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Photographer/Styling: Evan Woods. Make Up: Ryanne Cleggett. Hair: Gani Millama.
On the surface, my life seemed to be going well.
But my body begged to differ.
It started with an itch between my fingers.
Then, I noticed a big red rash above my right elbow and over both knees.
Bumpy welts formed around my navel, seemingly overnight.
The itch kept spreading, eventually reaching my scalp.
What the fuck was happening to me?
The first time I had an issue with my skin, I was eight years old.
Big, patchy bruises appeared all over my bodygiant blue-black circles that were totally painless.
How they got there was a mystery.
Years later, dealing with another skin mystery, I needed answers again.
Between all her poking and prodding, she asked what treatments I had tried so far.
I was ashamed to be seen like this.
My whole body was covered in rashes.
I felt as if I had somehow failed my body.
I was totally helpless.
Finally, she stood up and met my eyes.
This looks likeeczemato me.
Her voice was calm yet firm.
Her certainty was a relief.
To my surprise, though, she didnt reach for her notepad.
What is going on with you emotionally?
I started, taken aback.
What did my emotions have to do with my eczema?
What do you mean?
She didnt speak right away, but the kindness in her expression surprised me.
She was asking out of genuine concern, as a sister or a friend might.
I felt cared for.
Before she could speak, I burst into tears.
Coming out as trans to my partner, Normanshowing the entirety of myself to himhad been a major step.
The rash all over my skin was trying to tell me something.
The message was etched all over my body; my insides were crying out to be heard.
I need to honor my eczema!
I blurted out between sobs, right in the middle of the exam room.
There was a skip in my step, as all the citys possibilities spread out in front of me.
But I wanted to keep it to myself for now.
To let the idea marinate.
This was a step in my journey I wanted to figure out myself first.
A few weeks later, Norman asked me how I wanted to celebrate my thirtieth birthday.
I told him a little too quickly.
It was obvious I had been waiting for him to ask.
The property we stayed atResidencia Gorilawas gorgeously appointed.
Toward the end of our trip, we planned to go to a Sunday salsa dance on the beach.
It seemed like the perfect send-off.
We were in heaven.
I let myself go completely, stomping my feet harder and harder, grinning from ear to ear.
My margarita was sloshing out of my glass onto the sand, but I didnt care.
Norman must have noticed.
He turned to me during a break in the music, caught my gaze, and asked, Gee .
what does turning thirty mean to you?
Turning thirty meant leaving all that behind.
Im ready to tell my story.
For a moment, I felt suspended in time.
Id spoken aloud the truth that had been burning in my heart since my appointment with the dermatologist.
Im not sure I had ever actually said the wordscome outaloud before.
I was afraid of my truth.
I was afraid of how pure it was.
Being as honest as that child again would be a challenge indeed.
In the second after I spoke, I thought about taking back what I had said to Norman.
Could I really be the person the truth would require me to be?
Could I stand, exposed, without the protective walls I had built around myself?
I had buried myself beneath layers of internalized transphobia and self-loathing.
Coming out would mean having nothing left to hide behind.
Suddenly, as if on cue, the band stopped playing, diverting Normans and my attention.
The singer leaned into the microphone.Amigos!
Amigas!We were confused.
Had there been an accident?
The singer said something in Spanish, issuing instructions to the crowd.
Norman and I followed suit.
When we were finished, he and I walked to the sea to wash away the sand.
As I rinsed off, I cried as I realized what had just happened.
When I had told NormanIm ready to come out,nature had responded.
Out of all the thousands of moments when those sea turtles could have hatched, they hatched then.
Coincidences dont get any more cosmic than that.
I could follow their example.
I, too, could be reborn.
All I had to do was step into the light.
But the shame was gone.
Gone, as my fear was gone.
Instead, pride swelled in my heart.
I looked at the scars all over my body from the eczema.
What had once made me scream in pain now left me feeling grateful.
I knew now why it had happened.
What had begun at the dermatologists office, with me proclaiming I need to honor my eczema!
ended with me saying out loud, Im ready to tell my story.
The story was written on my skin, crying out to be told.
Adapted from the bookHorse Barbieby Geena Rocero.
Copyright 2023 by Geena Rocero.
Published by The Dial Press, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.
