My princess diary: Living as my true self
Society20.01.2025
I was four years old when I first announced that I was a girl. Nobody else saw it that way; they said I was a boy and told me that the girl inside didn’t belong. Unable to exist in the open, she became proficient at snooping, sneaking, and being invisible. In this hostile environment, I stole little moments for her to be alone so she could be herself, with no audience other than a mirror.
The easiest way to create this space was to convince everyone that I was too sick to go to school. On those days, I could open the magical closet door to transform and release that little girl. When she took over, when she was allowed out to play, in secrecy and loneliness, the world changed.
It became a place of magic, art, confidence, and beauty.
I clearly recall one extra special day – I had discovered a new source of feminine finery in a chest in the basement. It was not hanging in a closet but was carefully folded in a box with a plastic window and a hint of satin and lace inside.
I lifted the lid and gasped, taking in the beautiful white gown with a bouffant skirt. If I close my eyes, I can still feel what it was like to wear it. To swoosh those skirts. To feel, in that moment, like a fairy tale princess, imaginary but also very real. My senses were heightened by the intensity of the moment, and for years after, the scent of mothballs would transport me back to the magic of that day. Over the years, the attraction of gowns never diminished. They came to represent a holy grail, symbols of femininity utterly denied to a boy.
I didn’t get caught that time. But eventually the girl’s existence couldn’t be ignored anymore. In that world with no gender-diverse role models and no vocabulary, the girl was declared a ‘problem,’ one that was handed over to “medical professionals.” Between the ages of 10 and 14, I went through emotional, verbal and ultimately physical and sexual abuse as they tried and tried to kill her, but only succeeded in improving her ability to hide. She was not seen by the outside world for many, many years. But she never died.
I transitioned almost 50 years later, at the age of 59. It was a mostly slow birthing process that accelerated dramatically at the end. There is a lot I could say about that process, but this isn’t that story. This is the story of the girl who refused to die and her dream of being a princess.
A life of diplomatic service
I’m a diplomat – for real. I have done six postings overseas representing the country I love. I am now on my seventh. This life is not for everyone.
I have moved 13 times in 18 years. It has put a huge strain on my personal life and relationships, but it is an amazing experience for someone who loves travel, change, and stimulation. I have lived in and visited many incredible places and met so many unique people, and would happily do it all again and again.
Over my career, I have been invited to my share of diplomatic receptions and balls. The latter always churned up a lot of feelings. Wearing a suit has always felt like being covered in ants, and I avoided it whenever possible. I skipped my junior and senior proms. I remember terrible arguments with my mother as we got ready to go to various weddings. I HATED wearing suits.
“But you look so handsome!” That’s not what I am going for, thanks.
At the same time, I would gaze longingly at dresses. The way they moved, how the fabric fell, and how they enhanced and concealed. Cowl, halter, and scoop necks. Drop, princess, empire, and basque waists. Maxi, midi, mini. I knew all the vocabulary.
I often made excuses not to attend, but it could become a command performance when Canada was hosting – on with the suit and the grimace masquerading as a smile. Duck out as early as possible. Fight the corrosive feelings of isolation, sadness, and loneliness, and resolve to be out of town next year. But that was then.
No more secrets, no more hiding
I am now on my first overseas posting since transitioning. This is all new territory, both for me and, as far as I know, also for Canada. I stand on the shoulders of giants, those who pushed an entire culture from the awful fear and shame and invisibility of my youth to this fragile moment of beautiful acceptance. A moment I want to help consolidate and extend for those who follow.
Every day brings incredible experiences as I get to do everything all over again for the first time. But I will never forget the day I received a – finally welcome – invitation to a ball. The princess awakened! A ball needs a gown. And despite my love for them, I didn’t have one. So it was off to the dressmaker to get a custom gown – the dream was becoming real!
The morning of the ball was a normal workday. I participated in an international workshop and met several new people. None of them displayed any discernible surprise in meeting a trans diplomat. I have gradually accepted that there is no need to hold my breath and wait for a reaction. Every introduction has been the same: “Hi, nice to meet you; look forward to working with you.” If I was a unicorn, people seemed to be very used to seeing them.
It is hard to convey the sense of relief and joy generated by moving past the decades of fear, shame and internalized transphobia. Learning that the world would not hate and abandon me and that I remain respected as a competent, experienced professional fills me with joy. I am no longer held back by dysphoria and self-loathing. I am so honoured to break this section of the trail, and I want to get it right for those who follow.
10,000 volts of joy
That evening, I walked up to the registration table with colleagues who have become allies and friends – family, really – and felt the serenity of closure. The girl who wouldn’t die was about to realize those princess dreams.
When the meal ended, the music started, and with a bit of encouragement from one of my wonderful colleagues, I did something I hadn’t done for decades: I danced. Happily and unselfconsciously.
In that moment, I knew that this happiness had not come from the magic of being a princess but from being accepted as a human being.
