#sheancore

This past year was one that would not slow down, and I can hardly believe that so much time has passed since my surgery. I won’t lie, my transition was far from smooth sailing, and that’s exactly why I want to use this one year milestone to celebrate. I want to celebrate myself, and all of the incredible things I’ve accomplished this year, including recovering from this major surgery I fought so hard to get. I want to celebrate the people in my life who helped me survive it all— the friends and family new and old who make life as my truest self so worth living.

The days leading up to and following my surgery were genuinely some of the most exhausting and terrifying days of my life. A sudden breakup quickly devolved into daily harassment, methodical isolation from people offering me help, attempted theft of the funds raised for my surgery (I was fortunately able to recover all but $16), jeopardized my housing, and sent my recovery plans into a tailspin. I found myself couch-surfing in those days leading up to my surgery, as I felt unsafe and unwelcome at my apartment. I was desperately reaching out for support from every resource I knew, when BAGLY (the Boston Alliance of Gay and Lesbian Youth) messaged me on facebook. They provided me with legal advice for both prematurely breaking a lease, as well as protecting myself from my abusers. They granted me incredible financial support for rent and food, connected me with counseling for survivors of domestic abuse, and even provided me with a winter coat and toiletries when I couldn’t afford them on my own. If you’re under 25, queer, live in the Boston area, and need help, I highly recommend reaching out— and If you’re looking for a local organization to support, the work BAGLY does is life-changing, I can attest.

I’ve never been the most spiritual person, but like an angel from heaven, my (now) dear friend Ellis entered my life. After meeting at my new job and knowing each other for no longer than a few weeks, Ellis and his fiancé Lucid offered to bring me to my surgery, and stay with me for a few days after while I recovered. At first I declined, hoping to find someone I’d known a little longer as I didn’t want to put my new friends out. As the day inched ever closer, and my options dwindled, I relented.

We laughed and joked all the way into the operating room, and he held my hand and let me squeeze him tight as the IV went into my arm and put me to sleep. He and Lucid stayed in the hospital for hours, and were right by my side when I woke up, handing me the penis man to take a picture. They watched me nearly throw up in the uber home from the post-anesthesia nausea, and kept me stable as I wobbled up the stairs into my bed. These two slept on my floor for three days, fed me, ran errands for me, cleaned my drains, and tracked my meds. We had fun too, having our own little mystery science theater to terrible anime, and shittily playing tony hawk pro skater with what little arm strength I had. After all was said and done, I will never ever forget Ellis telling me ; “It was seriously no trouble, you were an easy patient, but I still would have done it even if you weren’t. I’m glad you’re my friend, but I still would have done it if we never spoke again.” I’ve never met two more generous, fun, and kind-hearted people in my life, and I’m so lucky to know them both, I don’t know what I would have done without them.

Family can be hard when you’re trans, and I haven’t always been on the best terms with mine. Regretfully, I held very little patience for my mom and dad as they attempted to reconcile for the past and grow for the future. As my life went up in flames around me following my surgery, I was reminded something my dad said to me when I first left for Boston; “If you ever need help, no judgement, no questions asked, get me. I’m giving you three get out of jail free cards, I love you, don’t hesitate, just get me.”

For the first time in just over a year, I was having full conversations with my dad again. A lot of it was business and advice as I navigated healthcare, housing, and abuse— but he ended every text with “love you, son.” I spent about two weeks home for Christmas, hopping in the car as soon as I was healed enough to tolerate the 3 hour drive south. I came home to such warmth, with a dinner made vegan just for me, and clear effort and love put into calling me the correct name and pronouns. I every day think about my 90 year old grandmother telling me that she calls me Nathan in her prayers. I owe my brother, from whom I get my love of scene culture and emo music, so much more than the burrito I bought him when he battled a flat tire and 8 trips in a 2 door jeep wrangler to help me move when I couldn’t lift more than my laptop. On a drive to get stocking stuffers, my dad hesitantly inquired as to if he could ask me a ‘science question’, then asked how I took my testosterone. When I told him I inject myself weekly, he called me a badass. Now, I send my family clips of my performances and progress pics on my costumes, when a year ago I was scared to ask for help. So few trans people get so lucky, and I am forever grateful for the effort and love my family provided me, even after I’d spent so long giving them the cold shoulder. I love them all so dearly, and I sincerely regret all that time we lost.

One of the ‘couches’ (or rather, dorm beds) I crashed on the most belonged to my one of best and closest friends, Hydra, who is so generous with their love and their home. They are my biggest cheerleader, and president of the Shean King Fan Club. I remember us spending the night before my surgery together, gorging on pizza right up until the minute I had to start my fast, and binge watching The Haunting of Hill House. They gifted me a little worm named Pea-pod that followed me to the hospital. For days straight they listened to me sob and vent, they held me tight and kissed my forehead and told me it was all going to be okay. They were right, it was terrifying, but in the end it was all okay.

I’d never felt “it takes a village” harder than a year ago today when I needed help more than I’ve ever needed it in my life. I’m grateful for Alexis who set up my meal train, and every single person who chose to stop by, chat, and bring me something delicious to eat. I’m grateful for everyone who brought a print, jelly bracelet, or sent a tip to help me pay off my medical bills and recover in peace. I’m grateful for everyone who washed a dish, gave me a ride, or even just checked in.

The domestic abuse I was facing as I recovered robbed me of autonomy— I was treated by my abusers as someone undeserving of gender-affirming care for no reason other than I was disliked. I was repeatedly endangered, stolen from, and harassed. I was threatened with homelessness, told to kill myself, and forced out of my home a little over a month after major surgery. I am firmly of the belief that to truly provide to your community, you have to treat EVERYONE within it with kindness and grace, even the people you don’t like all that much. Nobody deserves to recover the way I recovered. Yet still, I’m grateful for all who helped me take back my autonomy, who helped me rebuild my self-worth, and who chose to love me and help me when I was unable to help myself. I only hope that I can give back even a small fraction of the love and kindness I receive every day from the people dear to me.

Scars represent something a little different for everyone who has received gender affirming care in some form. I’m incredibly proud of my scars, as they remind me of how hard I fought to become the person I am today. I also take so much joy in watching them heal and fade away, as each day they grow lighter is a day spent healing from everything I’ve been through.

As flesh turned to incisions, and incisions into wounds, they healed into scars with the help of my friends. These scars will forever be a part of me, and these scars will fade with time.