popular social media app in the world was forced to sell shares to American investors. Now, in the United States, the app is controlled by an American company. The company that is now in charge, Oracle, was co-founded and largely run by Larry Ellison. He and his son’s company Skydance also recently acquired CBS & Paramount, and made a recent bid for WB, HBO, and CNN. And that’s just one family. One guy and his son taking over quite a large amount of our media consumption. And of course, as many billionaires of that status do, they have conservative ties with government leaders including the current President.

This is just one example of a billionaire family buying up and controlling media. When you look into who owns newspapers, TV stations, streaming services, you end up with a handful of elites who put profit before their product. And when you know that certain people are in charge of the narrative, you start to question the news and stories you’re being told.

We SHOULD question where our information is coming from. We should think about who decided what you are being taught in school. We should consider who wrote the History textbook you’re learning from. We should question what information they don’t want us to know, and what truths they want to keep us from understanding. We should, in fact, be questioning and verifying all the information we’re given. We should be staying aware and prioritizing truth over convenience. Because we can’t trust the people in charge to have our best interests at heart. We have to do that for ourselves. Whenever we have the chance, we have to tell our own stories and hear first hand from the people who don’t have the buying power to control the media. That’s how we keep the truth and our stories alive.

Your Future,

Mae

You’ve got anger issues. I never really understood where it all came from or how it all went away. I assumed it had something to do with our gender, as that’s the biggest change that has happened between you and me. And while that certainly is a likely component, there’s things I’ve learned about our brain that can fill in the gaps of that explanation.

I realized a few years ago that there is one specific brand of media that will, without fail, make me sob every time. I was watching a TV show that had an (admittedly stereotypical and less than ideal representation of an) autistic character, and I was uncontrollably sobbing during just about every episode. I remembered a book I had read and other shows I had seen with autistic characters and realized this was a recurring trend for me. Remembering all of those moments made me I realize: I was crying so much because I saw a lot of myself reflected in these characters.

That realization was five years ago. And I’ve spent those five years learning all about autism and neurodivergence and all of the ways they line up with our experiences. Luckily I have access to an internet that is much more full of information than yours. Through social media I’ve been able to hear first-hand accounts from people all across the autism spectrum. I’ve learned about the ADHD you probably should have been diagnosed with. And so many things about our life started to make so much more sense.

Reading and learning about neurodivergence had the same impact as the other media I was consuming, I cried a lot.

But this time it felt like I was cracking open. This time I was aware that I was reading about myself. And now I’m comfortable claiming it as a part of who I am.

There are plenty of indicators of our neurodivergence I can point to. And honestly, for a while I was concerned I was just latching onto an identity and trying to make it mine. Some people can hear a list of autistic traits and think “oh that’s kind of like me“ and think that makes them autistic, but that’s not always true. What really solidified the identity for me was seeing how much acknowledging my relationship to autism actually HELPED me in my daily life. Not just hearing other people’s experiences and relating to them, but also trying out their suggestions and having them improve my life. The way I’ve designed my living spaces to combat my struggles with object permanence, the plot journaling I’ve started doing to remember tasks, there have been simple shifts that have made my life much easier. But there’s also the letting go of certain structures or expectations in order to let myself live comfortably. Decisions can be hard for me to make, so it’s okay for me to eat out at the same restaurant multiple times a week. Tasks like cleaning and laundry can be overwhelming and overstimulating, so it’s okay for me to ask for help.

I recently bought some earplugs on a whim. I had used earplugs before in rare circumstances but they never fit my ears or worked quite right. I found a pair designed not to completely block out sound, but to reduce background noise. I had seen some friends use them and saw them frequently online. One day, I was going out with my boyfriend and told him I was going to try them out. Since I didn’t know how much I’d be able to hear with them on, I figured it would be safer to try them out with someone I trusted. We were on a train when I put them in and I immediately got emotional. It was incredible. I felt an instant calm. I could have cried. I hadn’t realized how overstimulating a lot of the noises I was always hearing were until they were gone. (Or mostly muffled.) We were out that night in big crowds and around a bunch of people. Crowds usually make me nervous in general and I really don’t like being surrounded by people like that. I never considered that a simple earplug would help. I wasn’t totally at ease, people are still people, but wow was I far more relaxed than I’d ever been in a crowd. Now I rotate those and my over-the-head earphones. The earplugs are more discreet when I am in situations where I don’t want to answer questions about them or draw attention to the fact that I’m blocking out noise.

These accommodations have helped me cope with a lot of things I didn’t realize were impacting me. But there are also accommodations I didn’t realize I was already implementing. We don’t always respond well when our plans are broken. We are very quick to beat ourselves up when we mess up an easy task or we’re not properly executing a project. But especially when someone has told us something is going to happen, we feel a panic in our body if that plan changes. As a kid, you’re often seen as spoiled or entitled for this, it’s seen as you not getting your way. But in reality, we take a long time to mentally prepare for just about every situation we’re in. We play through all the possible scenarios. I like to do trial runs to locations I’ve never visited before when possible. If not, I’ll look for pictures online or get there early to understand how the entrance works and things like that. Before holidays and other gatherings I’ll try to get a guest list or an idea of who I’ll know when I’m there. I ask about food menus and other details in advance. I like to know the plan, and I like to be prepared. When that plan is broken, sometimes it’s fine. But sometimes, especially if I’m already stressed or overstimulated, that can really ruin my day.

I’ve talked to you about growing up and not feeling like you fit in. You know that you struggle to make or keep friends, and that never goes away. You spend a lot of your life really frustrated and confused, I’m not surprised at how angry you get. But it’s more than that. Today I know that if I am going to a big social gathering or spending multiple days in a row around people, I need to factor in a buffer day afterwards for me to refill my social battery. I used to think this was just a thing that shifted as I got older, but then I started to consider how little control you have over social interaction. You don’t really get to be independent. You’re constant in highly social environments, in school, in theaters, you barely ever get a buffer day. And then I think about all of the ways you’re not afforded control of your circumstances, and all of your anger issues start to make sense. See, I don’t live with the anger you do. But transitioning didn’t solve that anger. Transitioning was just one of the many things I did once I gained my independence as an adult. Being able to have control of my life and situations I’m in made it easier for me to live without having meltdowns.

Honestly, ADHD and autism share a lot of traits. And many people live with both. But the more I’ve learned about neurodivergence as a whole, the more I felt like it was describing me. Learning about the range that exists also confirmed for me that it doesn’t matter to me exactly where I fall in that category. But if learning that my brain is not neurotypical has changed my life for the better, that’s all I need to know.

Your future,

Mae

I’m sitting in Bryant Park eating lunch. It’s November, and the Holiday shops are already all set up, so there are a lot of people bustling around and someone around every corner. It’s crowded, but not uncomfortably so. That is until I’m sitting eating my salad and feel someone standing a bit too close for comfort. The moment lingers until I look up to find what I’m assuming is a man trying to get a better look in one of the shops or maybe he’s just looking for a friend. Seemingly not even aware of the person sitting in the chair below, me. This isn’t the first time someone has invaded my personal space in public, but I realized in that moment a shift that has happened in my life.

When you first start to explore your gender, you’ll be far more non-conforming than I am today. Our presentation was louder, colors brighter, and overall we were much more noticeable. People were very aware of me in public, and I was always very aware of that. You’ll find that it comes with hidden perks, like usually having the last empty seat next to you on public transit. Although whether we can call it a perk or just a positive spin on bigotry is up for debate. I used to laugh at the ways that people interacted with, or avoided, me in public. But sitting in that park this November, it suddenly dawned on me that my experiences have changed over time.

It was only five years ago that I really started to call myself and understand myself as a woman. (I had been calling myself and understanding myself as non-binary for about eight years at that point.) I was having those conversations with close friends in the beginning of 2020, and later that year I noticed a shift. I don’t want to give you too many world-wide spoilers, but in 2020 I spent a lot of time at home, away from other people. And it wasn’t until I didn’t have to go out and see people on a regular basis that I settled into my womanhood in a way that made sense for me. I realized that there were some stereotypically feminine traits of mine I had actually put off embracing because I didn’t think I could or I should. I had a lot of limiting thoughts about how I had to be, and what being non-binary meant and looked like. My early attempts at femininity in my wardrobe and expression were showy and loud. My nickname in college was literally Glitter. I used to wear a ton of it. (I rarely wear anything even shimmery these days.) I had jeans that were every color of the rainbow, and would always mix and match colors and patterns in my outfits. I always had an undercut, convincing myself that a full head of hair wasn’t right. I rarely wore dresses because they were too obvious an indicator of femininity. I wasn’t going for a traditional brand of femininity. I wanted something that was specifically gender non-conforming. I wanted to break norms and make my own rules. But those rules were really limiting my expression, and ironically tying it to my identity in a way that I don’t actually believe a person has to.

Then in 2020 I started to let go of those limitations. I started to embrace the full depth and scope of my femininity and figure out what works for me. Not dealing with the societal pressures every day helped me settle into an expression and life that felt far more authentic than the genderqueer limitations I had placed on myself. I realized that in a weird way, I had actually been conforming to non-conformity. I wasn’t letting myself experience my whole self, because I had a bias that my identity came with restrictions. And I want to be clear, I don’t actually believe that. I never project that onto other people, and I think that anyone with any identity can express themselves in whatever way feels best for them. But for some reason I wasn’t letting myself have the same luxury.

Then the shift started shifting.

When I finally dropped into my full self in that way, I started to be treated differently. As I started going back out in the world and being around other people, I realized that they started perceiving me and treating me as a woman. This had happened on rare occurrences before, but it started happening pretty consistently. And honestly, not much had changed besides my mindset. I hadn’t completely changed my wardrobe, I hadn’t even started HRT yet. I just started to embrace the parts of myself I had been suppressing for far too long.

It wasn’t until I noticed this shift, until I lived with it and got comfortable with it for a while, that I started to make those bigger decisions for my life. I did ultimately start HRT, beginning a medical transition about a decade into my social transition. I call this time in my life a sort of re-transition. It’s not exactly when I transitioned from non-binary to woman, but it is when I started to call myself a woman more than I was calling myself non-binary. Non-binary is still a part of my identity, but it’s no longer the most important or visible part. I realized over time that I would rather people know me as a woman and not understand that I’m non-binary than have people know me as non-binary and not realize I’m a woman. I contain multitudes. And I’m allowed to choose which -tudes get seen and acknowledged.

So in November, sitting in Bryant Park, I realized that I wasn’t being avoided like I used to. I didn’t elicit the same fear and disgust in people that I was once accustomed to. And it wasn’t just the guy leaning too close to me, that was just the first time I actually put it together. In general, since 2020, I have had a far smoother interaction with strangers and the public. And I don’t think it’s just that I’ve become accustomed to or don’t notice the way people repel anymore. I consider myself pretty observant, especially when I’m alone in public and on alert. No, I think having a bit more conforming of an expression has changed the way people treat and interact with me. It’s not even that they can’t tell I’m trans, I don’t believe most people assume me to be cis. That’s not something I’m after, either. I really think it’s just fitting into an identity and expression that makes a little more sense to them. Truly, take my aesthetic and slap it on any cisgender woman and I’m just your basic Starbucks loving Swiftie. (I’m neither of those things, but I’m aware of how I look.) I guess I never realized that I could be seen as trans and still be treated as a woman. I always thought the fact that I was trans would garner the responses I first got when my expression was far more non-conforming. I had heard plenty of other trans women describe that experience over the years, and I never understood that I could get to the other side without being cis assumed. But I think I did.

I’m not trying to hide my transness. I didn’t start presenting more traditionally feminine with the goal of having people treat me better, or blending in. I always knew that being cis assumed would not be on the table, and I really don’t want that. I love what I look like and I love that I’m trans. But I have a new appreciation for the women who do work toward that goal. Seeing the shift in how I’ve been treated, I can understand the allure of shifting it even further. There’s a safety that comes with it, there’s a lot of perks. But I don’t want to make those decisions on fear or expectations. I already learned to let go of the limitations and biases I had put on myself. I’m not about to turn around and accept them from other people.

Your future,

Mae

Musical theatre makes up most of your identity right now. You are spending all of your time either performing in, rehearsing for, listening to, or imagining yourself in a musical. And that’s going to be true all through High School, and in the beginnings of college. But when you start to grow into adulthood (and your gender), you will st…

Read more

I started this year with a goal.

I wanted to fall back in love with my life. I was coming out of 8 months of unemployment, taking a break from dating apps, and clearing my mind to focus on taking better care of myself. And I will say, professionally, I’ve bounced back. But personally … I got a little distracted.

See, it’s easy for me to pr…

Read more