I came out – 10 years later I had to do it again

There wasn’t one specific day where I realised I was trans (Picture: Ashleigh Talbot / MS Society)

Coming out as transgender has been a lot like coming out with having multiple sclerosis (MS).

They happened at different stages of my life but have some key similarities: NHS waiting times for treatment, adjusting to a new reality, and even people thinking it was a death sentence!

It’s been a long road to get to where I am today.

There wasn’t one specific day where I realised I was trans. It was like an hourglass, the grains building up over time.

I do have a memory from 1992 of seeing a trailer for a BBC documentary series called A Change of Sex about a woman called Julia Grant; at seven years old, I remember thinking, ‘I’m not the only one!’ I went to bed feeling a lot less alone.

In my teens and early adulthood, I talked to close friends about wanting to transition but feared I’d be disowned or rejected by family and friends.

Whenever I thought about the future, I was a woman (Picture: Ashleigh Talbot)

As I got older, I’d take a change of clothes with me on nights out and do my makeup in nightclub bathrooms. Then, at university, I made some really supportive friends and outings to gay clubs and fetish nights followed.

I started to think more seriously about transitioning when I moved to Manchester in my mid-twenties. I was in a metal band but I’d already changed my name and talked about wanting to transition often enough that it didn’t surprise my bandmates. 

Whenever I thought about the future, I was a woman. Every time I caught sight of myself, my appearance made me sad. I could barely stand to look at myself.

When an old friend asked me if transitioning would help me find the peace he could see I’d never had, it moved me to tears and I quietly nodded ‘yes’.

It took a bit of time for all of my friends and family to come around. There were some negative reactions: Some people acted like I was dying, even though I’d never felt more alive. 

I was in a metal band but I’d already changed my name (Picture: Ashleigh Talbot)

There were also thoughtful and considered responses, too, like those from female friends who congratulated me and asked if I’d like some of their old clothes. Another friend told me that he was aware I would be more vulnerable and if I ever needed any support, he’d be there. I loved him for that.

Unfortunately, I had to wait two years before I was seen at a gender clinic, and it wasn’t easy. I got verbal abuse and glass bottles, rocks and bricks thrown at me from passing cars several times. Twice, I had to run for my life away from gangs of angry lads.

But my transition has been beautiful in many ways: My body has changed, which has been a joy. My skin is much softer and I’d swear my sense of smell has improved.

And back at the start of it, I couldn’t have predicted what my next journey would be. 

My transition has been beautiful in many ways (Picture: Ashleigh Talbot)

In my mid 30s, I started to notice a slight propensity to pee more, then a strange little tingle in my left leg.

I went to the doctors a few times but was passed around. I had scans on my legs, was checked for different infectious diseases, hernias and musculoskeletal disorders, and eventually my case was passed to the neurology service. 

When I finally got a diagnosis of MS (a neurological condition affecting the brain and spinal cord) in 2022 aged 37, it was almost a relief. I felt validated.

MS isn’t curable, but it is treatable – in my case with a disease modifying therapy called ocrelizumab. And because I’d already gone through such a big change in my life 10 years before, I knew what to expect.

Being disabled and trans has brought so many positives to my life (Picture: Ashleigh Talbot)

I have a type called primary progressive (PPMS), which means my symptoms get worse over time. It has severely impacted my ability to walk and I’m now a full-time wheelchair user, but I’m still able to take a few steps and transfer in and out of my chair.

To an extent, it’s made it more difficult to participate in the LGBTQ+ community, as a lot of it revolves around drinking, which I now can’t do. Even if I wanted to go to bars and not drink, they’re often not wheelchair accessible.

But being disabled and trans has brought so many positives to my life. It has deepened my relationships – I’ve learned more about empathy and solidarity than I ever thought I would and my nearest and dearest demonstrate them to me every day.

I’ve always loved to cook but I can’t stay on my feet while kneading, frying or chopping so one of my partners will do that while I keep an eye on the hob and the recipe. 

I think about intersectionality a lot (Picture: Ashleigh Talbot)

My other partner gives me daily knee and ankle massages as these are my most affected areas. It helps to prevent leg spasms that would otherwise keep me awake.

I think about intersectionality a lot.

A trans person in a wheelchair may have a very different experience of interacting with the NHS or the police if they have darker skin, for example. I host a podcast called What the Trans, which calls out misinformation in the media and offers people empowering tools to take action.

I also recently hosted a podcast series for the MS Society about living with PPMS. It was validating to hear stories of people with PPMS as we only make up 10-15% of everyone with the condition. Again I thought, ‘Thank god for that, I’m not the only one’.

It was also interesting to hear how vastly different MS can be for everyone; I talked to people whose symptoms were radically different from mine, like someone whose MS began in their vision, rather than in their legs.

In the podcast, you can also hear a conversation between me and Dr Cora Sargeant who is also trans, and has MS and a podcast! What are the chances?

I don’t know exactly how the rest of my life will look but I remind myself that the one constant in the universe is change.