I’m Brooklyn. I’m 45. I’m a trans woman. I did not know this when I was 3, 13, or 33. I have a spouse and a son (19-years-old and brilliant). I’m a sister. I own a business. I pay taxes. I’ve been in recovery for 15 years. I love to take photos; I’ve had work in exhibits, as well as my own show. I used to write, poetry mainly – and, yes, it was good… really. I have an English degree, and I believe in the Oxford comma. I love Halloween and all things creepy. I live for NRE. I make killer cornbread dressing. I grew up in the Deep South, and my relationship with it is complicated. I lived in the midwest for 25 years before recently transplanting to NYC for fun. I’ve prayed to God, practiced Hindu meditation, and cast spells in my living room. I’m complicated.
I’m poly. I’m all-sexual™. I love hard. I’m kink-positive. I’m an educator and life-long learner. I’ve survived sexual trauma, divorce, self harm, and addiction. I’m a confessionalist and emotional exhibitionist I have little to lose and lots to gain. I believe authenticity is the highest expression of gratitude, and that the Universe demands that I not hide myself. In fact, I’m apparently constitutionally incapable of not living as myself. Living authentically helps others; to do otherwise feels selfish. Even though it took me 43 years to accept I was trans and come out, I got there, and that’s what matters.
So, welcome to Raising Brooklyn – one middle-aged trans woman’s journey to finding myself, living through it, and reveling in all the beauty therein – unapologetically.