Hello, I am Rachel.

I was born in Weymouth, Dorset in 1974. My grandparents adopted me when I was three due to problems beyond my mother’s control, and the pressure they applied to her. I have never had any anger towards my mum about that. I know she did what was best for my brother and I.

I always knew there was something different about me. When I was three I remember the Queen’s silver jubilee. I had a Pillar-box costume, but felt confused as I dearly wanted to be the princess. I couldn’t understand why the other girls received different treatment to me. I quickly learned, however, to act like a boy or face being bullied or punished. My adopted father died of cancer when I was seven years old. This was devastating for me; people kept saying I am the man of the house; Eughh! I grew up early and learned to use my wits. I was bullied at school everyday and this made life very miserable. I guess kids can sense things that adults miss. They knew I was different, but not why. I hid it pretty well, though I had to learn to walk and talk like a boy, which didn’t come naturally to me.

I was also born with a spinal disease. Called Shuerman’s, it meant my back was weak and I had physiotherapy and had to use a lumbar cushion. Again this was an excuse for many of the boys to ridicule me. I lived with it and overcame so that it never became a bad handicap. I still have problems with my back and shoulders, but I deal with it. That’s life.

I led a confused life - inside I was a girl trying to make sense of a world that had placed me in the body of a boy. When I was about 14 I learned about Gender Dysphoria - the condition I have. It was a relief as I found there was help for people like me. I was beginning to think I would end up insane or dead before I was twenty. For countless years I had tried in vain to explain it. I would cry myself to sleep most nights, praying for god to fix this horrid mistake. He never did. I began to lose faith, until it was stripped from me completely by my own priest, who told me I was an abomination before god! I left the church, and have not returned. Where was this god?

A family ‘friend’ abused me when I was 15, but due to my sensitive situation and fear of ridicule, I did not want to expose myself by telling the whole truth, so I omitted some details. He got away with it. My own brother actually lied and denied it all in front of me, even though he had been present. I waited a long time until in 2003; I heard that my abuser had finally passed on for judgement in the afterlife. I know it’s harsh, but I actually felt relief at that news.

I was thrown out of home by my adopted mother at the age of sixteen, and had to fend for myself. I had tried to tell her how I felt, but she couldn’t deal with it. I was lucky enough to always be in contact with my mum, so I went to live with her. I tried to tell my mum, but she could not handle it at that time, and threw me out also. Somehow I survived, though I seemed not to care about the important things in life.

That was a big blow, but again I do not have any blame for her. I know how hard it must have been. Now she understands who I really am, she is totally supportive and happy to have a second daughter.

I tried to hide from life by buying things I could not afford and this led me into huge debts (which I am still paying off 12 years later!). I met a girl, and she accepted me. She married me and we were happy for years, but we had married for the wrong reasons. We were like sisters in many ways, never really like a couple. We moved to a house with other friends living there. The strain got to us, but I could not see it. I started taking base. It was escapism, and once again I was running away from my problem. She was ok, and took it as well, though not often. She smoked pot so I did not see any problem.

My problems grew though as I was becoming more unhappy living a lie. I knew sooner later something would snap. I had to do something positive to have any chance of a real life. She was my best friend. She ran off with a work colleague and divorced me. I bear her no ill will either, if she can find happiness, I am happy. Even if it means I will never see her again. She did change though as if she suddenly became someone else. I tried to carry on but after three close suicide attempts, (mum does not know but she called me just before each one and I stopped), I just had to do something. I do not really believe in ESP, but there are the facts. I cannot explain them.

Everything in my hometown reminded me of happy times, and I would cry just at a sight or sound. I had to get out. I packed up my car and drove to Spain . Now I live near my family and am very happy. My mum is supporting me emotionally. I started treatment in September 2002.

Mum helped me choose a name and we both liked Rachel. My middle name, Terri is in memory of my older sister who died before she was a year old. The Spanish often call me Raquel, which is nice too. In morocco, all my family call me Rashida. I am quite happy with all these as I know who I am at last. Years of being someone I am not have not made me bitter, but served to give me the strength to be myself.

My transition went well. My family and employers have been more than wonderful. I have total support and respect in my workplace and the small village where I live. People have really opened my eyes to how society can accept us. Instead of rejection, I have found curiosity and respect. Most people, when presented with the facts, are fine with me.

In 2006 I found my mum’s Brother and Sister. After 48 years of not knowing, they were reunited as a family. I am so happy and it feels great to have them and to see the joy on mum’s face.

I am still living in Gibraltar and while most people I have encountered have met my situation with respect; there remains a few who seem unable to fully accept it and I sometimes feel a little like an outsider. I have to just deal with them.