‘The West only promotes gay and trans rights to sterilise Ukrainian women,’ my Slavic relative argued.
I was around 13 years old and I found myself agreeing. In fact, I actually remember responding: ‘They’re sick people.’
This relative was an engineer and a smart person, I reasoned at the time. Many respectable people who supported this idea were, so how could they be wrong?
I’m ashamed to admit it now, but I used to be transphobic. I think I would have even agreed with JK Rowling if she was open about her views while I was growing up.
It’s only through hindsight that I can see the main reason I rejected the idea of gender diverse people was because it hit too close to home.
From as young as three years old, I was inadvertently exploring my gender identity. I preferred male pronouns and chose to go by the name Mowgli from my favourite story, The Jungle Book.
But growing up in a conservative Christian family in Donetsk in Ukraine, I was inundated with messages that it was a sin to be LGBTQ+.
My father would tell me off by saying that God would be angry at me if I didn’t pray, so it was drummed into me that anything outside of being straight and cisgender was wrong.
To make matters worse, it was a common view that gay and transgender people simply had mental illnesses. This persisted in the schoolyard, where fellow students would make fun of queer people.
As a result, I started to repress my exploration of my gender identity.
In fact, I actually remember laughing along with transphobic and homophobic jokes to try to fit in. I was already bullied for my autism and lack of friends, so I didn’t want to make myself any more of a target.
During my teens, I started to embrace the radical feminist idea that transgender men weren’t real because they just couldn’t accept that they were women.
I had never actually met a trans person so my transphobia went unchecked.
I actually remember laughing along with transphobic and homophobic jokes to try to fit in
By the end of my teens, my family and I moved to St Petersburg in Russia after Donetsk was occupied in 2014. This is when my views started to unravel.
Within a year, I came out as a lesbian because I realised I didn’t feel comfortable around men. As a result, I joined LGBTQ+ activist groups, which is where I was forced to confront my biases.
I met openly trans people – many who were comfortable in their own skin, but who were passionate about protesting Russia’s controversial ‘gay propaganda’ laws (which banned the promotion of ‘non-traditional sexual values’). Just like I was.
It made me start to reevaluate what I’d been told my whole life about them. Their experiences of fighting for their self-determination didn’t match with the mentally ill and disparaging image of trans people that I grew up with.
This is where I started my autism activism too, which helped me connect the dots between my questions around gender and my neurodiversity.
Autism and gender diverse activists like Lydia X. Z. Brown and Jim Sinclair inspired me to start probing the questions I’ve always had about my gender.
Like why couldn’t I be called Mowgli if I wanted to? Or why was I so concerned about how other people perceived me?
But it wasn’t until I came to Sheffield in 2018 to seek asylum that I felt fully comfortable with trans people.
In the UK, trans and non-binary people are more accepted, both in-person and on social media. This wasn’t the case in Russia, where non-binary people in particular were derided, even among LGBTQ+ people.
Time away from my religious family also helped me to process the shame and trauma I felt growing up as a repressed queer person. I no longer speak to them as a result.
At the same time, I received a formal autism diagnosis – after years of being told in Russia that my neurodiversity wasn’t real.
It’s through the support I received from the Lesbian Asylum Support Sheffield (LASS) – a refugee charity hub in the city centre – that really helped me embrace my gender identity.
I came out to them as transmasculine non-binary in 2021 and I haven’t looked back. I use the pronouns ‘he’ and ‘they’, which feels most comfortable for me. I was nervous that this women-centric group might exclude me but they’ve fully welcomed me in, including using my pronouns and welcoming me into support meetings.
Today, I look back with disgust on how I used to think about trans people. I can’t believe I held such awful views.
I also feel angry because I wish I was able to properly explore my gender identity as a child without feeling shame or guilt for it. I have no doubt in my mind that I would feel less anxious and depressed today if this side of me was allowed to flourish.
Trans youth know in their heart what they need so I get very angry when cisgender adults try to speak for us.
For me, I know I pushed my trans identity away because I was scared after years of negative conditioning.
All I can do is look back on my life and feel regretful. I’m sharing my story because I don’t want anyone else to feel the same.
As told to James Besanvalle.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing [email protected].
Share your views in the comments below.
MORE : I thought eating from bins and sleeping outside was normal until Mum died
MORE : Bar offers ‘free beers for straight men’ during Pride Month
MORE : Bridgerton star declares she’s ‘in love with a woman’ to celebrate start of Pride Month
Sign up to our guide to what’s on in London, trusted reviews, brilliant offers and competitions. London’s best bits in your inbox
This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.