Best Man, But A Better Woman!
Stag fancy dress made Danielle realise she was living a lie...
rom a young age, I knew I was different.
Found I loved girly things like My Little Pony, glitter and hair clips. The problem was, I was a boy.
IÕM not normal, I’d think, confused.
I was too embarrassed to tell anyone, but as I got older, it became harder to ignore.
Aged 13, I’d buy make-up with my pocket money, spend hours applying lippy. It became my little secret. As a release, I kept a diary. I wrote about my love of make-up and clothes.
But, aged 15, my secret was suddenly rumbled…
F‘We found your diary,’ my mum and dad said. Embarrassed, I wasn’t angry. They’d been worried about me, so had a sneaky peek. They were shocked, yet agreed to support me. Seeing how upset they were made me feel ashamed, though. So I burnt my diary, tried to convince myself it was just a phase.
And, at 17, I joined the Army.
Gruelling fitness regimes made me look more masculine. And I had a tattoo of a dragon on my right arm.
IÕM just one of the lads, I’d tell myself.
But, no matter how hard I tried to bottle it up, I still found myself envying women.
I tried to convince myself it was just a phase
Desperate for an outlet, I confided in an Army nurse. She explained I wasn’t alone. Shortly after leaving the Army in 2003, I discovered trans chatrooms – and it all made sense. I was born in the wrong body. Then in 2012, my friend asked me to be his best man. For his stag do, a group of us decided to dress up. We had to picked our costumes from a hat. Reaching in, I blushed when I read mine. Cheerleader. ‘Hilarious!’ my mates laughed. They had no idea how I felt. I pretended it was just a bit of fun, donning pink tights, a skirt, blonde wig and pompoms. Later that night, in the loo, a man bumped into me. ‘Sorry,’ he stuttered. ‘I thought you were a woman.’ Did he really believe that? I couldn’t keep living a lie. In September 2012, I finally snapped. That was it. ‘I need to be the real me,’ I told my parents.
‘We’re behind you 100 per cent,’ they said. So, I began buying dresses, wigs… Then I went out dressed up. ‘Freak!’ strangers in the street mocked. But I held my head high. I called myself Danielle, told friends the truth.
‘I’m a woman, always have been,’ I explained. Some didn’t understand. ‘What you’re doing is revolting,’ one of my oldest mates said.
It hurt, but I refused to let the fear of being judged change me.
My GP referred me to a gender-identity clinic, then I started taking female hormones.
In time, my voice softened and my breasts became fuller.
One morning, I decided to be brave. Walking into the bus station where I worked, wearing leggings and heels, jaws dropped. ‘We’d no idea,’ colleagues said. Then, in October 2014, I bumped into an old friend, Cat Recchia, 23, in a nightclub.
‘I had a crush on you,’ she said. ‘I fancy you more now, though!’ And we became a couple. Now I work as a magician – it’s a far cry from my Army days.
I did tours in Iraq, but the biggest fight was becoming the real me – a strong woman.
I’m hoping to have gender-reassignment surgery.
I’m finally proud of who I am, and I’m definitely not hiding away any more.