G’day, This is Jessica

Important Information

This story has been a long time coming. I want to be absolutely clear: this is a personal narrative intended for a mature audience. It contains discussions of past trauma, conversion efforts, and mental health challenges.

If you find these topics distressing, please take care of yourself while reading. Take breaks if you need to. If anything here stirs up sharp feelings, please reach out to someone or dial the Lifeline number listed at the end.

---

My Journey

I’ve lived through situations that no one should have to experience. For a significant part of my life, I was subjected to emotional and psychological pressure that lasted well into my twenties.

Between the ages of 10 and 12, I was forced into what were called “conversion” efforts. I call it what it truly was: an attempt to erase who I was. But there was never anything wrong with me to begin with. If you are trans, you are trans, and no one has the right to tell you otherwise.

The System’s Failures

The institutions that were meant to protect me failed repeatedly. In Idaho, the Department of Children’s Services visited the house four times. Each visit was the same: a short talk with my stepfather, a quick look around, and then they would leave, convinced everything was fine.

Each time they left, I was struck by the same thought: no one’s coming.

My stepfather was skilled at manipulating the situation. Because of my autism, it was easy for him to make me appear uncertain or unreliable to the authorities. They never saw the reality of what was happening. Back in Oregon, the Department of Human Services Child Protection Division also came up short. Visits were made and checks were performed, but the truth never reached them.

I want to make it clear that I’m not pursuing legal action or blaming the staff involved. I believe they were trying to do their jobs. The problem was that the system was simply not equipped to see through the ways I was being controlled and silenced. These failures taught me a bitter lesson: if no one truly sees you, you have to learn to protect yourself. Eventually, that survival instinct turned into resilience and reclaiming my voice.

Recovery

Recovery was not a fast process. After breaking free, I still encountered people who didn’t have my best interests at heart before I finally found my feet. By 2016, I was 25 and had put distance between myself and that life, but the scars remained.

At 31, I hit my lowest point. I dialled 988 because I couldn’t see a way forward. That call changed everything. It led me to proper mental health care and ongoing therapy, which I’ve continued ever since.

I started hormone replacement therapy soon after. It wasn’t just about transition; it was about finally starting to live. A trans content creator who shared nothing but positivity gave me the final push I needed. It’s been two years now, and I’m doing better—I feel stronger and calmer.

Finding My Voice

I came out to a couple of friends back in middle school; one walked away, and the other stayed for a while. These days, neither are around, and that’s okay. I’ve always been a bit of a loner.

What matters now is that I’m living openly, in my own voice, and on my own terms. The systems and institutions may have failed me, but I didn’t fail myself. I survived. I’m still here. I refuse to let anyone else’s shame or silence define me ever again.