This is it—the culmination of all the writing I will probably ever do. When I was younger, I envisioned writing a book about my life. However, I’ve come to realize that this likely won’t happen. I don’t feel the need for my words to extend beyond my lifetime.

There have been some unbelievable moments in my life, particularly regarding my origins. I was the product of a secret affair between my mother and father, and at 58, I still don’t fully understand the how’s or why’s of that situation. My mother married my stepdad, and I was adopted by him. He passed away when I was just 11, succumbing to the effects of alcoholism. Following his death, my mother spent the next 40 years gaslighting me about my biological father. From my perspective, she likely exhibits traits of a narcissist. Despite being the closest person in my life, she has been the source of the most lies.

These lies varied in magnitude—some were significant, like the identity of my biological father, while others were trivial. She claimed to have quit smoking, but I knew that wasn’t true, as I was already smoking and stealing her cigarettes. She also denied being in a relationship with the woman who shared her bed for nearly 15 years. The lies were pervasive, much like the chaotic nature of her personality and her life.

My grandfather, however, was a gentle presence, serving as a parental figure in ways my mother either couldn’t or wouldn’t. Yet, I also witnessed him verbally abuse my grandmother daily. I understand now that he was likely at the root of my mother’s trauma, which is reflected in the fact that among his three children, there are eight marriages. This highlighted the reality of intergenerational trauma. I’ve learned that it’s possible to love someone while simultaneously hating them at the same time.

I came out as transgender in 2001, and the trauma from my own failed marriages lingered. Rationalizing my transition and understanding that gender is a choice was transformative. This journey also inspired me to create Transadvocate.com, a platform dedicated to amplifying voices like mine. Through activism, I gained insights into the world, learning about power dynamics and social privilege versus oppression based on gender and race. In 2007, I was selected as a state delegate for Barack Obama, culminating in a visit to a White House gala in 2011.

During this time, I also gained custody of my son, which taught me invaluable lessons about the challenges of full-time parenting.

Through all the deep lows and massive highs, I have managed to find balance and acceptance in my life. I could share more about the peculiarities of my family and my experiences—like finding my biological father at 47, who discovered that his mother also lied to him about his father, and that he had two half-brothers he never knew about, or the two half-sisters I didn’t know existed. While these stories may sound unbelievable, I realize there’s nothing uniquely profound in them. They illustrate the struggles of broken individuals making poor choices. I no longer believe in the concept of evil people; instead, I see broken people who act badly. I’ve learned to endure trauma and extract lessons from it, yet I recognize that this isn’t extraordinary, it’s simply part of life.

There’s nothing particularly profound I can offer beyond this. Much of it is just the raw messiness of life, stripped of rose-coloured glasses. In my youth, I wanted to be in a band, meeting many talented musicians along the way. I learned that musical talent needs nurturing, like a garden. It requires practice to grow, and I struggled with that musically. Ultimately, I discovered that I could write decently, but I also realized that one must have something meaningful to express. I don’t find my experiences unusual enough to warrant a book that could help others become better people. Writing would merely document my existence, and I’m tired.

This blog is sufficient for me. At 58, my focus is on making the most of the years I have left. The desire to immortalise myself in the pages of a book has faded. This is enough. I’m enough. I’m here. I’m okay. That is enough, and I’ve learned to find contentment in that.