Hi. I’m Artemis. Not as in the book, Artemis Fowl, or the character, Artemus Gordon, from the Wild, Wild, West. Artemis, as in the original one, first-born twin of Apollo; Goddess of Magic and The Moon; Goddess of the Untamable; Athlete Supreme, Goddess of Transformations; The Huntress. That Artemis.

I’m also a Greek, African, Persian, and Hindu mythology nerd. And I’m here asking for help - your help - to become who I was born to be. Specifically, I’m asking for financial support to help me financially survive my upcoming surgery and the weeks-long recovery process.

That’s the TLDR. But if I’m asking you to help, the least I can do is share a bit more of my story, even though talking about myself is my LEAST favorite thing to do. But I want you to understand my journey.

Hi, I'm Artemis.

I grew up in Western Massachusetts in the 70s, 80s and early 90s. It was a strange time and place to be in. Despite traveling to and from cosmopolitan NYC to Northampton, and back home again, and being no stranger to the LGBTQ community before it was cool, I still didn't have the language to describe what I felt inside.

In hindsight, of course, I knew intuitively that it was dangerous as a kid and teen to openly express my true feelings. The people I always felt most comfortable around were my grandmother's gay friends who would come around, and my two cousins - a brother and sister - both called "homosexuals" in whispers, like I wouldn’t know the meaning. There were things I couldn’t hide, like the time I wore my aunt's bright red high-heeled boots to school, or the sketches in my art pad of beautiful feminine forms, or playing with my childhood friend and her Barbies - no Ken to be found anywhere. I tried to carefully mask it, I performed a part, but in moments when my guard fell down, I got berated for ‘acting girly’ by those family members who claimed to love me.

Except for my grandmother. I like to believe that she always suspected. But I would hear the homophobic and transphobic comments that were made about other family members or friends of the family, like the gay hairdresser everyone loved going to - but came home and gossiped about. Through all of this, I wasn’t sure what it meant for me, I just knew it would be better to suppress whatever confusion I had.

Then at 17, I moved - others would say I ran away - to New York City. I ended up at Covenant House a few blocks from Times Square. I met so many other wonderful people, my kind of people. One person from this short time had the biggest effect on me. I met this girl, another runaway, from Hoboken I think. Amanda. We instantly fell for each other. She caught a lot of hell from both staff and the other boys on our floor. Anyway, Amanda "decided" to go home, back to the same father that had put her out on the street. It's weird to look back now and think of her as a trans woman, when that term didn't even exist back then, and to be honest, labels didn't really matter, except to the straights that I encountered at the time. Amanda was just a cute AF Black girl, I didn't have the language to think of her any other kind of way, even when she didn't have her mangey blonde wig on, even when we kissed and I felt a little stubble. The confusion I grew up with was still present after Amanda left my life, and the same was true for the two other girls like her that I'd come to know briefly since. The lesson I learned back then was that it was not safe to explore the nature of my confusion any further. What I saw for others didn't seem possible for me, so I stuffed it all deep down for as long as I could. I decided to get on with life, however uncomfortable my own skin made me feel. I got married, had kids, a few cushy jobs where I was paid handsomely. I was still miserable, but that was life, right?

A failed marriage, four kids, and a couple of career changes later, and I finally saw the cracks that had probably been visible from outer space for a very long time. Two different friends, and two ex-girl friends, saw it before I did. They'd all asked me the same question, that chipped away at my egg: do I think I might be trans? One ex-friend was more crude about it. While sitting in this stud friend's race car, she looked over at me and said in all seriousness, "you would make an ugly woman." I was like, gee, thanks, I guess? One ex girlfriend, who has an adult trans daughter, asked me once after trying on each other's skirts and pants if I might be trans? I was still in the denial phase then, but my answer sounded less confident. Three years later, another friend who just came out to me as bi, had asked me the same question, and that was the one that finally shattered my egg completely.

And here we are. On October 2nd, 2025 - five years into the transition I have been wishing for before I even knew it was possible, I will undergo bottom surgery - the technical term is peritoneal pull through vaginoplasty - at UMass Memorial. After the 6 hour surgery, I will need to be out of work for 6-8 weeks, in order to heal enough to be able to be mostly mobile, and return to work. I had hoped to be able to save more after getting promoted at my current job, but the additional pay increase has lagged 7 months behind the title to a job I took on. Although my employer is liberal with platitudes, I still haven't seen a raise commensurate with the praise. While I am fortunate to live in Massachusetts, and can access PFMLA, I'm only going to be able to access 60 to 80% of my income through that program. Presently, my budget has zero wiggle room to lose 20% percent or more of my wages.

Additionally there are other costs that I have no foreseeable way to manage while in the initial months to a year of recovery, such as transportation to appointments, OTC medications not covered by Medicare, and some specialist visits that I will continue to need. Then of course there's the specter of what this regime is doing, especially to healthcare benefits, and its persistent attacks on the transgender community, and their desire to make being trans illegal (again).

I cannot wait any longer to become fully myself, even if this isn't a great time politically or financially. It will never be a perfect time.

So I’m turning to you: friends, and friends of friends, and friends I haven’t met yet. I can’t wait for you - for all of us - to meet Artemis! I’m so grateful for your support.

Blessed be. May we all be free.