Finding Yourself

It was something about girls. The way they moved, the way they spoke, the way they always seemed to be so loyal to each other. And perhaps it was also something about boys. The way they walked, the way they looked at others with a seemingly cold glare, the way they threatened each other over little things. 

Or maybe it was something about being called “gay” for liking pink that caused bias. Maybe it was just that wearing dresses and skirts and crop-tops meant getting beaten up. Maybe it was just that being an outcast was how it went and nothing could change it.



Nick. That’s his name. Except “he” didn’t feel like a a “he.” In fact, “he” probably never felt like a “he.” Always more like a “she,” not that anybody cared for that. In the eyes of the other kids Nick was a gay little boy who didn’t know how to man up like the others; preferred to sit on the sidelines at rugby practice so that he could stare over at the girls on the opposite pitch as they played netball or hockey. Nick wanted to do that, but he knew that he couldn’t. All because he was a boy, except he wasn’t. Except she wasn’t.



Have you ever felt like there was something wrong, but you didn’t know what it was? Have you ever felt hopeless and alone? Have you ever felt that nobody understands you, much as you try to help them understand? Yes? Well imagine that every day. Now throw in some beatings and constant name-calling. That was life for Nick. 



It was only one day after school at the age of fourteen when Nick came home crying and trying to hide bruises and cuts from his parents as he ran up to his room, tears streaming down his cheeks as he slammed the door and threw himself onto his purple bedspread, reached for his pink pillow and hugged it close as if it was someone who might actually care about him that his realisation dawned on him as he stared into the mirror just across from his bed. 



He isn’t him. She is him— no, not him, her. She didn’t know the word for feeling that way but she just knew that she wasn’t a he. She dried her tears and wiped the blood from her arms onto the purple duvet. She delved into her pocket and dug out her phone, googling search after search; “im not a boy” and “i feel like a girl” and similar things. One word resurfaced every time: transgender. That’s the word… someone who’s gender isn’t the same as their sex. That’s her. It clicked. She felt elated, as if a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders. A smile formed on her lips. She’d found herself and it was enough to bring happy tears to her eyes. 


Barely an hour later and she was talking to her parents about it. Of course they were taken aback and almost began to argue that it was just a phase, but they, too, knew that it wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Both of them each stepped over to her and hugged her, telling her that they’ll all get through this.


Two years later and Nick is known as Naimh by her new classmates at her new school. She plays hockey and rounders and netball with her friends in PE, hangs around her new friends who defend her if anyone opposed to her tries to start anything. 


She’s finally happy. She’s finally herself. She’s finally Naimh. And she is finally the girl she always was.