For seven decades, Jamie DeCoursey lived behind a carefully constructed facade, existing inside what she evocatively
calls a “windowless house.” Raised in a devout Catholic family alongside five brothers in the mid-1950s, an era
defined by rigid binary gender roles and deep societal intolerance, she knew from early childhood that something
fundamental set her apart. As young as four, she harbored quiet dreams of magically transforming into a girl, later
finding brief, fleeting moments of recognition in front of the bathroom mirror. Yet without the vocabulary,
examples, or safety to express her feelings, she locked the doors to her inner world. She coped by suppressing her
identity, channeling her energy into becoming an active, sports-loving, people-pleaser, and keeping her true self
hidden from even those closest to her. To the outside world, Jamie built an exemplary, highly accomplished life. She
enjoyed a long, successful career as a healthcare executive, raised two sons, and fulfilled every role expected of
her. Yet performing her assigned male role functioned as a secret prison for her female soul. She survived by
cycling through extended periods of hiding and guilt, occasionally allowing her true identity to quietly surface in
small, hidden ways, wearing female clothing beneath her business suits, shaving her skin smooth, or trying on makeup
in moments of solitary expression.
The turning point arrived late in life, brought on by a perfect storm of profound shifts: the loss of her wife, the
isolation of the COVID-19 pandemic, and serious heart health scares that brought her own mortality into sharp focus.
Faced with the reality of time running out, Jamie asked herself what she would regret most at the end of her life.
The answer was clear: never coming to terms with her hidden self. Prompted by a brave confession to her fiancée and
a pivotal moment in therapy, she finally tiptoed through the door she had kept sealed for seventy years. Now the
author of the memoir
Seventy Years Before She Spoke, Jamie offers a uniquely powerful perspective on identity, resilience, and authenticity. Her journey involved
undergoing facial feminization surgery, navigating complex relationships with her adult sons, and shedding decades
of social fear. Transitioning past age seventy, she proves that it is never too late to break out of self-imposed
confinement. Today, Jamie lives not as a shadow in a windowless house, but as a vibrant, joyful, and fully authentic
woman who has finally found total inner peace.
Monika: Jamie, before we talk about transition, your memoir, or the woman you eventually became, I would love to
meet the little girl who was there long before Jamie had a name. What were you like as a child, and what do you
remember about the earliest sense that something about you was different?
Jamie: First, thank you, Monika, for your invitation to speak with you. Through my youth and adolescence, I was an
active, sports-loving, and people-pleasing child. Many of these traits developed as I coped with feelings that my
body did not match how I felt, that I was a girl. Starting around four years of age, I actively dreamt of magically
transforming into a girl. These dreams were built upon vague memories of dressing in girls' clothes and playing with
the young girls across the street. Around five years of age, my family moved to a new town. Our neighbors across the
street had a large outdoor playhouse. It was there that I began to actively explore what it would be like to become
a girl. It took nearly seventy years to finally realize this dream.
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“In a way, my expected male role
was a prison for my female soul.” |
Monika: Growing up, did you have any words for what you were feeling, or was it more of a vague sense that you
somehow didn't fit the expectations placed upon you?
Jamie: I grew up in a Catholic family with five brothers. Also, remember that this was the mid-1950s, when gender
roles and societal expectations were decidedly and strictly binary: boys and men had their roles and ways of
interacting, while girls and women had theirs. Also, attitudes toward behaviors outside of heterosexual norms were
extremely negative. As a result, I had no one, with the exception of my mom, to discuss what I was feeling with. And
I was petrified of being open with her. I knew I was different but had neither the words nor examples to express
what I was feeling.
Monika: You describe much of your life as living inside a “windowless house” that you had built and decorated
yourself. That is such a powerful image. What did that house look like in practical terms, and what did you have
to do to keep the doors and windows closed?
Jamie: I mentioned the playhouse earlier. I took that playhouse, which was quite open to the world, with door and
window openings, and internalized it in my mind. But I feared that my secret would be discovered by family and
friends. To make sure that my secret wouldn’t be discovered, I closed the doors and windows of my “mind playhouse.”
With the doors and windows closed, it was a dark and quiet house. While I was physically present and active in the
outside world, I withheld my feelings and fears from my family and friends. I was quite withdrawn emotionally.
Monika: Was there a particular moment in childhood or adolescence when you first thought, “I might actually be a
girl,” or did that realization come much later?
Jamie: It was always the mirror, starting around age seven or eight. I could stand before it, naked, with my
genitalia safely and securely tucked between my legs, and say, “YES!” But these moments were brief and fleeting. I
just knew that this could never happen. So the cycle of feeling euphoria quickly followed by guilt began and
continued through my adulthood.
Monika: And what did you do with those feelings? Did you suppress them, negotiate with them, pray them away,
intellectualize them, or simply become very good at pretending they weren't there?
Jamie: I didn’t negotiate or intellectualize them. Suppression of my feelings and feeling guilty about my feelings
was my game. I was a good Catholic child! I was so good at it that I could go for extended periods of time ignoring
my feelings until they came roaring back. Then I would employ my cycle of suppression and guilt.
Monika: Before transition, you built an entire life, including a career as a health care executive, relationships,
and raising two sons. Did becoming successful in those roles make it easier to hide, because you had so many
things that appeared to prove you were living the life expected of you?
Jamie: Like a lot of other transgender individuals, fully diving into doing and performing the expected societal
roles helped minimize my gender feelings. However, they didn’t block them completely. I would go through periods of
time when I would “live” my dream without compromising my life. I would never be “too” outlandish to bring attention
to myself. In a way, my expected male role was a prison for my female soul.
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“There she was, and tears flowed
down my cheeks.” |
Monika: Looking back, were there moments when the woman inside you managed to sneak out for a little while,
perhaps through clothing, mannerisms, friendships, fantasies, or simply the way you imagined yourself?
Jamie: There were always moments when “my unnamed soul” would say it’s time to play. Throughout my life, I would
surreptitiously wear female clothing articles under my male clothes. In childhood and adolescence, I would wear
my mom’s undergarments, bras and panties, under my clothes while playing with my friends. In adulthood, I would wear
articles of clothing that I had bought to wear under my clothes, including my suits. I even added wearing makeup to
my moments. Occasionally, I would shave my legs, arms, and underarms so I would feel smoother skin.
Monika: Was there anyone in your earlier life who somehow saw a part of you that you were trying very hard not to
show?
Jamie: This is an interesting question that is difficult to answer. The only hint that I have that anyone suspected
something was “amiss” occurred during my mom’s dying days. She was in hospice care, where her “sons,” along with
their wives, provided care to make her comfortable. Her daughters-in-law attended to her personal care. But of her
children, I was the only child she asked to fully attend to her personal needs. I was honored to do so.
Monika: You write that for seventy years you carried this hidden self without a name. When did that self finally
acquire a name, and why did that moment matter so much?
Jamie: It was more of a process than a “moment” in accepting my hidden self. It began with death: first my wife, and
then with the COVID-19 pandemic. In between, my own heart health problems highlighted my own mortality. I began to
seriously ask the question: at death, what would I regret in my life? And the answer slowly focused on coming to
terms with my “hidden self.”
Monika: Was there a particular question that opened the door of that “windowless house” you describe, or was it
more like a door that had been slowly weakening for decades?
Jamie: There were two questions. The first question came from my fiancée on the first anniversary of my proposal to
her. Having previously shared with me her own secret, she asked me what my darkest, deepest secret was. And to this
prompt, out of the blue, I blurted out my “secret.” Several months later, after discussing my gender issues with my
psychologist, the therapist simply asked, “And?” The door was opened. But I didn’t barge through it, more like
tiptoed through and past it. Each step through and past the door tested whether I was on the “right” path.
Monika: Seventy is an age when society tends to tell people to slow down, settle into their identity, and enjoy
retirement. You apparently decided that was an excellent time to completely rearrange the furniture of your life!
What finally made you say, “I don't have another seventy years to wait”?
Jamie: Because I don’t have another seventy years! Given my family history, I would be lucky to reach another
fifteen years. But I’m packing as much “life” into these years to fill seventy years. While I tiptoed my way to
“Jamie,” each step brought joy and peace to my soul. While I have had turmoil in my life since acknowledgment and
acceptance, I wouldn’t trade my newfound peace to stay in my “windowless house.”
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| Available via Amazon . |
Monika: Do you remember the first time you looked in the mirror after deciding to live as Jamie and thought,
perhaps for the first time, “There she is”?
Jamie: Sometimes I still struggle to see Jamie in the mirror. Having lived with doubt so long in my life, it is
difficult to shake it. But the first time I saw “Jamie” and cried on seeing her was after my facial feminization
surgery. When the nurse took my bandages off and guided me to the mirror, I opened my eyes to see “Jamie.” Even
though I was bruised and swollen, there she was, and tears flowed down my cheeks.
Monika: What was your first genuine moment of gender euphoria, that moment when being seen or seeing yourself as a
woman felt completely and wonderfully right?
Jamie: It was the time I attended my ex-fiancée’s Christmas celebration in a skirt, blouse, and heels. Being totally
accepted by her family while dressed to the hilt was euphoric. And it felt completely normal. It was the best
Christmas gift I had ever received; it only took some seventy-plus years to get it!
Monika: Transition is often described as gaining something, but it can also mean losing things, relationships,
routines, social standing, or the identity other people had assigned to you. What did you have to grieve?
Jamie: I grieve for lost opportunities in not being the person I knew I was. But, more importantly, I regret not
allowing the people in my life, my friends, my extended family, my acquaintances, and my immediate family to know
Jamie. I missed receiving their advice and support from childhood through adulthood.
Monika: How did the people closest to you react when you finally told them? And were there any reactions that
surprised you, either positively or painfully?
Jamie: I have been fortunate. The general reaction from those around me has been one of gentle questioning and
acknowledgment. Those who struggle with my transition keep their feelings to themselves and act cordially when they
interact with me. But those interactions are fewer and fewer as time moves forward. The only few times I have been
ridiculed have occurred with complete strangers.
Monika: You are also a mother to two grown sons. How did you navigate becoming more fully yourself while also
navigating the very different emotional territory of being a parent?
Jamie: I’m still navigating the relationship with my two boys. But don’t all parents continuously navigate this
relationship? My oldest is aloof and distant. The youngest, while physically distant, is more open and accepting. In
fact, he and his fiancée asked me to plan their wedding later this year. I wish I had more time and better
communication with them. It’s a work in progress, like all parent-child relationships. One of the challenges in
improving this relationship is breaking through their typical male pattern of emotional distance. I should be better
at that since I personally struggled with it through most of my life.
END OF PART 1
All photos: courtesy of Jamie DeCoursey.
© 2026 - Monika Kowalska
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