Autonomy

The year is 2013

I am almost 18 years old.

The atmosphere is heavy with tension.

My grandmother enters my room with an icy expression on her face,

from woman to woman. I just want you to know that that haircut does not look good on you. She snaps at me.

I sit there in shame, the insecurity setting in

the little cuts in my newly shaved head sting.

I thought the general rule of politeness was to not comment on something that a person can't change in a few seconds.

Spinach in your teeth, sure,

a shaved head. Not exactly.

Sometime later, my favorite uncle, Uncle Ray, taught me how to tie a tie for the first time ever,

you can't be a boy. Carino, My other uncle, chimes in.

The daily bullying I experience at school has made its way into my home.

I can feel the light at the end of my tunnel dissipating.

The year is 2024 I am almost 29 years old.

A cold breeze caresses my freshly shaved bald head.

I turn the corner onto Pine Street in San Francisco and enter the trans Thrive building,

bracing myself for rejection, I take a seat after saying hello,

not one word is spoken to me about the new hairdo.

Someone excitedly says, Hi Frankie. As they notice me,

their smile radiates unconditional love and safety.

Not a trace of judgment is to be found.

They don't miss a beat.

Years ago, this level of respect would have been unfathomable

in this space I can come as I am,

the cage of society's expectations has finally melted.

So many times in the past, I thought I had found my people only to be proven wrong.

This time is different.

I made it

I'm home. You

you