"I remember the summer of 2012 when my friend sat me down one evening and said, 'I think you would do really well on hormones.' My PTSD kicked in as I remembered the first time I realized I was trans; I dropped out of college, became homeless to avoid going back into conversion therapy with my parents, and moved across country where my friends abandoned me after I was sexually assaulted. I took a moment to breathe as her words sunk in. My friend is a trans femme herbalist like myself, so I could not deflect with my typical rant about using plants to transition. Everything I had tried, she had done ten times over. We talked all night and as she told me about her journey my fear began to shift. She didn't force me into anything and accepted that everyone's transition is unique to them. Instead, I feel like she passed the torch on to me. I began to believe that another way was possible, another way was real. At the time, I was in such a state of self neglect and denial that I was abusing the people I loved the most. I knew that I could not run anymore: I had to take care of myself. But I ran anyway. I bounced around the country, continuing to put others before myself until I hit rock bottom, surrounded by people who had no love to give. A close friend rescued me from that scene and I went to the city I swore I'd never set foot in: New York City. Miss New York welcomed me with tired, weary arms and I, yearning to breathe free, fell in love with the island forest overnight. Navigating the medical system was tough but worth it, I'll put it that way. But I will never forget beginning HRT -- it was the first time in two decades that I could fall asleep with ease. I'm not saying that everything was perfect after that, hormones did not fix all the broken parts of myself or mend the hurts I had inflicted. But it made room for healing to begin." - Dezjorn Gauthier (pronouns: he/him/his)
