The beauty of self belief

Cat was on the brink of suicide. The young photographer could no longer carry on pretending everything was okay in her world.

Despite her many successes, she knew deep down she was living a lie and always had been. Cat was a man trapped in a woman’s body. Thankfully, Cat made the brave decision to stay with us and instead, undergo gender reassignment surgery.

Cat is now Scott. This is his story.

“From a very young age my family, teachers and friends bandied around the same phrase. “She’s just a tomboy, she’ll grow out of it,” they would say. By the time I was four it had become a mantra of sorts for them.

The first time I felt truly uncomfortable about that would have been when I was maybe seven years old. I had finished a swimming lesson and I was leaving the pool complex with some boys. We were all wearing shorts, no T-shirts.  I vividly remember my mother running at me with a towel trying to cover my chest; she was horrified. I was extremely upset. I was hurt and confused, but once I saw how upset my mother was, I complied.

Bathrooms were the worst. From the age of five I’ve had issues with them. When I was in primary school, I tried not to use the school toilets at all. Even when I was Head Girl, the younger students kept reporting me to teachers for being in the wrong toilets. School uniforms were also awful for me. My parents were prepared to fork out the money for me to attend a private school but I point blank refused on the grounds that I would have had to have worn a skirt, something they failed to understand. That was tough.

Shopping for clothes used to terrify me (even as an adult). Any situation involving gender-specific clothing was awful.  I hated wearing women’s clothes.  The number of times I was asked if I was ‘buying clothes for my boyfriend’ or if I was lost while trying to find clothes for work … I’ve lost count.

A great number of people made judgements on me based on my appearance. Most people thought I was a lesbian.

That part never really struck me until I came out to my sister as transgender.  Unbeknownst to me, she had spent her entire life from about the age of 13 defending me from all sorts of accusations about my character and sexuality. I never really understood how difficult it was for her; she is fiercely protective of me.  In her eyes, she’s always had an older brother.  Once I came out, the questions ended.  There was no ambiguity anymore; it was just a case of people saying: “Oh of course – that makes perfect sense.”

The people around you do make you feel ‘different.’  I’ve been extremely fortunate in the sense that my family have never tried to feminise me or force me to be anyone I’m not; they’ve always accepted me for who I am.  That said, my parents are honest, working class people.  I was a lot more than they ever anticipated having to deal with.

I have always felt like a terrible disappointment. No amount of personal or professional success has ever assuaged that. I have always felt like an embarrassment to my family; that drove me to succeed in a number of fields.

If anything I was guilty of over-committing to everything I did to compensate. I know now that I was torturing myself. But when you fail to see any value in yourself, it’s impossible to understand that anyone else could see something.

I don’t blame my parents at all though; there were no positive role models in the transgender community at all up until recently. The thing that stopped me (considering gender reassignment surgery) was the thought that I’d become a bigger freak, a bigger embarrassment.  The first time I looked into it was when I was in my early 20’s.  I constantly talked myself out of it for the above mentioned reasons.  I was always terrified that no one would love me if I went through with it. I had to reach a point in life where I knew that things would never be worse.

In late 2014 I felt trapped. I didn’t leave the house for three months.I was a mess, I couldn’t see any future at all. I was living a lie and felt there was nothing left for me anywhere. I took a significant payout, I drank most of it away.  For me, it was the end.

But then my best mate dragged me out for lunch and gave me a job consulting for him; without his intervention we wouldn’t be having this conversation.  From that point I began to reassess my life. Having considered transitioning for the previous 10+ years, it was do this or check out. I didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore.

I feared losing everything. But as I said, I had already lost it all, so in that sense the argument was redundant.  For me, this was the first time in my life that I felt like I was actually taking charge of things.

By and large, everyone was outstanding (about the surgery).

My family were exceptional. They’ve only ever wanted me to be happy and I never was.  They lost their miserable, volatile daughter/sister and gained an outgoing, stable, successful son and brother.  Initially my mother was very caught up in ‘what the neighbours would think’, but all of the traits and behaviours that made me a difficult woman made me a good man.

She’s never been prouder of me and our relationship has never been better.  My father also struggled to relate to me, now it’s as if we can all exhale and just be. My sister has been my rock.  She’s supported me through everything.

I think the fact that I was finally taking responsibility for my life and happiness was the biggest positive for them.  I’ve always been the tortured genius and my own worst critic.  One of my biggest flaws previously was taking the people who care about me for granted.  Not only did this process strip whatever ego I had, it showed me the value of the people who love me.

My employers were outstanding, I work for a family run-company and everyone there has supported me unconditionally.

Some of my friends struggled a little initially. For the vast majority it was a very easy transition.  My closest friend took it fairly hard, but he was honest.  He told me at the beginning that he respected me and understood, but needed time to learn to accept it.  Beyond pleasantries, I didn’t speak to him for almost nine months.  Between the hormones and self-absorption, I didn’t notice it initially, but once I did it was utterly devastating.  I felt like I’d lost him.  I appreciate him so much more now, and I value every second I get to spend with him. Our relationship today is stronger than ever.

The person I see in the mirror today is starting to reflect who I am on the inside. Every day I get a little bit closer.  I’ve got a dodgy sort of beard now and about four chest hairs.  But one of the biggest lessons I have gleaned from this process is that the things I aspire to be can’t be seen in a mirror.

I aspire to be a great man; a man my family, friends and colleagues are proud of.  That’s something you can’t see in the mirror.

As told to photographer Nicole McCluskey. You can read more about Scott and his journey at nicolemccluskey.com