This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to real people or places is purely coincidence. Content warnings for familial abuse, abandonment of a trans child, homelessness.

I grew up in a midsize city, on the border of two states. When I was eleven, I came out as trans. Well, that’s not exactly correct, I was outed. By technology. I knew my parents had some sort of monitor installed on our connections, both phones and home. I was generally careful, using school computers or various things to bypass the filter. I knew how my family felt and they reminded me regularly.

But I slipped up. I forgot to do the right thing to circumvent it. And then I searched things like ‘Am I trans?’ ‘How to transition?’ ‘How to come out to family you know won’t accept you?’ You know, the usual kinds of things one looks for when one is figuring things out. You could blame my carelessness here, sometimes on not great days I do. Others I wonder if I wanted to be found out. But the truth is that it just happened and it was hard and bad.

My parents were well known locally, they ran a mid size manufacturing firm and had ties via family to a dozen other notable businesses in town. They were assholes but smart and connected. They didn’t let me know right away, let me get complacent I had gotten away with it. On the last day of school I arrived home to find them all there. My parents, my siblings, the youth pastor, the pastor himself, and for good measure, grandpa.

I immediately knew the jig was up and even started to turn back out the door before my father bellowed at me to stop right there. They laid in to me, and for all the shouting and yelling and insidious arguments from them and desperate pleading from me, it really boiled down to repent now and turn away from what I knew I am, or be cut off and cast out. Their words.

I chose the latter. The first night was hard. The temperature wasn’t too bad, but it was humid as heck. And then I awoke to see a news article in the local paper: ‘Prominent local business family’s child has run away from home, calls for return’

It was too quick, too clean and as I read I became infuriated. They lied and said I had a mental breakdown. That I had come under the influence of perverts. That they just wanted me home so they could help me heal. They intentionally used an old photo despite having plenty of up to date ones. My hair was shorter, I had new glasses since then. They didn’t want me found. They wanted cover for tossing me out.

I was still on the side of the state line I grew up on, and it’s where my family all is. I knew from whispered conversations overheard they had a lot of ‘friends’ on the police and other areas of the government.

I didn’t have much, just me and my phone and my book bag I hadn’t sat down before the intervention. My phone though beeped as it got cut off, I was no longer connected. They quietly removed me from the shared family account, the emergency card, etc. I did have a bus pass because like so many such cities, you more or less needed a car.

I decided that I might be better off in the other state, farther from their reach, and waited for the bus, crying more than a bit. It eventually came and slowly negotiated traffic across the state line, and tried working through what to do.

The extended family wouldn’t side with me, grandpa had made that quite clear. I didn’t have many friends and the few I did weren’t that close and all our parents knew each other. I didn’t feel I could trust any of them, and had never told any one about this.

I got off at a big park just past state line road and went to the local library, it was big and busy and no one noticed me as I came in and hooked my phone to the wifi and plugged it in to an outlet. I set about doing what I could to protect myself from them, I was technically too young to use this account without an adult, but thought no one checks those things closely.

I looked up lots of things on being homeless, shelters, LGBT support which there was basically none of locally. There were more churches here than streets. I decided I could just exist on the streets, I found ways to get some food, and some tips on shelter.

I was on my own after that for a couple weeks, I would use the library as much as I could to have a place to be in that was conditioned and low nosinesses. I read everything I could on trans and queer people, and while there wasn’t tons, it was better than that…

And then I got noticed. Again, I had made a classic mistake, got too comfortable, thinking people didn’t notice me, but the librarians did notice and concerned arranged for a social worker to meet me.

I got lucky, she was probably the only queer supportive social worker in the area and she told me the librarians had contacted her directly knowing the books I had been reading.

I had thought about what I might say and tried to spin a lie, including a fake name and she saw right through it and asked me to tell her the real story, and the weeks of not ever quite enough food, weather, and general fear I broke and told her the truth. She nodded and started writing down the lie to my surprise. She said she knew of my case, and also knew how bad my parents were and how influential.

She arranged for me to be placed with a foster family in this state, under the false name, and told me she knew they would be very supportive of me if I came out to them but it had to be my choice. Choice had been ripped away from me enough and that is always traumatic.

Mr and Mrs Wilkins were very nice people on our first meeting, and they showed me pics of their daughter, a few years older than me, and a son a couple years younger, and various pets. I went with them, under my assumed deadname, and it was both good and bad. They were wonderful, but I still had a LOT of issues to work through.

They had arranged with the social worker for therapy, and it was helping but I was still acting out at times, and ultimately broke down again and told them the truth, all of it, including my birth family. They were super supportive and loving, just as the social worker had said they would be. They gave me hand me downs from their daughter to try, and she and her brother were also supportive, turns out they knew other trans people, and their parents were themselves, bisexual and had never hidden it. I cried so many happy tears.

I had a home, and a family, and I know they were my temporary foster family but they adopted me about six months later. I took their last name, and for myself, I took the name Sally. In the fall they enrolled me in school as Sally, and my big sister was my fiercest defender. I wasn’t big and loud about being trans but it was inevitable people would find out.

As I grew up, they got me setup with a doctor who would provide first blockers, and later hormones.

I went to a local university for education, to try and be that person who helped kids like me find a safer, better path. It wasn’t always easy, the trauma had lasting repercussions, but with the loving support of my family, I’ve been getting better.

Today I am a teacher at a local elementary, I teach 3rd graders and proudly display a bundle of pride flags on my desk, I’ve been very glad to have such supportive district. I don’t venture much to the other state as it’s painful still, seeing the places I once knew and loved. My past life family had me declared legally dead after several years and continued espousing vitriolic transphobia in the local media. I still encounter their name around quite frequently which was upsetting at first but has dissipated with time as I think of back then being a wholly separate person.

Also today I am receiving a national award for best new teacher, and telling my story. I haven’t named my family, although I’m sure people will piece it together. My real, found family knows I’m doing this and is ready to support me through this. They may try to retaliate but while their name still bears recognition and comment, their families businesses have all suffered major losses and they no longer have the financial influence they once did.