Building New Gestalts: Navigating the Unprecedented Experiences of a Life in Transition

Lately, I’ve been sharing the joys of coming out, exploring fashion, and beginning the medical part of my transition. Today, I’m feeling entirely more somber and introspective. You see, I’ve “lost” a bunch of so-called friends and family members since embarking on my transition last year.

I say, “so-called,” because of the way people have responded to my news. The reactions can be summed up with this phrase, “Well, I support you. But, I don’t support your lifestyle.” WTF does that even mean. As an autistic gestalt processor, a statement like that is very hard to process. So, I’ve sought help. Here’s what I’ve come up with.

Lifestyle vs. Identity

Being transgender isn’t a choice or a lifestyle for me. It’s important to understand that this isn’t something I decided one day, like picking out an outfit or choosing a hobby. My gender identity is a fundamental part of who I am, much like my height or eye colour. I didn’t wake up one day and decide to be trans; it’s an inherent aspect of my being (and who I’ve always been).

As a gestalt processor, I’ve always lacked the scripts to adequately explain myself and my journey. Reflecting on my evolution, I realise that I have always felt “gender fluid,” as I understood it at the time. However, over time, especially when it was safe for me to do so, I noticed that my fluidity was always within the feminine space. I experienced varying degrees of femininity—sometimes more, sometimes less—but I never truly felt masculine. This realisation was a crucial step in understanding my true gender identity.

Unpacking these feelings and experiences led me to eventually discover my true self as a transgender woman. Despite lacking the conventional scripts to articulate my journey, there is so much evidence in my life for the validity of my trans identity. As an autistic person, my core femininity was often masked by the necessity to survive in a world hostile to my being. This made it even more challenging to recognise and express my true self.

It wasn’t about adopting a new lifestyle or making a superficial change. My gender identity is deeply ingrained within me. It’s not about the activities I engage in or the way I live my day-to-day life; it’s about how I understand myself and how I feel on the inside. For me, being trans is about aligning my outer life with my inner life, ensuring that how I present myself to the world reflects who I truly am.

My gender identity is a core part of who I am. It’s as intrinsic as my personality, values, and beliefs. Being true to my gender identity is about living authentically and being honest with myself and others. It’s not something I can change or choose at will; it's a vital aspect of my existence.

Meet Jaime …

I have recently started using the name Jaime as my nom de plume, transitioning from my old name, Jim. Although this might seem like a subtle change, it holds deep significance for me as it reflects my true self and identity. This is the name I have chosen for myself, rather than the one assigned to me by others. However, I’ve noticed that some people in my life continue to refer to me by my old name, even after gentle corrections.

I don’t fully understand the resistance I’m encountering. It feels as if some believe that by acknowledging my new name, they are somehow endorsing or being complicit in what they perceive as my “errant ways.” This perspective is confusing and hurtful to me.

From my point of view, my name change, even as a nom de plume, is a personal and significant part of my journey. It’s not about asking others to approve or disapprove of my identity, but rather about respecting my choice and acknowledging who I truly am. By continuing to use my old name, it feels like they are refusing to see and accept me as I am.

Names are powerful symbols of our identity. By choosing Jaime, I am embracing my true self. I plan to make this change legal in 2025, but even now, I hope for understanding and respect from those around me, as this name is not just a label but a reflection of my inner truth.

Hey Mr. …

At my school, there’s a culture where every adult is either addressed as “Mr.” or “Miss” by students, with actual last names seldom used. Despite my efforts to introduce myself as “Doctor H,” considering my doctorate and the difficulty of pronouncing my last name, students continue to reflexively call me “Mr.”

I've tried to engage students in light-hearted conversations about it. Sometimes, I jokingly question if my father is behind me, as he's the only “Mr. H” I know. I suggest that “Doctor H” would be a suitable alternative. Whilst this approach is meant to be funny and cute, it hasn’t prompted students to reconsider their automatic responses.

For me, this issue is less about the sting of being constantly misgendered and more about the lack of mindfulness it reveals. It feels as though the students are on auto-pilot, not fully present or engaged in their interactions.

I also understand that we are a Title 1 school, and many of our students and their families face significant challenges. For many students, this is the only place where they use their English skills. My colleagues who are Hispanic/Latino have explained that addressing adults as “Mr.” or “Miss” is seen as proper and respectful within their culture, and it’s a deeply ingrained practice.

Given these cultural and contextual factors, I recognise that this habit is not easily changed. My hope is to gently encourage a bit more mindfulness in how we address each other, whilst also respecting the cultural norms that play a significant role in our students’ lives.

A musical aid to my gestalt processing …

Lately, I find myself drawn to Scottish icon, Dougie Maclean’s “Caledonia,” particularly the line, “lost some friends that I needed losing, found others on the way...” This resonates deeply with my current experience. In the process of transitioning and embracing my true self, I’ve had to confront the painful reality that some relationships are not built to last through such profound personal changes. These friendships, once seemingly crucial to my sense of belonging, have shown their fragility. Letting go of these connections has been a necessary, albeit painful, part of my journey.

This line from “Caledonia” speaks to the bittersweet nature of growth and transformation. The family members and friends that I’ve lost were those who couldn’t accept or support my true identity. Their departure, though hurtful, has been a critical part of shedding the layers of my past that no longer fit. It’s a reminder that growth often involves painful pruning, but this makes space for new, healthier relationships to flourish.

In contrast, the journey has also led me to find new friends who offer genuine support and understanding. These are the connections that have blossomed as I’ve become more authentic. These relationships are based on acceptance and mutual respect, providing a sense of community and belonging that I previously lacked. The people I’ve met along the way are those who see and appreciate the real me, and this has been incredibly affirming.

Reflecting on Maclean’s lyrics helps me to see the positive side of this journey. While the loss of old friends can feel like a void, the new relationships that have emerged are a testament to my resilience and authenticity. They remind me that it’s okay to outgrow certain friendships and that finding others who truly support you is not just possible but also a crucial part of living authentically.

On the other hand, The Smiths’ “How Soon Is Now” brings another layer of introspection, especially with the line, “I am the son and heir of nothing in particular...” This line encapsulates a sense of rootlessness and lack of heritage that I often feel. Growing up, adopted into a family whose culture I didn’t share and with whom I never had an emotional connection, and without my biological mother or father involved in my upbringing, has left a significant void. Our eventual connection as adults could not fully bridge the gap left by their absence during my formative years.

This detachment has profoundly influenced my sense of identity. Feeling like the “heir of nothing in particular” reflects the internal struggle of defining myself without a clear, supportive lineage or heritage (in spite of my Scottish identity via connection to my grandmother). It highlights the challenge of building an identity and a sense of belonging when foundational family connections are missing or fractured.

Reflecting on this song and its lyrics, I see how my journey is one of self-creation and self-discovery. Without a strong familial anchor, I’ve had to forge my path, often feeling like I’m starting from scratch. This process has been both empowering and daunting, as it requires immense self-reliance and introspection.

Despite these challenges, the journey has also been an opportunity to redefine what heritage and legacy mean to me. It has pushed me to seek out and build my support networks, creating a chosen family that resonates with my values and identity. In a way, the absence of a traditional lineage has given me the freedom to construct my identity on my terms, drawing strength from my experiences and the community I’ve built around me.

Final thoughts …

Finally, I don’t want to seem like some unfeeling autistic stereotype. Rather, I feel very deeply about all of this, likely more so with the effects of reconnecting parts of myself via HRT and my transition. The intensity of these feelings of grief and loss, and of feeling like the connections that did exist weren’t entirely authentic, has me attempting to process them thoroughly.

Reconnecting with my true self through my transition has brought a heightened sense of emotion and introspection. This deep emotional journey has made me acutely aware of the authenticity, or lack thereof, in my past relationships. The grief and loss I experience are not just about the people I’ve lost but also about the realisation that those connections may never have been genuine in the first place. Perhaps I was just a means to their end that is now more costly given recent revelations?

As an autistic person, I am often seen through the lens of stereotypes that suggest a lack of emotion or depth. However, my reality is quite the opposite. The feelings I experience are profound and intense, and they shape my journey in significant ways. Writing has become a crucial tool for me to process these emotions. By building new gestalts through writing, I can describe my experiences and emotions to others in a way that is both meaningful and true to my inner world.

This process of writing and reflection helps me to make sense of my journey and to communicate it to others in a way that challenges stereotypes and misconceptions. It's a way for me to articulate the depth of my experiences and to share the authentic self that I am continuously discovering and embracing. I hope that in sharing them with you here, you can get a sense of my inner world and see what an authentic autistic trans experience looks like.