A Perfect Life

With little else to do other than wait till it’s time to take my medication I thought I’d finish writing up the story of my life. So far as it goes that is.

I was born within the the body of a boy, but as far back as I can remember I knew I was a girl. My parents tell me it became obvious to them before I was twelve months old, so I, George, grew up as a girl. I have no memory of ever being called anything other than Gillian, and my name had been legally changed before I was aware of that too. As Gillian I dressed as a girl, played like a girl and was regarded as a girl by my four siblings. My sisters, Lilly and Margaret, never for a moment thought I was any different from them, and my brothers, William and Gareth, teased and tormented me exactly the same as they did my sisters. I was loved and cared for, and the five of us, now all married with children, mercifully remain as close as we were then.

My family and all our neighbours were if anything irritatingly caring from a child’s point of view, for none of us were allowed to go to the park on our own. Just in case, our parents would tell us. It would be years before any of us discovered what it was just in case of. When young, at the very least we had to have one of our older siblings in attendance if we went anywhere out of the sight of the adults.

It was a good neighbourhood I grew up in. I found out years later nobody was prepared to sell a house to bigots. If need be every one chipped in to make up the difference between what good people, preferably with children, could afford to pay and what wealthier folk who were considered undesirable were prepared to offer. We grew up in a nurturing sheltered environment where every one was prepared to pay to keep it that way.

Primary school was enjoyable, my peers knew all about me, but that was cool. John High Rise was really tall, Emily The Red was a ginger, Johnny Lightning could run really fast, Jessica Smarty Pants was super clever, and I was Gilly Tee Gee. We all had our distinguishing characteristics and nicknames, sort of like trademarks, and mine was of no more significance than any one else’s. Our teachers cared that we achieved as highly as possible, and pushed us on in a kindly way without making us feel pressured, and a number of their children went to our school too.

Secondary school was more or less the same, and I enjoyed it. I was a popular pupil with my teachers and peers alike. I was no genius, but I was clever and worked hard. My genetics were kind to me, and the blockers and the hormones gave me my mother’s looks. Dad said she always was a looker, usually before embarrassing us with Mum’s cooperation. At that age you consider any display of affection between your parents to be inappropriate.

I had my share of boys interested in me in the lower school, but when I blossomed Dad said he’d had to beat them off with a stick. He’d tried to look stern when he said that, but he was proud of all three of his daughters, and that they were all boy magnets made him even prouder. Don’t get me wrong, Dad loved and was proud of my brothers too, but daughters have a bond with their dads which is different from the bond sons have.

Mum taught us everything we needed to know about boys, clothes, make up, perfume, you name it the three of us got the full course in advanced womanhood long before we left school. We all learnt how to change our cousins’ nappies, how to burp, feed and entertain a baby and the special requirements of the newborn. It was nothing special. It was what we girls needed and wanted to know.

Everyone knew that I was trans, it was no secret, why should it have been? But I was glad my brothers kept the wolves at bay. My brothers were big and good looking boys with a following of girls where ever they went, and they protected us all, not just me and my sisters. My brothers were, and still are, kind and protective, but without in any way being controlling like some of the girls’ brothers.

My first real boyfriend, Mike, was nervous about my brothers’ reactions to him, so that lunchtime I linked arm’s with him and found my brothers in the school yard. “This is Mike. He wants to kiss me, but is bothered you’ll hit him if he does.”

“You want to kiss him, Sis?” asked William. I nodded my head.

“Then it’s none of our business is it?” said Gareth. “But you’d best tell Mum and Dad it’s ok with you. They’ll go ballistic if they think you’re being taken advantage of. Do Lilly and Margaret know?”

“Yes, of course they do.”

“Well, nothing to worry about then is there?”

As soon as I was eighteen I had confirmation surgery. I didn’t need anything else and I certainly didn’t need implants. Nice one, Mum, or maybe I should say nice one, Grandma.

University was enjoyable. I read education and chemistry at Keele with a view to teaching . It was where I met my future husband, Matthew. Matthew was a twenty nine year old physics lecturer. He was also a widower with three young children. As a member of the physics department, Matthew didn’t teach me, but before I moved in with him we cleared it all with the senior tutor’s office.

We were married in the university chapel before I finished my degree, and two years later I had a husband, a family of four, we adopted twelve month old Nigel after having fostered him from newborn, a degree and I was looking for a part time job. Matthew wanted to take a job at Bristol so I applied to a teaching agency there.

We’d been at Bristol a few months before I was offered the perfect job: teaching A’ level chemistry to night school students, which meant one of us could always be at home to look after the children.

That was where the bubble that had been my life so far burst. Patricia, one of my students, was trans, and she was beaten up badly after class by two of my male students simply for being herself. Patricia was in hospital for weeks before returning to class. After the two thugs had been sentenced to community service the college said they had to be allowed to return to my classes, but mustn’t sit next to Patricia.

I didn’t hand in my notice. I told my head of department that as of right then he needed to find another chemistry lecturer. He insisted that the vice chancellor would need to see me. I told him I didn’t care what the vice chancellor’s needs were. I had no interest in a place that had so scandalously betrayed the vulnerable especially when its charter pledged it to protect them. He threatened that if I didn’t comply the college was entitled to refuse to pay me for that month. I said I wasn’t interested in blood money, but no doubt my professional association’s solicitors would be in touch.

The college hadn’t been aware I was trans and their legal department tried to make something of my ‘inappropriate secrecy’. They were made fools of when asked why they should have been told of such a personal matter when it made no difference according to their own marketing material which lauded their recently rewritten equal opportunities for all stance. My professional association then crucified the college for attempting to victimise me for being trans and thus naturally enough being interested in the welfare of a violated trans student. I didn’t see the vice chancellor, and I was paid not just my pay but also a considerable sum to stave off any potential court case.

But I’ve paid too. After that I started to look into the life experiences of other trans persons, and that is why I’m undergoing psychotherapy and I’m on medication to prevent me hurting myself or worse, because I sometimes wonder despite, my family, Matthew and the children, how much longer I can continue for. Apparently I’m suffering from a debilitating inferiority complex induced depression because I’ve never been a victim.