@Willow at this point, it's hard to detangle the story of my transition from the story of... everything. Of all of me.

The sweet but abused child who dissociated into thinking her life was Good, Actually. The lanky teen who tried to shrink away, who hid in the library and fantasised about magic and transformation. The depressed student whose life was saved by a visitation from a mysterious future self. The pudgy bearded computer geek who leant into stereotypes to find acceptance and community. The bewildered husband and corporate programmer, wondering where this life had come from and whether it was the one they wanted. The terrified hatchling, finally daring to stop cowering before patriarchy and to assert their own truth, find their own way. The lockdown trans, making phone calls with shaking hands and quivering voice. The joyful transitioner, discovering herself as a woman for the first time. The overnight widow, walking a suddenly lonely path. The witch, finding new dimensions to herself amongst her sorrow. The trainee counsellor, thrown from a secure but hated career and landing on her feet back in university. And... what next? Who next?

I never asked for any of this drama. I aspired to a modest and uneventful life, where I could do a little good and not bother anyone. Alas, that's not how things panned out. I'm still standing, still fighting, still trying to claim my space.