The Secret Autobiography of a Teenaged Transgender

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Morgan Palmer tells the story of her life.

Submitted: August 10, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 10, 2008



Gender - the properties that distinguish organisms on the basis of their reproductive roles.

Transgender - the state of one’s gender identity not matching one's assigned sex.

All my life, I knew that there was something different about me; that I wasn’t meant to be in the body I’m in.

My birth certificate says that my name is Morgan Palmer. I was born at the Dr. GB Cross Memorial Hospital in a small town in Northern Ontario, on April 30th, 1990, to Deborah and Jacob Palmer. Under sex, it indicates that I am female.

Even though the evidence clearly states that I am female, as do my obvious female body parts, I think of myself as a boy. I am a teenaged transgender, living my whole life in secrecy.

Only very few friends know of my secret gender identity, and well… my parents know nothing. It’s not that I think they’d be upset, or mad at me for it. I just don’t think their ready to cope with their once daughter being their son. In time, I know that I will have to tell them. It’s not fair for me to keep something like this from them, right? I think not.

There isn’t much I can tell you about being transgendered, in itself. It’s something that you could only understand if you’re experiencing it yourself. It’s a feeling far worse than any I have felt. Saying that I’m trapped in my own body, chained up, with a dozen locks and no key only begins to describe it, at most. 

But this isn’t going to be about being a transgender. This is about me; about my life. My story, while not completely interesting or pleasant, is one that I’d like to tell. 


My life started off pretty normal. I was born as a second child to a young couple who were just starting their adult lives. The first born child, my sister, is three years older than me. She’s my polar opposite in every which way. I’m a shy, reserved, bookworm/gamer/artist that is slightly overweight and has a plain appearance, at most. While my sister is a loud, outgoing, shameless individual. She dislikes reading, neglects the use of grammar, punctuation, and spelling completely. She has no time for games, or art, and much prefers shopping for new clothes and makeup to make her even more ‘beautiful’. She’s the thinner, prettier child, by far.

I was a quiet, well behaved child for the most part. I learned to talk before I could walk, and used this newfound skill as often as possible. I loved to ask questions; I couldn’t get enough knowledge. By the time I was able to read and write, I was burying myself into books constantly.  When I started school, I strayed away from the other children and mostly kept to myself. I had a few friends, though. One’s that were barely friendly. But they were my comrades, nonetheless.  

Throughout primary school I kept near perfect grades, that really impressed my parents. They were so proud of me. I was a star child.

When I got into middle school, though, everything began to change. My grades started to slip, my parents put more pressure on me about that… By the time I was in eighth grade I was standing on the edge of flunking out of school, and my mental health was being flushed down the toilet along with my grades.

The events that led up to this downward fall were ones that I will never forget. I wish, more than anything, that I could.

But, I’m jumping ahead of myself now.

I wanted to start this story at the beginning, where all the problems manifested. Where my childhood was ruined. My innocence ripped away from me…


It all started when I was five, a few months into Kindergarten, my family was on the rocks, and we couldn’t afford to live in the apartment that we were inhabiting any longer. We had to up and move to another community, into a house that my aunt and her two sons were living in at the time. I was uprooted, and dropped down in a completely different environment. I was living in a small town before, a town that had many buildings, children, playgrounds, stores. But this new place… It was much, much different. The nearest store was an hour away, the houses were spaced far apart, and there was a forest surrounding my new “home”. Not only was the environment different, my new playmates were as well. Though they were my close cousins, first to be exact, I barely knew them. The oldest, Braiden, was six, maybe seven years older than me, and the youngest, Jess, was two years older. I got along with Jess much better than Braiden, for obvious reasons. He was closer in age.

Because they were boys, their interests were alien to me. I was raised as a girl; I played with Barbies, and dolls, and other girl-oriented toys. They played with dinkies, Tonka toys, and even hammers and saws at times.

I had to adapt to this new environment. I wanted to fit in, as any other child would want to. I wanted to be accepted by my new peers. I had to act as a boy.

At first, my changes in attitude were subtle. I would shy away from my “girl toys”, to try out my cousin’s more masculine toys. I would play with their dinkies, their GI Joe’s, their Tonka’s, and their video games.

Jess and I slowly started bonding over my newfound interests. He and I would open up our own play “Car washes” and wash his toy cars, and motorcycles. We would play wrestle, play sports together, build clubhouses that were barely stable enough to hold my 50 pounds of body weight.

In time, I started looking up to him. He was my idol. I wanted to be just like him.

I would notice some things about him, like the way he would just cover the bottom half of his body with a towel after he showered. And of course, being young and naïve, I did the same thing. I was soon told that I wasn’t allowed to do that. I was a girl, I had to cover up my whole  body. Not just part of it. When I would ask why, I would get the standard “It’s just how it is.” Answer. And of course, I’d take that answer as a truth.

Jess and I were inseparable. We would share everything, play all sorts of games for endless hours. Our innocent games became more mischievous, and got us into moderate trouble. We were running out of things to do when Braiden introduced us to a more “grown up” game. Truth or Dare.

We were up in the attic of the small shed that was near our house. We were sitting around in a circle, “we” being Jess, Braiden, my sister, and myself.

At first, the dares were innocent. “Kiss the wall!” “Lick the floor!”

But soon the intensity progressed.

 Because Braiden was older, much older, he knew a lot more dares than any of us children could have even thought of…

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