A doctor said no one would ever love me – I proved him wrong

Snuggling up on our bed, I held back tears of joy. After years of trying, I finally had my happy little family.

My wife, Sandi, and I had spent the day playing with our newborn daughter and my heart had melted with every single giggle and gurgle. Our dog had been beside herself, excitedly wagging her tail as she sniffed our newest arrival. 

This moment in bed, with my wife at my side and my daughter in my arms, was one I never thought would come true.

I’d first attempted to come out as trans 18 years previously. I followed all the legitimate paths – I engaged with the NHS and was referred to a psychologist who had to to agree I was trans before referring me to a gender identity clinic (GIC). 

After eight sessions, it became clear that this psychologist had absolutely no intention of referring me.

I’ll never forget what they said at our last session: ‘If you choose to go down this route you’ll neither be male nor female. You’ll lose your friends, family, jobs and no one will ever love you. What sort of person would love you?’

The psychologist’s words haunted me. It’s hard to describe how empty and unhappy life feels when you can’t be your authentic self.

But in 2013, I started to see others like me in the news, on TV and online. I slowly started to realise I wasn’t a monster. Dare I say it, I started to love myself. 

I began dating again and soon came across Sandi online.

However, I still felt uneasy with what I saw in the mirror. My beard in particular used to make me feel terrible. I thought, ‘If I can just get rid of my beard then maybe these feelings will go away.’

But I also worried that Sandi might object to me looking less manly if I took action.

I should have had more faith. She was actually the one who encouraged me to go to a hair removal clinic, and as my beard receded, I started to feel better. Not having that 5 o’clock shadow was such a relief. 

When I found out about hormones – which would stop me becoming more masculine by making my breasts grow; my skin softer and eyelashes thicker; and decrease my muscles in mass, if I went on them – I was hesitant.

I didn’t want to risk losing Sandi, and told her I wouldn’t go on hormones out of my love for her. 

Once again though, she encouraged me to try being referred to a GIC again. To my astonishment, this time I was referred straight away.

It would take another three years to see me but the referral was the boost I needed to go private. Within a year, I was assessed and started on blockers and hormones. 

After a few months, I came out to my family and friends and told them of my intention to transition. In a lot of ways, they’d been expecting it.

Their love and support gave me the confidence to update my name and gender marker on all my documents, including my driving license, medical records and even my passport, which required a doctor’s letter stating that this change was likely to be permanent. 

In May 2018, with my documentation as female now official, I asked Sandi to marry me and, importantly, she said yes!   

After postponing our wedding from March 2020 due to that pesky pandemic, we tied the knot on a truly magical day in May 2022.

Then, in December 2024, following several attempts at IVF, and just at the point in the process where we were on our last chance, financially and emotionally, Sandi got pregnant.

At just under 32 weeks, we found ourselves in hospital where she was eventually rushed for an emergency C-section. It was the hardest 72 hours of my life as our daughter’s heart rate slowed to a concerning level while, across the hall, Sandi was struggling to recover.

Thankfully, our daughter’s heart rate rose and stabilised and Sandi gradually began to improve, too and they were both discharged five weeks later. 

After a very long and hard road, we are finally mums and I truly treasure every moment with my little family. 

I’ve since had my lower surgery, something I’d been praying for since I was a teenager, and life really has never been better for us personally.

But while I feel incredibly lucky for everything I have, it would be remiss of me to not acknowledge just how scary things are for transgender people right now.

In the last five years, the UK has seen transphobic hate crimes increase by 186%. Trans kids are having their healthcare stripped away and, in April, my heart shattered when the Supreme Court unanimously ruled that a woman is defined by biological sex under equalities law.

I still cannot put into words how egregious this is but I do know that we urgently need help in pushing back.

That’s why I’m proud to be part of A Dance of Identity: a deeply personal, unfiltered documentary which provides a glimpse into mine and Sandi experiences as we navigate our lives and my transition against a backdrop of rising hostility.

However, without funding, this documentary – which has been in the works for the past six years – won’t see the light of day. We have just days left to make it happen.

It’s essential that this story, my story, is told and seen by the masses. Without it I fear that, in this climate of fear and misinformation, trans voices will only continue to be silenced.

I want to live in a world where I don’t have to worry about being attacked when I use the swimming pool changing rooms with my daughter, or in the public loos when she needs a change – or heaven forbid, I need to pee.

I just want people to know that transgender lives are normal lives.

I know that I’m lucky and throughout my journey I’ve often been surprised at just how supportive a majority of people are.

I think the reality is that most people are good, and accept trans people, and we only hear from the vocal minority.

But the trans community needs support. If you don’t like the way trans people are being treated, write to your MPs, find and support trans rights organisations and be noisy about it.

Our voices need to be central when it comes to debating our right to exist, and for our part we must accept ourselves and realise we’re not broken but beautiful, diverse and worthy of being loved.

With your help I hope this documentary can go some way to helping people see that.

A version of this piece was originally published on June 2, 2024