Pride is always an odd time of year full of dualities. Corporations change their logos to appear to be doing something while also not caring. Governments fly flags but are rolling back protections. There are so many facets of this time of year, and there will be lots of discussions as always about them. For myself, pride is unique and a way to celebrate and reflect on the past and how we got where we are. It is also sometimes odd and holds a strange place in my heart. As someone LGBTQ+, I went from being in the closet celebrating pride secretly, to being open and celebrating pride openly, to being so myself where if I celebrate pride, it can bring questions and having to open the closet behind me to share my past. I still do because that is what pride is, being proud and open, but there is some odd feeling while doing so, my duality. What does pride to me then?
Looking into a mirror on this warm June morning, a woman in her late thirties getting ready for work is surprised that a reflection is shown. There is not an ugly one or a pretty one, nor a normal or abnormal one, just that there is one. She does not honestly believe that mirrors never show a reflection; it is just a passing thought.
Being early June in Ontario, the signs of summer have arrived; it is warm but also has that electric feeling that summer is here. The smell of the grass, trees and flowers radiating the air is juxtaposed with the cool evening air. This year: “it’s 2022 already,” she thought; it feels like a smooth transition to summer rather than the sudden change that occurs most years.
Change, transition, and other words were no stranger to this woman. Even to this day, something about those words makes her feel uneasy thinking about the past. Painful memories of a past life, a life which is often hidden behind fronts, half-truths, and other such survival skills. At times one could call her an actress, although she never acted professionally. It is her past that she acted about daily. Not out of malice but survival.
This woman is me.
In the late eighties in Scarborough near Birchmount and Danforth, the pavement was full of cracks, the buildings soulless and dreary. It was full of diverse people, and I can still remember the smell of the food bringing back comfort – gyros, tavche gravche, borscht, pierogi, and cabbage. Here, the groundwork for being a whole new person was seeding.
I have always felt out of place. I am a weird kid with a French last name, a father with a Métis background, and something else about myself, yet unknown, undiscovered. Problems arose from the start when my parents messed up my birth certificate, so they called me by my ‘official’ middle name, the name they wanted initially. I always was called something else all my life, and it felt odd, never indeed myself in many ways. Each year at school, they would call my name, and I would be, “who is that” and then realize they were speaking about me. I would have to correct them, which I had to do later in life for other reasons.
When I was at the age to start discovering crushes, we moved out to the Durham Region, my home ever since. This area was less diverse in the early nineties; now, many of the busiest areas were nothing but farmland as far as the eye could see. Nowadays, it reflects the county’s diversity with the influx of new residents but growing up even being different in a small way would get you singled out. Even something silly as trying to wear my favourite pink sweater to school and the day would be ruined with ridicule and bullying. Many days I would come home with bruises on my arms from punches. They knew not to punch the face as it would be visible and get in trouble.
I was a latchkey kid going to school on my own, coming home to an empty house with just my sibling and myself. I was the babysitter for us both, playing Nintendo and other stuff. I was also fond of biking. I would bike down to the lake frequently and spend numerous hours going along the lakeshore. The sound of the waves hitting the rocks, the smell of the water and the sound of the geese. It was peaceful. I could just be lost in my thoughts, alone and with no one to care how I looked, sounded, or acted. I was already questioning my gender but never realized it. Why was I a “boy”? I did not feel like one; it felt like a label someone chose, just like my name was a label someone chose and even then, it was wrong anyway.
Before I had the internet and television, I had never heard about trans rights. If either medium did, it was always in a mocking manner. Even when the internet arrived, I did not know anything or where to search. I would dial in on a per-minute charge and only chat with school peeps and play video games.
It is the late nineties now, and I was in high school. The first time I remember exploring myself online in a game called Team Fortress Classic. I chose a handle for myself, and it was a feminine name. Hours and hours of playing as a scout, feeling the rush of running circles around everyone. The sound of the jumps and the dodges. I was just known as that handle, never as anything in my past life. I would be the same person I always am, just with that new name. I got promoted to a server administrator and then took over hosting one of the major servers, programming mods and setting up some cool features ahead of their time. It was comfortable, and I was just a capable and intelligent woman that felt right at home. No one questioned me or asked me to pass or prove anything. It felt right, and I loved it, and from there, I started to look outward for answers.
Grade 12 and OAC years were both years when I entirely discovered myself. I had snuck and bought a cheap Woolworth’s bra and was also able to order clothing from Sears. I still remember the frigid air as I was nervous in the car. Frost in the window, breath spiralling in the air as I waited for the store to open to pick up the items. It was the winter before the holidays, and my clothes were bulky enough that I would be able to wear them under my clothes without people knowing. I thought its what women wear, so maybe I should feel what it is like all day even if I did not need them back then. Just another way of expressing who I was in private. The first class of the day was calculus; I sat hoping anyone in class does not realize. Relieved, I had continued to get clothing for the remainder of my OAC year. Like many trans people in the early days of their journeys, I went through purges and self-doubt. I would refresh my wardrobe after tossing it all out several times. Did I know no one like myself? Was I a freak? Online forums were often heavy on the fetish side and focused less on trans issues and more on cross-dressing. It was very sexualized, and it was not like that to me.
This was deeply in the closet era for me as I now knew who I was but did not know if there was any way out of it. I picked up smoking to keep myself relaxed and stuff and had my first experience with pot while on a school trip to Halifax. I still remember being in that parkade hiding from teachers and security, taking that first puff, and then hiding as much as I could as not to be discovered. Being a band geek in school, I could be weird and still fit in. I became known as the odd band stoner and was okay with that. It kept people away and stopped bullying. To get away, I applied to universities as far as I could place, like Ottawa, Carleton and Laurentian.
Carleton University, Ottawa, in 2001 was an awaking place for me. At the start of the year, I got exposed to actual trans people. Frosh week, we would be outside getting orientation in the late August warmth and the buzzing of the cicadas in the air. You would hear laughter and snickers from many of the students I was always interested in. They were not hiding! Could I ever be that open? I was always too shy to visit them.
A couple of weeks into the school year, I had a hidden dresser with clothing and makeup in my room. I started wearing those regularly on private and outside walks. I still remember the first day I outed myself to others I knew, but not intentionally. I would only remember this day because it was the defining moment of our adulthood. The day terrorists attacked the USA. Being in Ottawa for it was surreal; being a nation’s capital when your neighbour was subjected to attack, security was all over, and places were locking down. I was just out at the canals in my women’s clothes taking in the morning air and smoking weed. I almost got caught smoking weed by an RCMP out on patrol. I would go in the mornings because no one was around, and I could get exercise and fresh air. When I arrived, I could hear crying as I got into the usually quiet dorm; everyone was in the television room. No time to change went in and saw the horror.
From then on, I was out. I ended up having a fantastic group of friends, it was hard, but I could express myself openly and was the ‘skater girl’ of the group. I often got comments from strangers and was threatened and called names a lot. On the other side, many women were eager to teach me makeup tips, and I was protected by my guy friends when I was with them. I am very much into punk music, very political and often go to anti-war protests and other such events. Going to clubs was my jam; so many raves, clubs and bars would get hit on by some guys and girls. Did that mean I had to like guys now? Was I a lesbian? Was I bi? It was a time of experimentation and growth. Experimentation and growth are two major pieces of the bigger Pride picture.
The mid-2000s and devastation happened when I had to become the lone person in the household. I had already moved back from Ottawa, and I was older, so it fell on me to take on having to make arrangements. On the rainy and wet day of the funeral, I was numb with the smell of the grass and soil on that dark August afternoon. I was never out to my family, so putting on a suit and tie was strange. Felt unnatural. I regret I never came out to my parents. My mother, I suspected, already knew as she kept hinting at things. Going as far as to tell me what she would have called me, I eventually took that name. It felt suitable and fit, and I am forever happy with my newfound name. Unfortunately, it was the day I also found the Oxycontin that my mother had while cleaning out her stuff. This made sure I was entirely numb by the time of the burial. I could not cry; I was stoic with a stiff upper lip. I was now an orphaned adult on a long decline. I was unsure of my place in the world or what I would become.
I became addicted. I can still remember the bliss of the opiates as I often was a walking zombie.
This is a story of a trans druggie addict: I wake up, take medication, work, take more pills, sleep, and repeat. I could have been a poster child for those sad stories, especially since I got into a lot of trouble; luckily, not legal problems. I was also not entirely out in all circles, which caused lots of suffering; I tried to numb it away. I was fully out and starting to pass completely. The past was behind me. It was a vicious circle in a dreamlike state. I hooked up with a guy who I thought would take me anywhere. Yet, being with him, I felt nothing. No lust, no excitement when we made love, just nothing. It was there where I learned about abuse and being in a dependent relationship that I could not escape. It was painful and rough. It was there that I discovered I was lesbian. It ended on the first of my trips to the hospital. I was hurt, destroyed, and caused a lot of my future insecurities. Spiralling alone, I got worse; it took me to trip number two – overdosed, almost dead. [family hearing this for the first time: sorry I never told you! I am sorry I was a stupid girl back in the day].
I got clean on willpower and determination as I wanted to be all right. I was determined to succeed and overcome. I did it, and I will not even take Codeine or anything opioid-based to this day. I did not become another trans statistic which is so common in our communities. Pride has often been when I reflect on how lucky I was to survive those dark days.
This was around the time I found some fantastic people in my life playing World of Warcraft. I was clean, got my life together and was the happiest I was in a long time. Both outside and online, I could be open. Passing was frequently happening, and there were people I knew in person who I would go out for drinks with or talk to, never knowing my past at all. To them, I was no different from any other woman. With this going on, I had to tell my family. I love the support my Sibling and one of my closest Cousins provided. They were my rock. Family and Found Family a big part of Pride.
At that point, I had changed my name legally. I read up on my law and submitted all the paperwork, including the one that exempted my name change from being reported in the Ontario Gazette. By then, laws were getting changed and processes more manageable. No longer did one have to visit one or two specific doctors to transition with huge waitlists of years. Family doctors can now start or refer elsewhere if they do not have the expertise, as mine did. My family doctor worked to get me referred to a fantastic doctor in Toronto who prescribed hormones, and I began to become the real me.
I can still remember smelling the Spiro mint for the first time, the taste of the sweet estrogen and feeling the rush that was the start of my journey. Several years later, my birth certificate gender was changed. I remember seeing that “F” for the first time, and a feeling of warmth swept through my body.
I am now out full-time and have been for quite a few years. Many people offline and online-only know me by Caitlin. They do not know of my past life; all I need to do is smile and be me hiding what I left behind. It is like coming out of the closet, celebrating it, and now I want to hide the closet was even there in the first place. It is also continued self-exploration. Recently, a fantastic friend and I shared some great memories. One of the regrets of that time was not being open to them about who I was. This is the struggle of many trans people. Do you tell people who you were if they love the real you already? At this point in my life, I have been out for many years; it almost feels like the past is not relevant. [If you read this, I am sorry I never told you. I hope you do not hate me]. I questioned if I was lesbian and might be bisexual instead. This is another idea to explore; it might be just one specific person. I was evolving and exploring myself. These are some fundamental aspects of the answer to the meaning of pride.
Looking again into a mirror on this warm June morning, a woman in her late thirties ready for work is no longer surprised that a reflection is shown.
So, with all these experiences, what does Pride mean to me? It means being proud of who I am and overcoming all challenges to be the person I am. Most of all, it is remembering the past and what brought me here. It may be dark and sad, but it is also beautiful. It also is a protest for those that want to make our lives harder. They cause people not to have easy access to be themselves. It is a time to show solidarity against forcing them to go through the hardships I went through or worse. Pride is also a time to show love to your family and friends who keep you safe. Last, of all, it is about the experiences in life, the experimentation, and the constant change in life.
This 2022 Pride stands for everyone!
Caitlin (Bellyria) @caitlinbellyria
Happy Pride, everyone!