Kira Herdman

This week we have a guest author for us. Jake is a disabled trans man and has agreed to write a series of blog posts about his journey.

Finding The Words

From childhood silence and loss to community and pride, Jake shares his journey of becoming a transgender man.

Intro

Growing up, Jake knew he was a boy—but without the language or community to understand, he felt lost, alone, and broken. This is his journey from silence and survival to finding the words that changed everything.

Early Knowing

I’m Jake. I’m a strong, confident, out trans man and co-organiser of the Blackburn Rainbow Café. But it wasn’t always this way.

At four years old, I already knew I was a boy. What I didn’t understand was why people told me otherwise, or why my body wasn’t like the other boys’.

I remember hiding in my wardrobe, crying, tearing at my groin until it bled—trying to peel away the plastic I imagined encasing my penis, as if I could free it like a new toy.

And I remember the voices in the street shouting at me: “Are you a boy or a girl?” The sting came not just from the cruelty, but from the fact that I didn’t know how to answer.

No Words, No Map

I didn’t hear the word transgender until my early twenties. Until then, I believed something was fundamentally broken in me.

When I was six, I told my grandmother I was really a boy and that my name didn’t feel right. She let me try out new names—even the ridiculous ones that didn’t fit—without judgement. She also knew instinctively that my mother wasn’t safe to tell.

The world I grew up in was filled with the casual cruelty of the ’80s and ’90s. Slurs for gay and lesbian people were common. Then came Ace Ventura—my first glimpse of a trans character on screen. I was fascinated, but the moment was soured when my mother introduced me to the word tranny.

At that point, I didn’t even know trans men existed. Without the internet, there was no community, no map, no way to make sense of who I was. I felt adrift, alone, and confused.

Loss and Escape

In 1999, I lost my grandmother. Fourteen months later, my grandfather was gone too. I was only twelve, and suddenly the only people who truly accepted me had been taken away.

At school, I was bullied daily. At home, I faced the same from my mother. Every move I made was policed—don’t sit like that, don’t stand like that, don’t talk like that.

By 14, I had found an escape in alcohol and heavy drugs. Addiction became my identity because I had nothing else to hold onto.

A Candle in the Dark

At 22, an old school friend called to tell me another of our small circle was transitioning. It was like a candle lit in the darkness. For the first time, I could see the outline of something more.

That same week, Channel 4 aired Boys Don’t Cry as their late-night queer film. Watching it was like someone flipping a switch. Suddenly, the lights came on.

At last, I had words. Words that allowed me to search online. Words that led me to others like me. Words that gave me myself.

Becoming Jake

For the first time in my life, I could say: I am a transgender man.

I am here, I am not broken, And I will be OK.