**The Courage to Be Seen: Reclaiming Self, Pleasure, and the Power to Belong**
Sometimes it takes losing everything to finally see yourself clearly. I don’t say that lightly. It’s easy, in hindsight, to narrate transformation as if it’s inevitable, or even glamorous. But truthfully, awakening to one’s identity—the courage to be fully seen—demands the kind of magnified honesty that many spend a lifetime evading. This is the paradox that brings both exquisite pain and unexpected liberation: when the world as you know it dissolves, only then do you have the raw materials to build something true.
I recently spoke about this journey on the Inclusion Bites Podcast, hosted by Joanne Lockwood. This wasn’t a surface-level interview about diversity and inclusion; it was a conversation rooted in grit, personal reckoning, and the hard-won joy that comes only from integrating all parts of oneself. Joanne, founder of SEE Change Happen, is widely recognised for her piercing questions and her fearlessness in breaking down the status quo around identity and belonging. Her approach to inclusion is actionable, disruptive, and above all, deeply human.
More than [INSERT_VIEW_COUNT] people have already watched our interview on YouTube, with many more tuning in via Spotify and Apple Podcasts.
If this conversation sparks something for you—questions, pushback, or agreement—I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below. I read every one.
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### Undoing the Script: When Loss Becomes Possibility
For almost four decades, I performed identity on the world’s terms—a carefully curated persona that complied with family expectations, community rules, and the rigid doctrines of my faith upbringing. As Joanne wryly observed, “We all tend to live by other people’s rules, don’t we?.. we just end up on the conveyor belt.” For me, that included a robust career as a theologian, youth pastor, and missionary. During that time, I poured energy into roles I was told I should want, building outwardly impressive structures—house, family, career—while a silent war raged inside.
All that scaffolding crumbled in 2022 when a restructuring left me jobless, homeless, and suddenly unmoored. I remember sitting on my therapist’s couch, stripped of the roles that had defined me, and at last recognising that I had spent my entire life trying not to be myself. The core incongruence had haunted me since childhood, but crisis made it inescapable. Joanne understood intuitively: “Often the hardest person to come out to, whatever that may mean to you, is yourself.”
Crucially, it wasn’t some epiphany but slow, relentless honesty—the process of interrogating every inherited “should” and tentatively excavating what I actually wanted. When you lose everything, the pain is clarifying. Clarity, however, is not the same as relief. Owning my identity as a trans man meant stepping out of a deeply conservative religious frame where deviation from prescribed gender roles was unthinkable. Joanne captured this bind beautifully: “You’re almost like conversion therapy in yourself, aren’t you? You’re converting, keeping yourself oppressed.”
I marvel, sometimes, that it took losing every anchor to find freedom. Would I wish that pain on anyone? No. But I do believe significant change—real, identity-level change—often starts where comfort ends.
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### The Power of Embodied Healing
In the aftermath, I became obsessed with one question: if my entire sense of self had been outsourced to others’ approval, how could I build authenticity from the inside out? Answering that required turning inward, not just intellectually but physically.
I discovered somatic sexology almost by accident, binge-watching “Sex, Love, and Goop” late one night. The concept—a therapy centred on deep, conscious reconnection with one’s own body, pleasure, and desires—felt both foreign and oddly familiar. For decades, I’d ignored or numbed physical sensation, equating pleasure with sin or selfishness. I was, as I realised, an expert in pain, not in pleasure.
With Joanne’s curiosity as fuel (“What does it really mean, somatic sexologist?”), I explained my deeply personal path: hiring a somatic sexologist, undergoing my own radical transformation, and feeling for the first time “awakened to the sensations in my body and who I really am.” I retrained and now guide others through this journey—embodied, curious, liberated.
This work is not about sex alone (though sexual healing is often where shame runs deepest). It’s about wholeness—integrating mind, body, and spirit so all of one’s self is permitted to exist. Joanne captured it succinctly: “It’s that alignment of self with spiritually, physically, mentally, everything kind of aligned so that you’re… true to yourself.” When the body comes online, so does courage.
Looking back, I see how essential somatic work is for anyone conditioned to self-abandon. Repression becomes habitual, not just ideologically, but in cellular memory. Undoing that pattern—reclaiming pleasure and presence—is, by definition, revolutionary.
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### Unlearning Shame: The Privilege and Cost of Authenticity
The price of choosing yourself is high. For me, it meant leaving behind not just a job, but an entire faith community and the family I loved. Joanne didn’t gloss over this pain, commenting, “It’s the sad reality… often trans and non-binary people have to make a polarising choice around who they are, and often that means leaving behind parts of their life that they valued immensely.”
It’s tempting, when recounting transition, to focus only on the triumph. But mine is a story marked by profound loss—by the ache of loving people who could not or would not see me. I left, in part, out of love for them: “Because I didn’t want them to go through all the heartache of everyone else finding out… so I literally packed up everything and left.”
And yet, what I gained astonished me. First, a relationship with my own body that I never thought possible. Transitioning medically, aligning my hormones with my internal truth, felt like arriving in a body that finally made sense. As I told Joanne, “Testosterone has been amazing for my body. I feel so good… I used to wake up sluggish… now I wake up and I’m really excited about what I see because it actually reflects how I feel inside.” She related to this deeply from her own experience: “Turning on the oestrogen for me has been incredibly affirming… it just feels more comfortable now.”
Second, I discovered the profound relief and joy of connection—not just with myself, but with others willing to meet me in authenticity. Pleasure, for me, is no longer something to be feared or sacrificed at the altar of acceptability. It’s a birthright, a signal that my body, my very being, is worthy of joy.
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### The Blueprint of Desire: Transforming Pain Into Pleasure
One of the most radical frameworks I encountered is the Erotic Blueprints model, developed by Jaya (herself a leader in the field of sexology and, fortuitously, a fellow Boulder resident). This model—energetic, sensual, sexual, kinky, and shapeshifter—maps the diverse ways people are wired for desire and fulfilment.
What struck me is how much conventional sexual and relationship education erases possibility. Most are handed a single script (“this is what sex is”) and told to conform, while the spectrum of pleasure and connection is far broader, richer, and more idiosyncratic. As I told Joanne, “A lot of us learn how to be in the sexual and do our life from the sexual space, but we don’t understand that there’s four other places that we could be living our life out of.”
For many clients, their work with me begins with exploring this spectrum. Sometimes, it’s about discovering (and sometimes, at last, permitting) deeply held desires labelled “kinky,” “taboo,” or unacceptable. Joanne confessed a certain intrigue: “One person’s kink is another person’s vanilla… And kink doesn’t have to be painful or bondage or dressing up…it just has to be different to traditional, whatever that may mean to you.”
Shame, I’ve come to realise, is society’s preferred method of control. When you break that taboo—when you cross that internalised red line—the liberation is sublime. And for those of us who have had to defy social rules just to exist, as so many queer people have, the experience of coming out of shame is almost addictive. As Joanne put it, “Once you’ve broken out of shame, nothing becomes shameful anymore.”
The journey, of course, is never linear. The cultural scripts are persistent. But the freedom on the other side—agency, sovereignty, and the ability to belong without performing—is exponentially more rewarding than any approval I chased before.
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### Safety, Trust, and Rewiring Relationship
Transformation doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Especially for those of us whose trauma is social, spiritual, and relational, healing requires the presence of others. It requires trust, sometimes built from scratch.
In my practice, nothing matters more than offering a truly safe space—a place where all of a person can exist, free from censure. Joanne observed, “Just the fact we’re having this conversation today… I’ve lost that red line where I won’t cross these days.” Those barriers can be eroded through honest dialogue and mutual witnessing.
Sometimes, what people need is simply permission: to want what they want, to dislike what they dislike, to own their experience without handing it over for another’s validation. The hardest truths are often those we hide from ourselves, but as I shared with Joanne, “If we can allow all of someone else to exist without judgement or shame and give them the space to express what that is, it’s a step in the right direction.”
This applies equally to couples, where the myths of idealised romance and sexual compatibility often occlude the realities of divergent desire. In a world obsessed with performance, the most subversive act can be to slow down, get present, and name what is real. The transformation comes not from pursuing ever-more-exotic experiences for their own sake, but from grounding in desire as it naturally arises.
Joanne captured the complexity: “We build this story in our head… creating this rule book of who you are, how society thinks you should be. And you’re also making stuff up about the other person and creating a rule for them in your head.” Peeling that back, undoing those scripts, is the heart of the work—whether in individual healing or in nurturing vital partnerships.
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### The Cycles of Life: Growth, Regret, and Rediscovering Purpose
If there’s one thing I wish more people understood, it’s that change is not the exception to life but its central fact. Our needs, desires, and relationships evolve over time—adolescence, adulthood, parenthood, empty nest, and beyond. Too often, people live out someone else’s narrative, only to discover decades later that it wasn’t theirs to begin with.
Joanne’s questioning was pointed: “How many people are actually happy with that life?… What would happen in our society if we started asking questions and critically thinking about what do you really want in your life at a younger age?” The pain of regret—the realisation too late that agency was always possible—is something I see daily in my clients.
I’m not here to romanticise late-blooming change or justify unnecessary suffering. If I had been allowed to transition at 18, as my heart desired, I would have spared myself decades of pain and confusion. But nor do I regret the growth and insight that suffering forced upon me. The lesson, if there is one, is that it’s never too late to claim yourself. Even when the cost seems unbearable, self-abandonment is far more corrosive in the long run.
For those contemplating similar change, it need not take a catastrophe to catalyse movement. Sometimes it’s a single question, asked in the right spirit: “What do you want?” That is where the path always begins.
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### Embracing the Unknown: Names, Identities, and the Joy of Becoming
One of the lesser-known privileges of transition is choosing your own name. For me, “Kyptyn” was a moniker I’d reserved for a future child—my way of honouring my inner child when that future never arrived. Holding and naming that self has become a daily practice in compassion, in dignity, in claiming what is mine to own. I relish the fact that my name could only belong to me; it is as singular as the life I now inhabit.
Ultimately, that is what “the courage to be seen” means. It is less about overcoming fear than it is about outgrowing the need to be anyone but yourself. It requires support, honesty, and sometimes, the willingness to risk everything. If my story is proof of anything, it is that survival is only half the battle—thriving comes later, when the dust settles and you can finally say, without equivocation, “This is who I am.”
I invite you to join that journey—wherever you find yourself—whether in the messy disruption of loss or in the quiet joy of self-acceptance. The world will always have scripts and cages designed to shrink us. The real work is writing your own story, in your own body, in your own voice.
And when you do, the world shifts, and the act of belonging—radical, embodied belonging—becomes not only possible, but inevitable.
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Let these reflections be a conversation starter. Tell me—what rules, scripts, or expectations are you ready to shed? Where are you feeling the pull to be more seen? Drop your thoughts below. I read every one, and together, we can forge new ground—one act of courage at a time.