Christine Psaila is a woman whose story unfolds not through spectacle, but through quiet courage, reflection, and an unwavering commitment to honesty. After spending decades living in the shadows of expectation and survival, she emerged with a voice shaped by resilience and compassion, one that speaks gently yet powerfully to anyone who has ever felt unseen. Her memoir, 35 Years in Hiding, is not just a recounting of transition, but a deeply human exploration of self-acceptance, healing, and the slow, often fragile process of learning to live truthfully. Christine’s journey reminds us that authenticity does not always arrive loudly, sometimes it arrives softly, in the form of self-trust, gentleness, and the courage to finally take up space as oneself.
At the heart of Christine’s story is a profound sense of emotional clarity and kindness toward both her past and present self. She speaks with rare honesty about vulnerability, not as weakness, but as a strength carefully earned over time. Through her words, readers are invited into the inner landscape of a woman who learned to listen to herself after years of silence, and who now values peace over performance. Christine’s perspective offers reassurance rather than instruction, presence rather than certainty, making her journey deeply relatable to anyone navigating identity, loss, or becoming.
Monika: Hello Christine! Welcome to my blog! Thank you for accepting my invitation.
Christine: Thank you so much, Monika. I’m truly grateful for the invitation and for the work you do in creating space for transgender women’s stories. It means a great deal to be here and to have the opportunity to share part of my journey with your readers.
Monika: For those who may not know you yet, could you share a little about yourself and your background?
Christine: I’m Christine, someone who spent many years trying to understand who I was while quietly navigating life in the best way I knew how. For a long time, I lived in a way that prioritized survival and fitting in, often at the cost of my own well-being.
Over time, and with support, I began the process of self-acceptance and learning to live more honestly as myself. That journey has shaped who I am today, someone who values authenticity, resilience, and personal growth. My background is one of gradual change, reflection, and healing, and it ultimately led me to write 35 Years in Hiding.
|
| Available via Amazon. |
Christine: Thank you so much. The decision to write 35 Years in Hiding came from a quiet but persistent feeling that my story might help others feel less alone. For a long time, I carried my experiences internally and didn’t have the language or sense of safety to express them openly.
As I moved further along my own journey of self-acceptance, I realized how powerful it can be to see someone else articulate feelings you’ve struggled to name yourself. Writing the book became a way to reflect, heal, and offer reassurance, particularly to people who may be early in their own journey or questioning who they are.
It wasn’t about being loud or seeking attention; it was about honesty, closure, and turning lived experience into something meaningful.
Monika: The memoir is deeply personal and emotionally raw. Were there moments while writing when you thought, maybe this part is too much to share, and what made you push through anyway?
Christine: Yes, there were definitely moments when I paused and questioned whether certain parts were too much to share. Writing something so personal brings up a natural tension between wanting to be honest and wanting to protect yourself. There were times when I had to step away, sit with what I’d written, and ask myself why I was sharing it.
What helped me push through was reframing the purpose of the book. I wasn’t writing to shock or to expose every detail of my life; I was writing to tell the truth in a way that felt safe and meaningful. I reminded myself that vulnerability doesn’t require reliving everything, it means choosing what to share with intention.
In the end, I included only what felt necessary to convey the emotional reality of my journey, while still respecting my own boundaries. That balance was important to me, and it’s what allowed me to finish the book with a sense of peace rather than regret.
Monika: When writing such a deeply personal memoir, how did you approach reconstructing past emotions and inner states, especially from moments that happened decades ago?
Christine: I approached it slowly and with a great deal of patience toward myself. Rather than trying to recall every detail exactly as it happened, I focused on the emotional truths of those moments, how they felt in my body, the fears I carried, and the patterns that repeated themselves over time. Those feelings stayed with me far longer than specific events or dates ever did.
I also relied on reflection from my present self. With distance comes perspective, and I was able to look back with more compassion and understanding than I had at the time. Writing from that place allowed me to honor my younger self without becoming overwhelmed by the past.
It wasn’t about perfect memory; it was about being honest about the inner experience, the confusion, the resilience, and the quiet strength it took to keep going. That felt more truthful than trying to reconstruct the past in a purely factual or chronological way.
Monika: Writing a memoir can feel like reopening old wounds. Did writing this book feel more like reopening scars, or finally letting them breathe?
Christine: It felt much more like finally letting them breathe. There were moments when old emotions surfaced, but they didn’t feel raw in the same way they once had. Instead, writing gave those experiences space to exist without overwhelming me.
For a long time, those parts of my life were held quietly inside, unspoken and unresolved. Putting them into words didn’t reopen them so much as acknowledge that they were there, and that I had survived them.
|
| "I no longer feel the need to prove who I am to anyone." |
Monika: Now that your story is out in the world, fully seen and no longer hidden, what does living authentically look like for you today, in the small everyday moments?
Christine: Living authentically today looks much quieter than people might expect, and that’s something I’ve come to truly value. It’s found in small moments, feeling at ease in my own body, making choices that align with who I am, and no longer constantly questioning whether I’m allowed to take up space as myself.
It means moving through the world with less fear and more self-trust. Simple things like speaking honestly, setting boundaries, and allowing myself rest without guilt now feel like acts of authenticity.
Most importantly, it’s about gentleness. I no longer feel the need to prove who I am to anyone. Living authentically today is about being present, being kind to myself, and recognizing that just existing as myself, openly and peacefully, is enough.
Monika: Choosing a name is such a deeply personal decision, one that can hold layers of significance and meaning. How did you come to choose the name Christine? Does it carry a special resonance for you, perhaps representing a part of your journey or embodying a particular feeling or aspiration?
Christine: Choosing the name Christine was a deeply reflective process for me. I wanted a name that felt calm, familiar, and grounding, something I could grow into rather than something that felt performative or symbolic on the surface.
Christine represents a sense of continuity for me. It allowed me to honor who I had always been internally, while also marking a clear step toward living more openly and honestly. The name carries a feeling of softness and strength at the same time, which resonated with how I see myself and the kind of life I wanted to build moving forward.
Over time, the name has come to feel less like a choice and more like a home. It reflects a version of myself that feels settled, authentic, and aligned, not aspirational in a distant way, but real and present.
Monika: When you came out, did your mother embrace you as her daughter? And do you feel any connection to her in the way you look, carry yourself, or even in your style and mannerisms?
Christine: Yes, my mother did embrace me as her daughter, and that acceptance meant more to me than I can fully put into words. Being seen and acknowledged by her in that way brought a sense of relief and validation that I had carried quietly for a very long time. It helped soften a lot of fear I didn’t realize I was still holding.
Over time, I’ve noticed a deeper connection to her in the way I carry myself and move through the world. There are moments when I catch familiar mannerisms, expressions, or ways of responding that feel instinctive rather than learned. It’s not something I consciously try to mirror, it feels natural, like a recognition of myself in her.
That connection has also shown up subtly in my style and presence. I’ve become more comfortable embracing softness, patience, and grace, qualities I associate strongly with her. Feeling accepted by my mother allowed me to relax into who I am rather than constantly guarding myself, and that has shaped not just how I see myself, but how I show up in everyday life.
|
| "Going to Thailand for gender-affirming surgery was a significant and emotional milestone for me." |
Christine: Yes, I do remember the first time clearly. It was at an LGBTQ+ group I started attending a little over twelve months ago. Up until that point, much of my understanding had been internal or shaped by distance, so meeting a transgender woman in person felt significant in a quiet but powerful way.
What stayed with me most was the sense of normality and ease. It wasn’t a dramatic moment, it was simply seeing someone existing comfortably, openly, and authentically. That had a grounding effect on me. It made things feel more real and more possible, rather than abstract or unreachable.
Being in that space helped ease a lot of isolation I hadn’t fully acknowledged. It created a sense of connection and reassurance, and it allowed me to see myself reflected in a way I hadn’t before. That experience played an important role in helping me feel less alone and more confident about taking steps forward in my own journey.
Monika: The journey to being our true selves often comes with a heavy price, losing friends, family, and sometimes even our jobs. What was the hardest part of coming out for you, and how did you navigate it?
Christine: The hardest part of coming out for me was accepting that being honest about who I am could change some relationships forever. There’s a grief that comes with that, not just for what is lost, but for what you hoped might have been different. Letting go of certain expectations was confronting and emotionally heavy.
What helped me navigate that period was learning to prioritize my own well-being, even when it felt uncomfortable or unfamiliar. I had to remind myself that living authentically wasn’t about rejection or conflict, but about survival and self-respect. Slowly, I began to build a support system based on understanding rather than obligation.
Over time, I learned that while coming out can involve loss, it can also create space, space for healthier connections, deeper self-trust, and a life that feels more aligned. Navigating that balance was difficult, but it ultimately taught me the importance of choosing honesty, even when it comes at a cost.
Monika: Many of us feel the pressure to “pass” as women, and even after surgeries, society keeps judging us. How do you personally deal with the outside world’s expectations?
Christine: I’ve come to understand that the pressure to “pass” often says more about society’s discomfort than it does about our worth as women. Early on, I was very aware of outside expectations and how closely I was being observed, which can be exhausting and destabilizing. Over time, I realized that constantly measuring myself against those standards was unsustainable.
What’s helped me is shifting my focus inward. Instead of asking whether I meet the world’s expectations, I ask whether I feel comfortable, grounded, and true to myself. That doesn’t mean the judgment disappears, but it means it no longer defines me.
I try to move through the world with self-trust rather than self-surveillance. My sense of womanhood isn’t something that needs to be proven or validated externally. Learning to release the need to perform femininity has been freeing, and it’s allowed me to engage with the world on my own terms rather than constantly bracing myself against it.
Monika: Your decision to pursue gender-affirming surgery in Thailand is a major milestone in the book. How did you feel about the care and support you received there, and what was it like connecting with the other girls who were there for surgery alongside you?
Christine: Going to Thailand for gender-affirming surgery was a significant and emotional milestone for me. I felt a mixture of fear, hope, and deep vulnerability, but what stood out most was the level of care and dignity I was met with. Being treated with respect and compassion throughout the process made an enormous difference and helped me feel safe during a time when I was very exposed.
|
| "I try to move through the world with self-trust rather than self-surveillance." |
Those connections reminded me that while each journey is deeply personal, none of us are truly alone in it. Being surrounded by care, shared courage, and quiet support made that chapter of my life feel not just transformative, but held.
Monika: Do you remember the first hours after your surgery? Are there any particular moments from that time that will always stay with you? When I woke up after my own surgery, I remember my female friend standing by my side with a gift, a pair of G-strings. I burst into tears, crying like a little girl, overwhelmed with joy. It wasn’t about the gift itself, but what it represented, freedom, confidence, and the feeling of being fully welcomed into womanhood.
Christine: I do remember those first hours clearly, not so much in detail, but in feeling. Waking up, there was a profound sense of stillness and relief, a quiet knowing that I had crossed an important threshold in my life. It wasn’t a rush of excitement, but a deep, grounding calm that settled in.
What has stayed with me most is the emotional shift rather than any single moment. There was a sense of alignment, of no longer carrying the same internal tension I had lived with for so long. Even in vulnerability, I felt held, by the care around me and by the knowledge that I had finally honored myself in a way that felt irreversible and true.
Like the moment you described, it wasn’t about any one gesture or object, but about what the experience represented. It symbolized freedom, self-trust, and the feeling of finally arriving in my own life, not as someone striving to become, but as someone allowed to simply be.
END OF PART 1
All photos: courtesy of Christine Psaila.
© 2026 - Monika Kowalska
No comments:
Post a Comment