From as young as I can remember, I wore dresses and high heels, make-up and necklaces (Picture: Jack Lynch)

‘I feel like you feel,’ a nine-year-old student told me recently.

‘I don’t fit into a box that everyone else seems to fit into. I don’t like doing normal girl things. I like football and wearing boys’ clothes.’

It was the start of last year and I was speaking to a group of roughly 60 Year 5 and 6 children at a primary school in Sussex about my gender identity as part of my role as Workshops Lead for Pop’n’Olly – an LGBT+ education company for primary-aged children.

Whether this child was non-binary – like me – or simply a girl who dared to break traditional gender stereotypes was irrelevant. They were seeing the representation that I so desperately needed when I was their age and recognising something similar in themselves.

I grew up in south London and was lucky enough to have supportive parents who allowed me to be me. From as young as I can remember, I wore dresses and high heels, make-up and necklaces – at home, to the shops, anywhere and everywhere I could.

From as young as I can remember, I wore dresses and high heels, make-up and necklaces (Picture: Jack Lynch)

I felt comfortable being flamboyant and dramatic. I just felt like me.

However, when I started school around the age of five, it quickly became clear to me that being a ‘boy’ came with a certain rulebook – one that certainly didn’t include my big femme energy.

I remember realising almost instantly that I stood out and this made me feel extremely vulnerable. I was teased for the way I acted, walked, talked, and even my ‘flamboyant’ hand gestures.

I don’t recall much about this bullying in my first school but what stays with me is that the teachers did nothing to stop it. So much so that my mum had to move me to a different school.

I stopped wearing dresses and heels altogether and wore jeans and t-shirts instead (Picture: Jack Lynch)

So I decided to ‘fix’ myself. I stopped wearing dresses and heels altogether and wore jeans and t-shirts instead. On top of that, I tried to act like the boys I saw around me – masculine, football-supporting, sporty and brainy. 

Despite my ‘corrections’, I still went through school with a permanent fear that someone would find out who I really was and that I would be exposed, outed and humiliated. Looking back now, this was very much the start of the chronic anxiety and depression that I still struggle with to this day.

I felt comfortable enough to come out as gay at university because I saw it as a fresh start. This allowed me to loosen the act a little but I still struggled to fit in.

By this point, I actually liked playing badminton (I got to county level) and was also competing in duathlons and running events so I definitely felt like I was ‘too sporty’ to be ‘camp’ but I also didn’t feel masculine enough to be a ‘sporty gay’. I felt enormous pressure to be accepted into these stereotypical subcategories.

After university, I lasted five years before I had a breakdown in April 2020.

On furlough – with so much time by myself – I felt overwhelmed and unhappy. In fact, I even contemplated taking my life just to escape it all.

For such a long time, I’d been suppressing the real me and the result had meant long-term, crippling, depression – including almost daily suicidal thoughts – and major anxiety.

My partner at the time pushed me to contact both my GP for antidepressants and a counsellor to start talking about what I was feeling. I can honestly say that without him pushing me to do this, I would almost certainly be dead.

I loved being able to provide an education that – for me – would have been life-changing (Picture: Jack Lynch)

It was through counselling that I started to open up about my identity for the first time. I began to understand the root of my anxiety and depression. Turns out, if you play a fake version of yourself for too long, you lose who you really are.

Then in late 2020, I started working with Pop’n’Olly.

As my confidence in myself grew, so did my responsibilities at the company and I found myself delivering LGBT+ workshops, including sharing messages of joy around being different.

I instantly adored it. Specifically, I loved being able to provide an education that – for me – would have been life-changing.

I’ve never truly felt like a man but I’ve never felt like a woman either (Picture: Jack Lynch)

Then, a year after starting in this role, I came out as transgender and non-binary. This is because my work in therapy led to me realising that I’ve never truly felt like a man but I’ve never felt like a woman either.

So I came out as an act of freeing myself – from other people’s judgements but also to live authentically as me. And that’s the story I share with children in my workshops, albeit in a way they can understand at primary level.

I open up about the pressure I felt to look and act in a certain way as a child and why this made me very unhappy. I also share the shame and fear of simply being myself because people had bullied me for this in the past.

I’d estimate that I’ve spoken to over 100,000 primary-aged children (Picture: Jack Lynch)

In my experience, children today are really accepting and kind – they often react with sadness to my story. Some even tell me why nobody should feel this way and how they would have been my friend at school.

Most importantly, they know that the workshop is a safe space for them.

But it’s not just comments from the kids. It’s emails from parents telling me how their child came home and couldn’t stop talking about my session. Or messages from teachers saying me how much more confident I’ve made them feel about teaching about LGBT+ identities. 

You are seen and you are enough (Picture: Jack Lynch)

I just think how lucky I am to still be alive to turn my experiences into something that is life-changing for young people. Never in my wildest dreams did I think anyone would care about my story, let alone find it inspiring.

I’d estimate that I’ve spoken to over 100,000 primary-aged children. And spoiler alert: most of these kids already know what non-binary and trans mean.

I spent 20 years acting the role of the ‘boy’ I thought I had to be – in order to be safe and fit in. It turns out I just needed to see a different blueprint on how to be human.

Our differences are not something that make us weak (Picture: Jack Lynch)

If you’re reading this and recognising anything in yourself, I want you to know that – whoever you are, whoever you feel you are inside – you are loved. That you are seen and that you are enough.

I will leave you with the message I tell the children in my workshops. Remember, our differences are not something that make us weak, they are what make us powerful.

Pop’n’Olly is the UK’s leading LGBT+ educational resource for children, parents, carers and teachers. Our videos and books are being used in primary schools across the UK and beyond to help teach about equality and diversity whilst ultimately helping to combat LGBT+ prejudice before it can begin to form.

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‘I feel like you feel,’ a nine-year-old student told me.