The hardest thing about being transgender is not the people who claim to know more about you than you do.
It’s not those who refuse to use the correct name or pronoun.
It’s not the back-turned whispered comments, the political circus, the clownish laws and fears.
It’s the people who feel qualified to tell us where we are going, where we will ultimately end up.
Who condemn us not for what we do, not for who we are, not our personality, our morals and values, but for “what” we ”think” we are. Who call us a what and not a who.
This is worse even than the suspicion I hold that this life is as good as it gets. That there is no woman inside me who will continue after death.