EXTRACT | God created trans people, too

I was forced to use the male toilets at school and in public, which came with its own horrors as the years went on. I was around the age of 10 when a senior, who was two grades above me, pressed me against a wall in the boys’ toilets. This boy was well into puberty — he was aware of his actions. This, to him, was an act of “correctional behaviour”.

At the time, I had developed a system that worked for me: it entailed going to the bathroom twice a day and only between classes, never in the morning or at break or even after school. This was to prevent issues with other kids and worked so well that some teachers even knew about it and gladly allowed me to go at my preferred times. With my “system”, the traffic in the bathroom was minimised, which reduced my anxiety; however, all this changed when the senior walked in as I was pulling up my zip, about to go and wash my hands. He pulled me hard and swung me towards the wall, pinning my face against it and rubbing himself on my backside while whispering, “This is what you want.”

He did it with so much force and for so long that my only reaction was total shutdown. I froze and waited for it to be over, unsure of what might happen next. Just as fast as it had started, I heard the voice of my hero, Mr De Meillon, who stepped in to find me being pushed away as if I were a dirty rag. Not long after that incident, a rule was introduced: Mr De Meillon would hold the key to the boys’ bathroom, and boys had to write their names down before using it. This made it easier for me to be alone in the bathroom without fear, and if the key happened to be with someone else, Mr De Meillon would stand outside the door just so that I could feel safe and comfortable.

Participating in physical activities like swimming or athletics triggered my anxiety throughout preschool and primary school, as this involved changing from my school uniform into sports clothes. While my peers saw it as an opportunity to prance around and goof off, it meant that I was stuck in a room with preadolescent boys who were obsessed with measuring the size of their penises. Because the culture at the time did not allow a child like me to fully confide in their teachers without their parents being called in for a major discussion, thus causing a huge drama and drawing even more attention to oneself (and possibly getting a beating from one’s father, one’s biggest bully at the time), I opted to keep things to myself.

To date, I have suppressed more than five, and perhaps as many as eight, incidents of sexual assault, both because of fear, and fear of judgment from my family and society as a whole. I have been molested by close family members as well as by strangers, each time under the guise of “behavoural correction”, and while you might think all these acts were performed by men, some were done by women. To this day I cannot use a public bathroom without fearing that someone might pull me by my hair or drag me off my feet, so it baffles me when I read that “trans people want to rape our women and kids in the bathroom” when, in fact, I have been raped in the male bathroom by a heterosexual, cisgender-presenting boy.

It has taken me a long time to make sense of the traumas I have experienced at the hands of both genders, more so women, especially during my transition journey. I have spent the latter part of my life uncovering and understanding what it means to forgive — both the villains and that confused young child who wanted to live in the shadows.

I’ve noticed how, as we grow older, we tend to underplay our destinies simply because it’s easier that way. The world has fooled us into believing that the visions we were given by God were as insignificant as mere coincidence and not a sign that we are where we are meant to be. Many people find it hard to understand how I can be so deeply entrenched in my spirituality and Christian beliefs yet go “against the rules of nature”; to be honest, it was a huge struggle for me for a long time. But I’ve come to understand that just as the Bible talks about a God who doesn’t make mistakes, which is true, He uses the people least desired by society to show who He is.

Take Paul, who was first known as Saul — a man who made it his mission to kill those who believed in the gospel, until his encounter with God. His transition came about with the loss of his sight and was followed by a name change. For all living things on Earth, growth is as inevitable as death. And, for some of us, an entirely new identity is required so that we can step into our fulfilment.

It may have taken me a long time to write this book but make no mistake: as a child I knew it was one of the things I was put on Earth to do. I’ve always known that one day I’d write a book about my life and about navigating my way between what I looked like and who I actually was. I believe that life has a way of preparing you for your next elevation: for some, the preparation is not as hard — it might even be effortless; however, for those like me, it is an uphill climb of the mountain of gender perception and societal beliefs.

My character-building phases were mostly rooted in the years I spent putting on a show for the world. My biggest fear has never been death, but rather that I might die in the wrong body; that I would not let myself chase after happiness. In my teens and early adulthood, I even convinced myself that being seen as gay was as good as it would get, even though I knew it wasn’t who I was. I always felt an element of discomfort identifying as gay, mostly because I understood that my attraction to men was not because I was male presenting. This was evident in the few relationships I had, none of which gave me any comfort; in fact, without sounding homophobic, it grossed me out, in the same way a male-presenting boy would be grossed out by wearing his mother’s wig or shoes. For me, though, doing so felt reassuring and comforting, which meant it was an internal affiliation rather than a sexual attribute.

Dying in a male body would have been a betrayal of the mission I was set on Earth to accomplish. Don’t get me wrong — I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I also knew that it would be worth it. These days I find myself thinking about death, and somehow my fear has become this: Will the people around me know how much I loved them? Have I made as much of an impact on Earth as I set out to? Have I proved that loving and living your truth is the best form of praise and worship that you can give God?

I found myself in a constant internal debate on a daily basis about things that most might view as mundane, like nudity. For most of my life, the sight of my naked body repulsed me; to this day, I employ a series of activities, like repeating positive affirmations, in the hope of introducing my new body to my old perception of myself. Only now am I learning to be comfortable with my body, and only because of the physical changes that have taken place since my transition.

The one constant about growing up as a transgender child is the continual discomfort within, which prevents you from expressing yourself truthfully. For instance, I developed an extroverted, audacious personality to prevent the world from seeing the battle each new day brought me. The need to overcompensate motivated me to push myself to be more than society perceived me to be. I figured that there were more fitting adjectives to describe me outside of my assigned gender, and I made damn sure to excel at them.

So, who am I, you may ask?

I am Tshiamo, God’s accomplished plan. I am a multifaceted creative who is boldly rewriting the script on gender identity and sexuality. I am fearless in my truth, rooted in love for all mankind, and in pursuit of peace. I’m an actress, celebrity fashion stylist, podcast host, content producer, creative director, brand ambassador and now, author. Just in case the previous sentence flew above your head, let me put it to you this way: I am a heterosexual woman who is having a transgender experience. I am no different to any other human who is having their own experiences while navigating the mysteries of life.

• I am Tshiamo: My transition to self-acceptance and womanhood by Tshiamo Modisane is published by Penguin Random House South Africa