Ironically enough, I believed this narrative for the last time in, of all places, a movie theatre. I was there watching the worst movie I had ever seen: Alexander and the No Good Horrible Bad Day. The film followed a young boy whose everyday life was awful and progressively got worse. Despite the fact that it was miserably made, it was a wake up call: while Alexander’s problems were solved in 81 minutes, mine would be far from over until I was honest about who I was once and for all. Finally, all the pieces of my puzzle came together, and with the proper research, I finally knew how to speak my truth. I was a closeted transgender girl, stuck in the body of a boy.

My life as Kyle finally ended when I worked up the courage to tell my parents. They were supportive, but also apprehensive of the reality that I would face living as a transgender person in America today. Still, it was like my life was beginning all over again. I was truly a toddler navigating my correct gender while at the same time still navigating the already uncomfortable life of a pre-teen. I underwent a long and arduous journey of self-discovery, and at the end of it, I finally found my voice. I felt like a superhero, because my mere existence was up for debate across the world but my powers were limitless. I lived every day to the fullest because I was finally living.