When I came out to my mother lo these many years ago, she accused me of always having been selfish. It hurt, right to the bone. Because I knew she was right.
What I didn't know at the time was that it wasn't my fault. I tried to tell them who I was when I was four. I was punished, and told not to say that again. I learned that I was on my own with these feelings.
So I concealed it. Hid away the queerness inside me, tried desperately not to let it sneak out. It was in secret that I built a stash of feminine things to relieve my dysphoria when I could get alone time in the house.
I grew older, my self-focus grew more intense. I was rejected by my peers for the most part, even when I was in a gifted program with other super nerds. I was the one who went home with an empty envelope on Valentine's Day.
They could sense, I think, that I was hiding something deeply. Not what. But they knew I was different, and that was plenty.
So rejected by my peers, I withdrew. I didn't do things for people, because people didn't do things for me.
I became selfish. When my father died, I became more so, in every way but one (as a lover). Meaning the vast majority of people only ever saw me as self-involved.
As time went by, I grew less satisfied with this life. Being masculine didn't suit me, obviously, and it was draining pretending.
After my undergrad, I moved cities. A classic time for major change. Within a few months, I had transitioned.
And discovered a whole new side of me. See, once I didn't have to spend my whole time trying to figure out how to relieve my dysphoria, I discovered I was anything but selfish. I am, if I say it myself, generous to a fault. I help people beyond my capacity sometimes.
But it is a thing I like a lot about myself.
My point here is: give trans people a chance to be us. Many of us are giving, kind souls, who will literally walk on shattered glass for our loved ones. Just gotta unbox ourselves.