In our blood, defiance thunders like a war drum, a birthright passed down like a family heirloom, ready to be wielded for those we hold dear. It started with Great-Grandma Dorothy, a force of nature who defied legal decrees to care for her children, a fire she passed to my Grandma Geraldine, who eloped with the love of her life, defying expectations for a chance at true love. And so, it courses through me, a vibrant current intertwined with the love for my family, and a love that fuels my spirit that pushes me to break boundaries.

“No” isn’t a punctuation mark in my world, it’s a starting pistol. It’s the spark that ignites the rebellion simmering within, the call to action that urges me to fight for those I love. Whether it’s the roar of a lioness protecting her cub, or the radical acceptance of a wife carving a path for her happily ever after, this defiance is love in its purest form, a force that transcends societal constraints.

But make no mistake, this defiance isn’t blind recklessness. It’s a deep-seated belief in myself and those I love, a knowing that limitations are mere whispers compared to the thunderous drumbeat of our determination. I question, I push boundaries, and I break free from the mold, but before I get too carried away, let me start from the beginning.

Great-Grandma Dorothy

In a tiny wartime village choked out by an enforced blackout, my Great-Grandma Dorothy was raising hell. Not the literal, fiery kind, mind you, but the quiet, defiant kind that flickered brighter than any searchlight. With a five-year-old tornado by her side and a newborn nestled in her arm, Dorothy wasn’t about to let some rule book dictate how she was going to mother her children.

So, the lights stayed on. Screw the enemy bombers, screw the official decrees. Dorothy bathed her children in the warm glow of defiance, spinning stories beneath the gentle hum of rebellion. One night, a knock on the door shattered the quiet. The sheriff, all stern and official, arrived to deliver his verdict: “Dorothy, this is gone on too long! Turn off the lights or you’ll get a $100 fine.” He droned on about bombers and the necessity of darkness, but Dorothy just stood there with a twist of defiance and aggravation on her lips. With a flick of her wrist, she plunged the room back into darkness, but not before rolling her eyes at the sheriff. It was a mother’s defiance, tempered by love, her act a beacon in the suffocating shadows of war. Dorothy’s story is a testament to the silent badassery of mothers, their love a constant flicker against the darkest of times, proving that even the smallest acts of defiance can hold immense power.

Grandma Geraldine

Geraldine, my firecracker grandma, was never one to play by the rules. At 17, she was a force of nature, a whirlwind of sass and spirit, and when she met Elton, a man ten years her senior, the sparks flew like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Society clutched its pearls, whispering and gossiping behind their starched handkerchiefs. But Geraldine? She couldn’t have cared less, she threw a curveball so fast it made heads spin. She eloped.

Yes, she eloped. Vanished with Elton to Maryland, exchanging vows in a quaint little church on a whim. News of the daring escape spread faster than a speeding bullet, reaching Dorothy with a mix of exasperation and, I imagine, a hint of secret pride in her rebellious daughter. Geraldine’s joy couldn’t be dimmed by the initial shock. This wasn’t just defying expectations; it was a love story born from adventure, a testament to following your heart no matter where it leads. Geraldine, the trailblazer, not only carved her own path, she paved the way for others to chase their dreams, quirks and all, leaving behind a legend whispered with a knowing smile and a touch of awe.

Mom

My mom, Dixie, was a rule-breaker born and bred, defiance ran through her veins like supercharged gasoline. Sneaking out to meet her future husband, in his souped-up Barracuda that roared like a lion, was just another Tuesday for this teenage rebel. But her real act of badassery wasn’t about defying curfews or authority figures; it was about dismantling limitations for her daughter, me.

When I was about to enter high school, Dixie discovered our school was as exciting as watching paint dry. No swim team? What a joke. This wasn’t going to stop me, and Dixie sure as hell wouldn’t let it. For months, she was a hurricane of advocacy, tearing through school board meetings and peppering the athletic director with petitions until his head spun. Finally, with the grit of a seasoned fighter, she devised a plan so audacious it would make even my Great-Grandma Dorothy raise an eyebrow.

Our school would have a swim team, even if it was just a one-woman show, starring yours truly. I’d train with another school, then compete in the open lanes – those ironically reserved for the boys’ teams. The look on their faces when I sliced through the water, leaving them in my wake, was pure gold. Especially the top swimmer, who flung his goggles across the pool in a temper tantrum after losing the 100m backstroke to a girl.

Dixie’s heart swelled with pride that day. It wasn’t just a victory for me, it was a middle finger to every limitation that dared to stand in my way. It showed that sometimes, the most meaningful rebellions are fought not with Molotov cocktails, but with fierce love and unwavering determination.

My Story

I was born into this legacy to break rules and defy societal expectations. Obviously, with such a lineage, you know my story is going to be wild. Dear reader, prepare yourself, because you are about to embark on a journey of turning the fairytale world on its head. You’ll learn how real princesses shatter their glass slippers and still live happily ever after.

Shattering Glass Slippers: Beyond Binary Fairytales

Once upon a time, blah blah blah, ugh talk about boring! Forget the fancy ballgown, ditch the pumpkin carriage, and silence the chirping crickets. This ain’t your grandma’s fairytale. In this kingdom, happily ever after isn’t reserved for damsels waiting on Prince Charming’s white stallion. Here, happily ever after is built by rebels who rewrite their own damn stories, blaze their own paths, and slay the dragon that is known as societal expectations.

We’re shattering glass slippers, not because they pinch, but because they symbolize a happily ever after confined by outdated notions of who deserves to wear the crown. This is a kingdom where crowns are built with self-belief, not inherited from some dusty family tree. So, buckle up, buttercup, because we’re about to redefine happily ever after, one shattered expectation at a time. Be ready for a love story that throws the rule book out the window, where the truest magic lies not in waiting for happily ever after, but in creating it on your own terms, loud, proud, and completely badass.

Finding Prince Charming

Ahoy there, mateys! Ever have the feeling you’re living through a rerun? Back in 2006, I sailed the sun-drenched seas of yachting, where my path crossed with Alan’s. We were work-mates, not soulmates, but the good vibes were undeniable. As with every sea, life throws you curveballs, and the 2009 recession swept us apart like a rogue wave.

Fast forward to 2013, and bam! We collide again at a networking event. Years melted away, and I swear, the deck beneath my feet almost tilted with excitement. We reconnected, the bridge rebuilt, but this time, something had shifted in the current. When I mentioned wanting to reconnect, Alan dropped anchor with a surprising, “Fine by me, but this time, lovey, dating’s on the table.” A mischievous grin tugged at my lips, hiding a whole storm of emotions. It was still Alan, yet his gaze held a new spark, igniting an unknown curiosity within me. Maybe it was time, maybe it was fate, whatever, the seed of possibility was planted, and I was ready to see where this new tide would take us.

Our first date turned into a full-blown love hurricane. Each day was a sun-kissed beach, happiness rising like the tide. He cared for me fiercely, loved me deeply, and we found a comfortable rhythm. But smooth sailing rarely lasts, and nine months in, our calm sea hit a coral reef.

He looked me dead in the eye, his words crashing down like a tsunami. “Amy,” he said, “I love you, but… I’m a woman.” The world went wonky, like I’d been spun around in a carnival ride from hell. The details are fuzzy, but the sting of my question still lingers: “So, you’re gay?” Shame burns my cheeks even now, a reminder of my ignorance about being trans.

The drive home was a tearful journey, fueled by the fear of the unknown, the fear of losing him, the fear of a future I couldn’t fathom. Images of the life we’d planned, the marriage, the kids, all dissolved into a chaotic mess. This wasn’t the fairytale ending I’d envisioned. Where was Prince Charming? Where was my happily ever after?

Desperate for an anchor, I called my therapist, begging for a life raft. And that’s when the real adventure began. She, my therapist, became my lighthouse in the storm, patiently explaining the world of transgender identity. She charted the uncharted waters of my fear, dissecting them like a skilled navigator. “Don’t panic,” she soothed, “just breathe. Imagine the possibilities, both good and bad. This is no different than any new relationship. Get to know him, see if he’s your person. No need for decisions today, Amy. Only time will tell.”

Her words were a life raft in the churning ocean of uncertainty. I realized this wasn’t the end, but a new chapter, demanding courage, understanding, and most importantly, defiance. This was my true love! This was my prince charming! I needed to hold onto my true love and claim my happily ever after! I deserved it dammit. But in order to do so, I needed to tap into my wildfire within, I needed to tap into my legacy of breaking the rules. I needed to defy what society deems normal for a marriage, a family, and happily ever after.

1+1=3

Our love story wasn’t some fiery meteor shower, but a slow burn that warmed us from the inside out, year after year. Saying “I do” in March 2017 was just the first chapter – parenthood was the real adventure we craved. We both yearned for a tiny human to add to our crew, a dream we’d whispered about since our early dating days.

Back then, just two weeks in, Alan had laid it all bare. “Listen, Amy,” he said, his eyes steady, “I’m all in on you. But fair warning, I’m Alan Jr., and if this goes anywhere, I want a third on this crazy train. Cool with you?” Compatibility was still a question mark, but something about his honesty resonated. So, I said yes, to a future filled with “Alan the 3rd.”

Fast forward to May 2019, and “Alan the 3rd,” or Trey as we affectionately call him, crash-landed into our world. The moment I held that tiny human, love exploded in ways I never knew possible. Trey, our little explorer, became the perfect addition to our pack. Road trips became annual rituals, with Trey giggling in the backseat as we chased new horizons. He was our little hurricane, turning every adventure into a full-blown expedition.

Prince Charming Gets a Makeover

Trey was about to blow out his first birthday candle when a new adventure set sail on our horizon. We were a happy crew of three, content with our little family, and the desire for another kid had faded like a sunset. Then, one evening, Alan, his eyes reflecting both love and vulnerability, dropped anchor on a conversation I wasn’t expecting. He spoke of transformation, of finally living authentically as the woman she truly was, Ali. He explained the hormone therapy, the changes it would bring, and with a voice filled with hope, asked if now was the right time.

Ali’s 40th birthday wasn’t just another trip around the sun; it was a full-blown revolution. She cast off the “Alan” she’d worn for so long, and in its place blossomed a radiant Ali. It hasn’t been smooth sailing – no real adventure is – but witnessing Ali flourish fills our days with sunshine. Her strength is my compass, her beauty takes my breath away, and her unwavering desire to live authentically makes her a legend in my book.

Happily Ever After

Our love story, unconventional from the start, keeps blooming like a wildflower pushing through the cracks in the sidewalk. It’s a testament to understanding, acceptance, and the fierce power of love to morph and adapt. We may not have begun with a prince charming and a damsel in distress, but we ended up with something infinitely more badass: a love story tattooed with honesty, respect, and the courage to be our authentic selves.

Back in the day, I’d joke with Ali, “This isn’t a Disney fairytale, but it’s our fairytale.” A few years down the road, though, I realized I’d been wrong. The classic Disney fairytale is about two people falling in love and living happily ever after. That’s exactly what we’re doing, except we happen to be a woman and a transwoman, rewriting the script with every sunrise and every whispered “I love you.”

Our happily ever after isn’t defined by a glass slipper or a fancy ball. It’s built on shared laughter, unwavering support, and the freedom to be exactly who we are, together. And that, my friends, is a story way more magical than any fairytale could ever dream of being. It’s a real-life love story, messy, beautiful, and badass, written one adventure at a time.

So forget the rule book; it was written by people too scared to take a leap. True happiness doesn’t lie in a predictable path; it exists in the uncharted territories where your heart lights the way. So go on, be a rebel with a cause. Question authority, challenge the status quo, and never apologize for refusing to follow a script anyone else wrote for you.