Sabian is an 18 year old from Charleston, South Carolina. You can watch him tell his story of coming out as transgender to his family and friends here. Below is the article he wrote for the school newspaper, which was his way of coming out to his entire high school community.
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Dear Sabina,
You don’t know me. Not yet. But I’m you, at age 17, with 10 years of my memories that are also yours.
You don’t believe me, of course. Because when you picture yourself as a grownup, you see someone tall, with broad shoulders and a deep voice. You see a man. But I’m different, aren’t I? I have curves where there shouldn’t be any, my voice is higher than you thought it would be, I’m not tall like a man should be. You look at me, and you see a woman, where you expected to see a man.
There are so many things you are feeling in that small body of yours, so many feelings you don’t have any words for. You can’t even explain them to yourself. But I can. I can tell you many things.
I could tell you how people would think you were a boy, and you would never correct them because it didn’t matter to you.
I could tell you how in first grade a classmate wears a pretty dress, and you decide you should wear one like it. Mom buys you one and you wear it to the class party. You look cute, and the adults say so. You never wear a dress of your own free will after that.
I could tell you how you will always want your hair short, but they never cut it short enough. Once you ask for a boy’s haircut and Mom won’t let you get one. You cry.
I could tell you how you won’t understand why you can’t wear swim trunks. It won’t bother you, though. You don’t really understand the difference between boys and girls anyway.
I could tell you how when you were seven, you told your best friend, the only other little girl interested in playing with dinosaurs and soldiers, that you wanted to be a boy, and how you thought it was weird when she said she didn’t. Not that being a girl bothered you all that much. The only difference was in a place people don’t see.
I could tell you how your friend moved away, and then you had no-one.
I could tell you how in third grade your classmates picked on you for every reason they could think of. I could tell you how the teachers did nothing to stop them. I could tell you how you felt like nothing, and stopped eating and sleeping, and felt like your parents couldn’t protect you. I could tell you how the nightmares about that year didn’t stop until you were 14.
I could tell you how you changed schools for fourth grade, and began to trust people again. How once in class, when you were wearing the pink shirt and pants that Mom had bought for you, someone told you boys shouldn’t wear clothes like that.
I could tell you how at the end of fifth grade your chest developed two strange lumps. The adults said it was normal, that you were becoming a woman. But you were sad because you couldn’t walk around with your shirt off anymore. Over the summer, the lumps got bigger and Mom insisted that you wear a bra but you didn’t want to. You only agree when Mom says men will look at you if you don’t. You only wear sports bras.
I could tell you how the start of middle school is hard, but you make a friend, a boy who cracks dirty jokes and wrestles with you. You start wearing jeans and sweaters, but never blouses, only loose T-shirts. You join a karate school and love punching and kicking and sparring with other people. Everyone at karate calls you Ma’am but you don’t mind. Boys and girls are only different in a few parts of the body, so it doesn’t matter. Puberty and you try to hide it from your mom because you don’t want to admit that it’s happening to you.
I could tell you how in seventh grade, the lumps keep getting bigger. Your friend says he likes you, and you don’t know what to do. Your grandfather is dying of cancer and Mom is out of town all the time. You become angry at everything, screaming at your parents and breaking furniture and you don’t know why. You are put on homebound, where you stay until you enter high school.
I could tell you how in ninth grade, you start wearing cargo pants and sneakers. The hairdresser still won’t cut your hair short enough. A lone hair grows on your chin, and you won’t let Mom pull it out because it’s like a beard.
I could tell you how in tenth grade people start thinking you are a boy less and less often. You are surprised to find you miss it.
I could tell you how in eleventh grade you realize that you are nothing like the girls you know. I could tell you how you realize that your body doesn’t fit you. I could tell you how one night you step out of the shower, look in the mirror, and see a woman’s face looking back. You start crying as you tell your parents how much you want to be a boy. You begin to see a therapist and you realize that you are a boy, you always have been, you just never knew how to say it.
I could tell you how over the summer you change your name, you get your hair cut as short as you always wanted it to be, you start wearing clothes from the boys’ section, and you bind your chest. How you go to school the next year as a boy, terrified that people will find out.
I could tell you how you doubt yourself, wonder if you’re insane, or just desperate to be a different person. I could tell you how the tears that you hate so much well in your eyes when someone says Ma’am. I could tell you how every “she” thrown in your direction hurts you worse than a punch.
I could tell you all that. But there is something more important to tell.
How your parents said they would always love you, no matter what. How your friends said they had known something like that all along. How your karate teacher started calling you Sir. How everyone started using male pronouns. How happy you feel every time someone calls you ‘man’ or ‘buddy’. How everyone you have ever known has supported you and loved you in everything you do. That is what I will tell you. That is what you must remember.
So, little boy, you lost child, listen well. Though your past is painful, your present is difficult, and your future is uncertain, you can always lean on the people around you. It’s okay to cry sometimes. Don’t be afraid to speak your mind. And never, ever, let anybody tell you to be somebody you are not. Follow this advice, and any other wisdom you may come across and maybe, someday, you and I will be a good man.
Sincerely
Sabian Mignone
