As a transgender person and more specifically a person born intergender I’ve spent most of my life stripping things back to the roots of life — motives, roles, identities, and habits.  The deeper I go, the more I see how much of the world is built on performance. Not passion. Not purpose. Not even preference. Just performance.

Gender is the clearest and most painful stage for this.

From the moment we’re born, we’re handed a script. Pink or blue. Tough or tender. Stoic or sweet. And most people — honestly — they just read from it without question. They become the character. Not because it fits, but because it’s easier than pulling apart the set, burning the costume, and starting again. Easier than risking the isolation that comes from telling the truth about who they really are.

As a transgender person, I’ve had no choice but to take a wrecking ball to all that. I couldn’t keep the script. I couldn’t play the part. It didn’t matter how polished the performance — it wasn’t mine. And that’s the thing that often gets missed: for many of us, transitioning isn’t about “changing.” It’s about returning — finally — to the truth we knew all along. It’s not about becoming someone new, it’s about stopping being someone we never were.

And yet — the world is terrified of that level of honesty. Not because it’s threatening, but because it’s confronting. It forces the question: what parts of me aren’t real?

Most people won’t go there. They’d rather live the version of themselves that was handed to them — by their family, their school, their peer group, their feed — than risk admitting they don’t know who they really are underneath it all.  I don’t judge that. I just see it for what it is: survival. It’s safer to conform. But safe doesn’t equal real.

Every time I walk into a room — as a visibly trans person, as someone who has consciously chosen to live in integrity with my truth — I’m a walking confrontation to that veneer. Not by force. Just by existence. I’m a living reminder that authenticity is possible. That you can question the roles. That you can stop performing. That you can be — even if it costs you something.

And it does cost. I won’t lie. You lose the comfort of truly fitting in. You lose the soft silence of not being noticed. But what you gain — what you become — is worth it. You become someone who doesn’t flinch when they look in the mirror. Someone who knows the shape of their own soul. Someone who isn’t pretending to be okay, because they actually are — in the deepest, realest way.

So much of what’s considered “normal” in this world is nothing more than well-rehearsed mimicry. Whether it’s gender, career, relationships, or even grief — people mimic what they’ve seen, what they’ve been told. And in doing so, they lose the one thing that could actually free them: the chance to know themselves.

That’s why authenticity — not just honesty, but authentic integrity — matters so much. Because until we stop performing, we’re not living. We’re just playing parts in someone else’s story.

And I, for one, refuse to be a character in a play I didn’t audition for.

Some might say, “But you dress like a woman.” And yes, sometimes I do—whatever that even means. The difference is, I’ve written my own script. I’ve created my own character within that script. I’m no longer playing a role assigned to me—I chose this. Chose it through deep, deliberate exploration of my soul.

So if I wear a skirt, it’s because it aligns with my spirit that day. Not because it’s fashionable, not because it’s alluring, not because it helps me blend in—but because it reflects the shape of my soul in that moment.

What does the shape of a soul truly mean? It’s about understanding the real motivation behind your choices. The act of wearing something isn’t just about the fabric—it’s about the intention. I have no issue with someone wearing a mechanic’s boiler suit because they need to stay clean while working on a car. I also have no issue with someone wearing that same suit simply because they feel “mechanical” that day. But those who say, “because” without knowing why—that’s who I’m speaking about. People who move more by herd mentality than by instinct, acting from surface-level motivations rather than their authentic selves.

Look at an old photograph of yourself. How many times have you thought, “What was I thinking wearing that?” The answer is often, “It was fashionable at the time.” Which means, back then, you hadn’t yet cultivated the self-awareness to choose clothing based on what truly resonated with you. You didn’t fully know yourself then, and now, you barely recognise the person in the picture.

So what life did you live between then and now? Deep? You bet. Welcome to the true world of transgender people.

Ask yourself why

So next time you say something, do something, wear something, choose something — pause. Ask yourself why. Then ask again. Keep asking until you get to the root — not the first reason, or the polite one, or the one that sounds clever on paper. Dig until you hit the real core of it. That’s the authentic answer. That’s the one with integrity.

Because there’s no right or wrong, really, there’s only whether you meant it whether it’s yours. Whether it fits the shape of your own soul.

It’s the difference between choosing to be a pig farmer because that’s your calling — and waking up one day knee-deep in pig shit wondering how the hell you got there. Maybe you stayed because you got used to the smell. Maybe it became your “new normal.” But deep down, you knew — it never really fitted.

Authenticity isn’t about having it all figured out. It’s about choosing, consciously, again and again, not to lie to yourself – but until you reach the point where you say I am home regardless.