Everybody has a story
TRUCK DRIVER HOLLY CONROY THREW THE FIRST-EVER PRIDE PARADE IN WAGGA WAGGA.
I grew up in Junee, 40 kilometres from Wagga Wagga in New South Wales – a typical small country town. I knew I was different, but kids are very cruel, so I learnt to keep things quiet and not say anything much. I did all the things all the other cool kids did, like play football. That helped with blending in.
We moved to Wagga when I was around 11 or 12. That’s when I really started going through certain thoughts about being trans and experimenting with things on my own. I had an old pair of shorts, and one day I was home alone, so I cut the crotch out and made myself a little skirt. I felt really good with that. I’d tie my t-shirts in knots to make them look more feminine. As soon as I heard someone coming up the hallway, though, the shirt and homemade skirt would get pulled straight off into my hiding place. That was really hard, and went on for many years.
I turned 18 and tried to pluck up the courage to tell Mum and Dad I was trans, but I just couldn’t do it. I got out there, and in the back of my head was everything that could go wrong: was I going to be kicked out of home? Was I going to lose everything? Was everyone going to laugh at me? I just didn’t know, so I’d run through every bad scenario I could think of.
In the end, I was 27 before I could actually come out and say something, and that was because I wanted to end my life. There was only one way to stop it, and that was to be honest about who I was. I confided in some close friends and they reacted really well, so I felt comfortable with my decision to come out. That lasted for maybe six months. Although my friends and family supported me, they constantly tried to talk me out of it. Everybody kept saying, “You’re going to lose all your friends. We love you, that’s not going to change, but you’re never going to get a job, you’re never going to be happy. Is this the sort of life you really want for yourself?” They just kept putting all these negatives into my head, and over time I started believing them. Eventually I went, “You know what, maybe they’re right – maybe I’m not going to be able to have any kind of life now. I can fight with whatever demons I’ve got and get through. I’ve done it for this long, I’ll just fight through for the rest of it.” It was 10 years between the first and second time I came out.
I met my ex-wife in a pub when she asked if I wanted to dance. We ended up going back to my place. I had a double wardrobe – one side was all my guys’ clothes, and the other side was heaps of girls’ clothes. I’d been trying on clothes earlier that night before
I went out, and I’d left the door open. We walked up into my bedroom, and she looked straight at the closet then straight at me and asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?” I told her I’d come out as trans, and because of various situations I went back into the closet, and she was like, “That’s really cool, we could have heaps of fun with that, we could do roleplay.”
We got to talking some more and she said, “Have you ever wanted kids?” and I was like, “I really do, that’s one thing I’d love more than anything,” so she goes, “I’ll have one for you.” In hindsight, I should’ve thought, “What a weird thing to say,” but at the time, I was like, “Jeez, she’s happy with the fact I’m trans, we can do roleplay, she’ll do my make-up – maybe I can have the best of both worlds and satisfy the woman in me but still have that family. Maybe I can have everything.” I really fell hard at that point. She seemed like the perfect person for me, so I asked her to marry me and she said yes.
About a month after we got married, everything just went south. She was like, “Get rid of your girls’ clothes, I don’t want you doing this anymore. I married a man, not a woman.” I’d get home from work and the back of my ute would have all my girls’ clothes in it with tomato sauce tipped on them. In the end, I was like, I’m done, and just walked straight out the door.
I moved in with my brother and remember sitting in my room one night thinking, “What are you doing? You’re living your life how you think other people want you to live it, and it’s not gonna happen like that.” I made an appointment and went to see the doctor, and explained that I desperately needed to be a woman. I had to see a psych, which is a step every trans person has to take. I had a few sessions, got my letter, went back to the doctor and got my prescription. That was one of the happiest days of my life. My family and friends were much more supportive the second time around – they could see the spiral I’d been on all these years, and I think they finally understood this was what I needed to do. When I put my coming-out post onto Facebook, the first replies were from these knock-around guys I trained with in mixed martial arts. One guy said, “Congratulations on finally being able to be yourself. We were brothers in the ring and now we’re brother and sister. I’ve got your back.” I really didn’t expect it; all the support has been amazing. I’d been talking over the past few years with a few people in Wagga about the possibility of organising a Mardi Gras celebration. I always got the same response: “It’d be great, but the council will never go for it and the public will never go for it. We live in a religious, conservative town, and we’ve got vulnerable people here who don’t need the attention – they just want to be able to live their lives.” I thought, “No worries, I’ll just concentrate on my transition.” Once I got that under control, though, I felt like we really did need a Pride parade. At the time, SBS were looking to do a documentary on somebody, and they interviewed me by Skype. At the end of the interview, they were like, “Is there anything else you’d like to see happen in your city, or anything you’re planning?” I said, “Funny you should say that, I’d really love to see a Mardi Gras festival here in Wagga.” They went, “Oh, that’s great, are you organising the Mardi Gras?” and I was like, “I’d love for one to happen,” and they ran with, “You’re organising a Mardi Gras, that’s great!” I thought, “You know what? I can do this – I’m organising the Mardi Gras.” That was the final push.
The day of the event was so emotional. It all happened so fast
– I really wish I could’ve taken more of it in. We were expecting maybe three or four thousand people, but in the end the turnout was amazing – we had around 15,000 people watching the parade along the street, and in the gardens we would’ve come really close to 10,000. For it to blow up how it did was out of this world. The best thing was that there was absolutely not one instance of violence or negativity. For thousands of people to be gathered together in a park, drinking alcohol, eating food and dancing – that’s an amazing thing to have no trouble whatsoever. Everyone was there for one reason: to support each other.
If something like that existed when I was a teenager, I would have come out well before 27. It would have saved so much heartache and so many negative, dark thoughts. If I had seen that LGBTI people and other trans people were actually out and about and living a happy life, that would have made a hell of a difference.