Heather Lynn Higgins

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring into the small mirror propped against my nightstand. My hair was down, falling around my shoulders in soft curls, and my eyes, lined with the faintest trace of mascara, gazed back at me. Today, everything felt more real. More me. I was Heather in every way that mattered, but a part of me still felt like I was acting, like there was something deeper yet to embrace. Mom always told me that life wasn't about fitting into a box, but about creating a space that felt right. But here I was, caught between two worlds, and neither felt like home.

I wanted to be treated like a princess, sure, and there was a soft thrill in feeling like a girl when I was with James or even just when I was with the girls, chatting about school and makeup and boys. But I wanted something more, something I could feel safe in, where I was Heather not only in appearance but in spirit, too.

When I told Mom that I wanted to be a woman—not just a girl or a girl in a role but a woman—she smiled, her eyes soft and a little wistful. "It's natural to feel like that, Heather," she had said, a laugh bubbling up. We started all the documentation to be legally a woman. My name was now Heather Lynn Higgins.

I'd looked at her, confused, and she'd laughed even more, shaking her head. "I knew you were different, Heather. I didn't have the words for it back then, but I knew you'd find your way. And being a woman, being your version of a woman, well, that's just the beginning. Just know that it doesn't mean you have to be anything other than yourself."

There was something about that moment with Mom that had left me feeling comforted yet aching to know what it meant to truly be "my version of a woman." I knew I liked cooking, helping with chores that Tracy called "girly" tasks, and taking care of things in a way that felt nurturing. It was strange, but I even found myself thinking about love differently, about what it would be like to have someone to care for, someone who saw me as I saw myself.

But then there was the reality. I was still figuring out if I even liked boys beyond the comfort of companionship or admiration. James made me feel things I couldn't ignore, but a part of me wondered if it was the way he made me feel seen rather than who he was. I hadn't fully explored my feelings with girls, but I knew they weren't quite the same. I liked them as friends, and maybe that was enough.

It felt almost... disappointing to think I might not ever know what it's like to truly love someone without hesitation or doubt. To want them as a woman. But I didn't want to rush. I had time. And today, with Mom's words echoing in my mind, I felt, for the first time, like that was okay.

Later that evening, as I was getting ready forbed, I glanced at my reflection one last time. I let my fingers trace theoutline of my cheek, soft and full thanks to the hormones. I looked likesomeone I was only beginning to recognize. But maybe that was a start.