You know, at times I seem to have the need to share my story. Yet I have trouble finding someone, who wants to hear it. Am I too needy? Am I too little relatable? Maybe yes and yes? Probably?
This whole transgender thing has changed me so much. Not only on the physical level, but also on the mental level. I’ve grown a tremendous amount and I keep growing. Yes, I can share a lot of the knowledge, I have learned on the way. I am a Yoga teacher and I have the possibility to talk to people about the things I have learned. Yet, I never get to talk about what got me to this point.
“The great yogis practice in secrecy” comes to my mind writing this. Is being trans my secret practice? Well, one could argue, it is. Albeit not by choice, I very rarely get the chance to share my secret practice. I aknowledge, that I am picky. I am what is called “stealth” in the scene. One does not recognize me as trans on the street or even in close personal contact. Therefore, no need arises for me, to share my story. I’m just too good. And I am proud of my work. I am proud of where I am.
Yet, where does this need, to share my story, come from?
I send this question into the void and an answer arrives: Trauma
You know, for a very long time in my life, I had noone, who would listen to me. I was practically screaming all the time and all I did get was another rejection in the best case and a slap in the face in the worst. Of course, one could argue, it could have been worse. Maybe, but hear me out. I was trapped in this body, in this life, with no way out and no help. I was beeing crushed every day of my life for many years. Fuck, this was almost thirty(!) years of my life, we are talking about! Let this sink in. 28 years of screaming my pain into the void.
Until I found the only person, that I probably ever need to listen to me: MYSELF
I am my witness.
