High school has been much harder than I expected.
I entered high school wide-eyed and excited. I was feeling really good about myself at the time. After years of struggling to love myself, I had finally started being me and understanding who I was. I had navigated my transition in fifth grade. I had made all sorts of great friends, many of whom are still my friends today. They were going to the same high school I was, so it was basically middle school 2.0, but with new people. And I was looking forward to making even more new friends and getting a boyfriend. I was ready.
But I wasn’t prepared for all the people who had it out for me because I am transgender. Immediately, I became known as “the trans girl.” I didn’t understand why I could only be the trans girl and not just Zoey. I know I’m transgender, but why does that have to be my only label? I started to blame myself, thinking that I was doing something wrong if people could see me only as transgender. What about all the other things that make me me?
Finding a boyfriend was proving really tough, too. I had been talking to some boys, and every time they would say things like “Let’s keep things private” or “Let’s be low-key.” And I’d ask why, but I knew why.
One guy actually had the “kindness” to tell me point blank (via text): “Since you’re transgender I don’t want to be seen with you in public. Let’s just chill at your place? Btw you’re so pretty!”
I grew to hate myself again, as I did before I transitioned. No guys wanted to be seen with me in public because I’m transgender, my art wasn’t taken seriously because I was transgender, I wasn’t taken seriously as a human because I was transgender.
I made an effort to just fade away, which, if you know me, does NOT suit my personality. I explored myself through others. I made friends with about every clique in the school. The artsy kids, entitled upperclassmen, potheads, basketball girls, the Goth kids. I adjusted my personality to fit in with them—I just wanted to belong to something. But I found myself feeling even more lonely and lost. (I even cut my fringe just because I wanted to be known for something other than being transgender. The bangs were cute, but they didn’t have the desired long-term effect.)
Time passed; I can’t even tell you how much, because when you feel the heaviness of being lonely pushing you down, you lose track of, well, everything. But one day, something just clicked: Why do I have to let other people define me? Why do I have to feel sad just because others don’t get me? I couldn’t make a spot for myself in a group if I wasn’t being myself. It was as if I had snapped out of a horrible dream. Suddenly, it all seemed so obvious. I finally understood that being transgender isn’t a bad thing just because of what some generic boys or superficial kids thought. If people are going to associate me as only being transgender, so be it, because I know I’m much more than that. Being transgender is just a part of who I am. I’m also an actor and an artist. I’m warm and pretty. I’m a good friend and daughter. I care about people.
BUT ONE DAY, SOMETHING JUST CLICKED: WHY DO I HAVE TO LET OTHER PEOPLE DEFINE ME? WHY DO I HAVE TO FEEL SAD JUST BECAUSE OTHERS DON'T GET ME?
I'M MAKING IT MY MISSION TO STOP LABELING PEOPLE BASED ON WHAT'S ON THE OUTSIDE, TO STOP ASSUMING THINGS ABOUT THEM BECAUSE OF HOW THEY LOOK OR TALK.
It sucks to be put in a box by society, be it for your gender expression, color, ethnicity, style, voice, hair, decisions, or literally anything. I’m guilty of doing it, too. But I’m making it my mission to stop labeling people based on what’s on the outside, to stop assuming things about them because of how they look or talk. We all have many different layers.
I have a few years left of high school, and yet I’ve already wised up so much. I’m confident in ways that I’ve never been before—back and better than ever. And the best part is, if I can shake off the weight of a thousand underhanded comments about my identity, I know I can handle anything.