This was my second session with a gender therapist. Right now, we’re focusing on big-picture stuff—identifying any major sources of stress, trauma, or depression that could help explain not just how I feel, but why it’s taken me so long to fully see those feelings for what they are. More specifically, we’re asking: is there anything in my past that helps explain why I didn’t come out as transgender until I was 38? For me, the link between childhood trauma and gender identity is becoming more and more clear.
It’s a hard question. However, it’s also one I’ve asked myself more times than I can count. And apparently, I’m not the only one. So I want to talk about that.
Childhood Trauma and Gender Identity Delayed My Exploration
My therapist introduced a phrase I hadn’t heard before: delayed individualization. It’s this idea that trauma can pause your ability to grow into yourself. You don’t get the same space other people do to figure out who they are, what they want, what they feel. Instead, you’re stuck in survival mode.
That was definitely me.
My parents divorced when I was two. I barely knew my mom. Then, when I was ten, my dad was diagnosed as terminally ill. With no real support system, I stepped into a “reverse caregiver” role. That was the word she used. I became the responsible one. The helper. The kid who kept things together.
At sixteen, my parents decided I needed to move in with my mom. She lived in another city. It only lasted one semester of high school. I didn’t really feel close to her then, and honestly, I never have. Even now we talk maybe once a month. While she doesn’t say it outright, I often feel like—of everyone in her life—I’m the one who’s doing okay. My wife and I seem stable enough, not in need of anything. Other people need help more. That’s how it feels. Like I don’t really register as a priority.
Eventually, I moved back in with my dad. He passed away when I was eighteen. Shortly after, I started college. I didn’t move back in with my mom. I didn’t really have anywhere to go. That was it—no fallback, no home to return to. I was on my own.
So during those years when other teenagers are discovering themselves, going on dates, forming identity—I wasn’t. Instead, I was managing grief, trying to survive, and learning how to live without a safety net. Clearly, exploring childhood trauma and gender identity wasn’t even on the radar.
How Trauma Shaped My Gender Identity Journey
Looking back, it’s easy to see how this shaped everything. I never got to be the main character in my own life. There was always something more urgent. Someone else who needed me. My dad. My mom. Even now, that pattern shows up in how I downplay my needs, my hobbies, even my career goals.
That pattern also explains a lot about the shame I feel around my gender identity.
When you’re taught to believe that your own wants are secondary—that they’re indulgent, or selfish, or just not important—you stop listening to them. You stop trusting them. You bury them. In my case, that meant I buried Michelle.
Childhood Trauma and Gender Identity Didn’t Make Me Trans—But It Delayed Me
Fast forward: I’m married. I’ve been with my wife for over a decade. We have kids. She found out early in our marriage that I was crossdressing. To her credit, she gave me space. That little bit of freedom? It cracked everything open.
For the first time, I had the room to ask real questions:
- Why do I love these clothes?
- What else might I love?
- If I like dressing feminine, what does that mean?
- Do I like boys? Girls? Both?
From there, down the rabbit hole I went.
But let me be clear: I don’t think my trauma caused me to be transgender. That doesn’t feel right. There are signs throughout my life—childhood, college, adulthood—that point to this identity. Signs that existed completely outside the context of trauma.
What trauma did do was delay my ability to process it. To see it. To say it out loud. In that way, childhood trauma and gender identity are absolutely linked in my story.
So if you’re someone who also came out later in life, and you’ve asked yourself why it took so long, maybe this gives you a little clarity. A little peace. You’re not making it up. You’re not behind. You’re not broken.
There might be a reason it took you this long to understand your truth. And that reason doesn’t make it any less valid.
You’re Not Alone—And Your Timeline Is Valid
I know there are others out there carrying this same question: Why didn’t I figure it out sooner? Sometimes, it’s not about knowing. Instead, it’s about being safe enough to know.
And for some of us, that safety doesn’t come until much later.
If any of this sounds familiar, I’d love to hear from you. How did childhood trauma and gender identity intersect in your life? Did your past delay your self-discovery too?
Let’s talk about it.
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