It makes me proud to read articles about the acceptance of trans people in our world today. It makes me happy when I come across websites and online resources for trans folk who are just taking their first steps in their discovery of themselves. I realize I am not the most eloquent of writers, but it makes me happy to be able to write about my experiences in my blog.

I think back to the beginnings of my own transition in the mid-nineties, about my desperate search for information and acceptance. The internet was a much smaller place back then; there was no Facebook, no Twitter, or the many online resources we, as trans people, take for granted today.

Back then, we had Antijen.

Antijen was, in essence, an e-mail distribution list for “young transsexuals” administered by an amazing woman called Aunty Jen, or Aunt Jenny. Antijen was much more than a bunch of e-mails; it was our lifeline, our way as abandoned people to belong and even to find family in those like ourselves.

Aunty Jen was an extraordinary lady who seemed to scour the internet for lost trans people, bringing them into our virtual family from literally all over the world. We had brothers and sisters from the U.S., Canada, the U.K., Europe, Asia, Australia, and New Zealand.

Aunt Jenny taught us girls the finer points of makeup, the merits of neatly trimmed eyebrows, and how to walk, talk, and choose clothing.  I am sure she taught the guys similarly, but those lessons didn’t stick so much with me…

More importantly than anything else, she taught us that we were worthwhile people deserving of love and respect. She was always there for advice or a virtual hug when the frustration and pain of our transitions overwhelmed us. She quickly became the mother figure for many of us who felt abandoned by our own families, celebrating with us our triumphs, helping us put our egos back together when things went wrong, or expressing her dismay with her characteristic “oy vey” when we would talk about things mothers didn’t want to hear.

In this way, Aunt Jenny touched the lives of many trans people in need, saving many of us when we had nobody else to turn to. She never asked for anything in return other than to respect and treat our virtual brothers and sisters as we wanted to be treated. That’s always been her way; she is modest to the very end, though many people, myself included, would say that she deserves a medal. We know she wouldn’t accept such a thing; she has always said, “Well, I didn’t do that much…”

For some of us extra lucky people who happened to live near Jen’s home, we occasionally visited in person. She was always warm and friendly; the same in person as we knew from over the internet, very matronly. She easily and quickly adopted us as her own. She was famous for meeting us girls at the door with an “Oy Vey! Look at those eyebrows, young lady!” then she would “attack” us with tweezers until our brows were thin and pretty.

I have my own special story of memories of Aunt Jenny and Antijen. When my darkest days were upon me and in my quest for acceptance and love, I foolishly ended up with the wrong person; Jen was there for me. I remember being in the streets of New York, calling her in the middle of the night from a pay phone, hysterical and hurting. Aunt Jenny and a couple of my sisters drove many hours through the night to New York to rescue me and take me back home to safety with her. Over the next week, she helped me pick up the pieces of my life and find a new, safe home in another city. After this time, she ceased to be Aunty Jen to me and became my adopted mom.

When everyone in the world, including myself, gave up on me, and I gave up my transition, Jen did not. She was always there year after year, never with judgment or demands of what I should do, but with empathy and a warm “love momma” at the end of every letter.

When I could finally face myself again and walk the path to finding myself, Jen was there. I celebrate my new triumphs with her and my few remaining Antijen brothers and sisters; we lend each other advice on hair products or talk about the latest episode of Doctor Who.

As the years wore on, new resources became available for young trans people; families started to accept us at least a little more readily than in the past. But the need for what she gifted us with is still there and probably always will be.

It’s now been nearly three decades since the birth of Antijen. Most of my old brothers and sisters have faded away, leaving behind the struggles of their transitions as they found peace with themselves in new and beautiful lives. Yet I know in my heart that many of these men and women are today’s doctors, lawyers, politicians, artists, and writers who work to make a difference in the lives of new generations of trans youth. I believe that the legacy of Antijen and Aunt Jenny will reach far and wide for many years to come.

Aunt Jenny passed away several years ago; her legacy has been cemented into trans history with her countless adopted children, whom she helped inspire to be the best that they can be and overcome any hurdle placed in their path.

For myself, I know that if I can turn out to be half the person that my adopted mom was, I can consider my life a complete success.