Author's Note
This story is written as though it is a journal entry. From the perspective of a trans mare. It contains quite a lot of different parts. The point of this is to feel somewhat bittersweet.
The Mind Of Yukon Rose
Here I lay, awake as my mind wanders to where things went so wrong. What corrupts one to break their sacred bond with their loved ones like I once did? Never mind the fact my older sibling is a homosexual. She was always so proud of herself, and my parents were so okay with her. But why, why distance themselves from me?
When I was young, my mind always drifted off to things that only girls seemed to like. And yet my family seemed so shocked when I came home to visit, in a fresh new look. You may think that this story is a tale of a young filly. But you were wrong. I was once a stallion. I grew up with my parents assuming they raised two homosexuals. But my visit to the psychiatrist told me a different story.
I was a mare within the mind of a stallion. That my discomfort as a male was not a new situation in the Psychological Committee, but it was rare. Very uncommon. Most of the known transsexuals were mares becoming stallions. But I wasn't the only stallion to be this way. I guess it's best to retell how my last visit to my family ended out.
I went to the house. A fairly niche country farmhouse. My family was a long line of hard workers. Excluding me. I was always rather weak, and diametrically opposed to being a masculine farm handler. When I got to the door, my family was a bit uncertain who I was. Since I had dyed my mane and undergone a "sex change".
My darling mother opened the door, thinking I was some kind of solicitor. But who really knows if she recognised her beloved son. Despite the shiny new appearance. She asked is she could help me. The common greeting for the religious people who stopped by every other weekend. I told her I was her daughter.
She stared in confusion before asking "Brook?"
That wasn't me. That was my sister. I guess the two of us always looked alike. We were born minutes apart. But I told her my old name. And her face contorted in what I can only assume was horrified disdain. I guess she didn't understand what I said on the phone two years ago.
Maybe I should've been more clear. But I never really had a reason to go into detail. I asked if she was confused, and as I expected she said she was. I briefly explained the truth. The facts I had vaguely structured two years ago. But she was still looking at me in shock.
My father walked to the door, and smiled politely. Thinking I was some stranger. Or maybe even mistaking me for my sister as my mother had. Maybe because my mom had said my sister's name quite loud. Lucky me he said a name I knew all to well, "Yukon Oak. You look rather different than before."
"Well, of course. I told you guys I was trans 2 years ago."
"True. Hon, you look so shocked. Or did you not know what it meant?" I knew my dad was a friend. He majored in Psychology before he inherited his family's old farmlands. He knew exactly what it entailed. He wasn't going to be shocked by this.
My mother, her face had twisted from shock to anger, shouted at my father, "You didn't tell me what it meant!"
"I thought you knew! You were a surgeon before you retired!"
"I was a surgeon of the digestive tract."
I stood awkwardly as my mother and father had an argument right then and there. It ended with my mom slamming the door. And me walking away. As far as I'm aware, they divorced after 21 years of marriage. I was 19 when that happened.
Nowadays...I wish I could've helped. My dad still likes having me visit. My mom hasn't spoken to me since. She even blocked my phone number. My father is the only pony who still uses my boy name. It's the only time that name feels right. Because he's the one who picked it, while he was trotting through the hospital after getting off his shift at the counselling offices. His hooves pounded the the floor to be there for his wife.
My sister had already been born when he entered. In the middle of the name story, he told me a little secret. He said if I was a girl, he'd have given me the same name I have now. He never knew that the name would one day become mine. He continued his story, as he ran he recalled his office. The desk had come from the YakYakistan region named Yakon. He settled for something less ugly, Yukon. The floors were made of oak. Yukon Oak.
The doctors said the name was amazing, and something they hadn't heard before. Not many stallions were named vaguely after parts of the world. My mom was jealous of how intriguing the name my dad gave me was that she gave my sister a whole new name. Iridescent Brook. It had a similar meaning to the first selection, but was more beautiful.
I was named after the office he had from 23 to 31 years of age. He loved his old job more than anything. Because he felt he was making a real difference. He had even helped many ponies overcome their worst issues. Sure he never got around to their minor issues. But it was a start for them. He said that he knew about my trans behaviour. I showed all the signs.
Interest in other stallions, but not liking the fact that I was one of them. Interest in feminine clothes. Wanting to use makeup often. Even associating heavily with things that were traditionally feminine. Even being anxious about my male traits in public. Such as facial hair and larger body frame. He and I both knew puberty was when that anxiety hit me the hardest.
He remembered wanting to tell me what was going on with me. But he never knew when it would be a good time to tell me. After all, it was a pretty strange topic to tell a 14 year old. Especially a young colt who seemed just to have a lot of social anxiety.
At first, he thought the same. He had thought it was social anxiety due to the worries I always had about how others would look at me. But once puberty hit and the anxiety was amplified by my masculinization. He knew the truth wasn't a social fear. But a fear of my own appearance.
He was my closest relative after those stories. We still talk on the phone. He's the reason I'm now a Therapist. Whenever I have a teen in my office, I tell them my struggles in high school. They usually ask how that's supposed to help them, and I always tell them the exact same paragraph.
"It's to let you know, that you aren't the first or last to have struggles in high school. You need to be told that other people, even in your own school are suffering in a way. From there we can work on your problems as though they are just another thing. Like treating a cold."
And that. That paragraph. Has helped me get through to suicidal stallions, anxious mares, and many others.
Because it is not wrong.
It was what I was told.
By my father.
