Jan Mennenga
I’m six years old. I’m sitting at my desk, so excited I could burst into a million tiny pieces of stardust. Today is show and tell. Michael brought his pet hedgehog last time, so anticipation is at an all-time high. It’s JD’s turn, and I hope he has something even cooler. As JD steps to the front of the class, the teacher passes around a box with little pink stones and a sign that says: “Take one.”
JD confidently says, “My Grandpa owns a rock store. He says this is pink malachite. It’s a wishing stone. If you hold tight to this stone, tell it your wishes, and put it under your pillow at night, your wishes will come true.” Being the practical child that I am, I’m a bit skeptical; but Alan beats me to it and shouts out, “Yeah, right, JD… how do we know it works?” JD swears he wished for a bicycle and got one for his birthday. The whole room gasps.
Now I have a wishing stone, too. Best show and tell ever!
That night, I’m lying in my bunk bed. I follow JD’s instructions explicitly. I squeeze tight and whisper to the stone, “I wish to be a boy.” I haven’t said that out loud in almost a year now, though I had been telling my parents since I was two. It never went well. Sometimes I was ignored. Most of the time I was whipped. Either way, I still had to put on a dress, brush my hair, and smile big for the camera. This wishing stone is gonna be my blue ticket, I tell myself. I tuck the stone under my pillow, and dream of how much better life is going to be tomorrow, when people see me for who I really am.
I burst awake before the sun rises, throw back my covers, lift my jammies, and… Ugh. Didn’t work. “But that’s okay,” I tell myself. JD had to make a bunch of wishes before he got his bike, so I can be patient. Each night, I perform the same ritual. I faithfully make my wishes for months, unwilling to give up on myself and what I want.
Fast forward; it’s summertime, and Mom and Dad send me to Vacation Bible School. I’m bored, and no one can tell me why there were no dinosaurs on the ark. Now, we’re talking about why baptism and prayer are important. Snore. The lady says that being baptized gives you a special connection with god. When you stand closer to god, god hears you better. My ears perk up, and those little wheels in my brain start creaking and squeaking and turning. Is this why my wishing stone hasn’t been working? Could it be that baptism is what I need? Maybe god will hear me and fix what is broken.
I don’t waste time. I know the drill. I go home that night and tell my parents I want to be baptized. I know all the right things to say to the preacher to convince him I want this for the ‘right’ reasons. Mom makes me wear a dress to baptism, but I know this is my farewell tour to girlhood, so I don’t fight it. I wave the white flag and don my feminine attire one last time.
That night, I make my wish to my stone, and I say my prayer to god asking, pleading, to wake up a boy the next morning. I ask again and again, night after night, but still, nothing happens. Slowly, that part of me shrinks back, giving way to frustration, grief, anger, hate, and loathing for myself.
Super fast forward; it’s thirty years later, and I’m still a girl. Puberty was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Looking back, it wasn’t the life I wanted to live, and though I occasionally had my doubts, I reckon overall it was still a life worth living. But I’ve never been what I would call happy. Even in the moments that should have been the most joyous occasions, I felt like I wasn’t present at my own party.
I’m sitting in a Dairy Queen parking lot waiting to talk to someone who I think can help me. The therapist calls, and I answer. He asks, “How can I help?” And I fight through tears to tell him, “My life is a wreck. I left my house, my fiancé, and my job in Tennessee to find myself in Washington. I think I might be transgender.” It’s the first time I’ve ever said that word out loud about myself; and even in that moment, I know it is true. I feel a big pink elephant fall off my shoulders, lifting a weight I’d been carrying for so long. This is who I am.
I began living as Eli on June 10, 2021. My maniversary. I went to therapy. I worked through years of trauma. I started testosterone soon after, and my body took to it like a beloved childhood friend. I had top surgery a year later. (Take that, puberty!)
Like many of us so often do, I chose my name very purposefully. Some of you may know that Eli means ‘to ascend.’ That said, I didn’t just ascend. To ascend something is to climb and reach the highest point, but my experience is so much more than that. I transcended.
When I embraced my true self and owned every part of who I am — the good, the bad, the incredibly ugly — I went above and beyond the limits of everything I had ever considered within the realm of possibilities. I didn’t just reach a peak, I surpassed it. Since becoming Eli, I haven’t had one single regret. Not once have I regretted giving up everything from my old life to become myself. Reflecting on my memories, it feels like someone else’s story that I was just acting in.
That’s the true beauty of the transgender experience. There are not many humans who experience the world as we do, with such authenticity and truth after experiencing such heartache and pain. It’s like walking out of a dark cave. You remember what the world looked like before you went in, but after spending so much time in its absence, the light is much brighter as you emerge. The colors are so vivid. The air is so fresh. You see yourself after years of bumbling through the cave. “Oh, hello, you. There you are.” This is trans joy. This is something that no one can ever take away from us.
It took me a whole lot longer to get my wish than it did for JD to get his bike. After years in the darkness, I returned home to that little boy lying in his bed and wishing for his body to match his brain. He is still in me, and he is happy now. He is visible. And he would fight like a dragon to make sure no child ever has to experience the years of heartache he went through.
If you’re here today, and your soul resonates with my tale, come talk to me. You are my siblings, my sisters, my brothers. You’re not alone, and your feelings are valid. You’re not broken. As a very wise philosopher once said, “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”
I want nothing more than for us to emerge from that darkness, own our greatness, and walk authentically in the light.
This is the wish I whisper to my wishing stone each and every night.
