Four years, one month and fourteen days ago. That's not that long, right?

In four years, I have received thousands of emails from concerned parents from every corner of the world. One thing that rings the clearest is that all our differences are thrown aside if we have a child in trouble. Social media has carved a vast invisible moat around segments of society telling us, "Don't talk to them; they are against you", and we do as we are told, keeping the lines, not ruffling any feathers.

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• Feminists? You stay here with other feminists.

• Evangelicals? You stay there with all the other evangelicals.

• Liberals? You stay here with all the other liberals. Repeat and continue for all segments and communities worldwide.

Think about the reality that today, on social media, you interacted with people worldwide; with a keystroke, your voice or the mouthpiece of another halfway around the world converged, linked instantly. What used to take months of travel is a millisecond; instant access has come rapidly.

This transformation in our society has come so quickly and fiercely that it's left us incompetent in comprehending how existing within this merger has left us more disconnected than ever. The newfound linkage of social media has left us so severed that currently, right now? Right now, we need help deciphering what is true and what is false. The lens of social media has distorted reality. Mix in the ability to cancel voices against profit, against a business agenda, and viola; welcome to 2023.

As a transman who has gone through a medical transition in its entirety, top to bottom and by all means, allow the picture to maneuver through your racing marbles, a mush pot of an over-indulged stimulated brain resulting in the incapability of strategic thought, a modern brain, the by-product of current times, compliments of social media. Because? Because the top to bottom explanation of the totality of medical transition and the road I have travelled is an archaic reality of truth. Sometimes old thought approaches are the sturdiest. With that stated, you would assume that any concerns or elations of rapture I share would be taken equally as a delivery of the truth, of the wisdom of experiences, right?

You would be wrong with this assumption.

Four years and one month ago, I charged onto the transgender activism stage, uneducated to all the nuances of politics, ignorant of every element of any strategic pearls needed to achieve success within the fishbowl of what social media has created. I never voted, never watched the news, and never bothered to understand what I jumped in with my whole body and soul. I was ignorant at a monumental level, uneducated with even the tiny bits of 'how to succeed for dummy's' that are delivered to society, ensuring the public doesn't choke on intricate thought tracks were never supplied to me because I didn't care. As one who suffers from what some people consider an aptitude but suffers from the ailment called 'tunnel vision', I could not and cannot to this day multitask with obsession. One obsession at a time, my friend, one obsession at a time is all I am capable of, and my addiction in adulthood has always been the next big business sale, the strategic forethought on landing the next major deal. The razor fixation I was blessed with has also been a curse to failure trying to achieve a 'balanced life' we all seem to chase. Symmetry, for me, is an unrecognizable sensation only afforded with a relentless pounding of an ignorant person unaware of their surroundings, and that has never been me.

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For twenty-five years, I jumped from one sales accomplishment to another, never resting, never absorbing my achievements, being obligated to attend sales awards, receiving calls from vice presidents of major corporations instructing me that "Kellie, you will attend this year's awards ceremony, it's disrespectful, and you will be present this year." Pacing within my mind, obsessing about what strategic strategy would be victorious with whatever deal I was trying to close even as I attended President Obama's inauguration, irritated that I had to go. The first African American inauguration unmoved my unwavering mind. Even this monumental historical occasion had no bearing on me until the African American man who looked to be in his eighties in the chair to my right burst into tears as Barack Obama placed his hand on the bible. In what seemed to be slow motion, I realized this older man was releasing something profound, a life of struggle, released with victory; finally, a breath was taken, and it engulfed this man. Instantly, his sobbing was contagious; the pain of the success he had achieved climaxed on that day. The raw reality of this man who beamed with triumph, wore a $100,000 watch, a man you knew as soon as your eyes met? This man was strong, prosperous, and someone you could count upon. When this man's emotions of a life glutted with swimming upriver, the inequity of being different from all the people who tried to break him but were unsuccessful, a man you knew never wavered, was a pillar of solidity that started in the core of who he was. Only at these times did my mind rest when someone raw and honest needed me; it was only at these times I became present.

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On that day? Barack Obama was this man in his younger days; the resemblance was too much for this older man to my right to hold in; his body went limp, his shoulders rising and falling in rhythmic timing, mirroring his sobs and his desperate gasps of air as if he was reaching for oxygen with his moans, unable to hold his head up as his exhaustion from life, the battle for every achievement met a point of no return. I understood this, and without saying a word, I cupped this man's head in my arms and pulled him to my shoulder, comforting a man I had no doubt was exceptional. Never a word spoken but understanding that he needed me in the most valid human form, the human condition most recoil from, is a place of strange solace for me. These moments were the only times I have ever been able to be present.

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I think of this man often, and even a decade later, I wonder where his life has carried him; is he still alive? Wishing I had said something to him bonded beyond the material comfort I gave him. Few people can extract me away, forcing me to become present, but this man did it with a powerhouse of conviction so successfully that he rests within my mind today and constantly.

So, what is behind all this examination and gooey observations wrapped in emotional reflection? Why the sediment? You will giggle; I know you will when you discover what flared this essay. Four years, one month, and fourteen days ago, I started SCREAMING to STOP childhood medical transition. Today I had a moment like the one the man had in my arms at President Obama's inauguration many years ago. Today, I sat back, wept and then laughed, unable to stop; the emotions, tears and laughter combined in a celebration erupted in one massive ball of unrecognizable emotion, leaving my daughter perplexed if I needed a hug, high five or wanted her to join in the insanity of my laughter mixed in with painful tears. We settled on laughter, although she didn't know why and it seems so stupid to admit, but today? Today I opened my email and.....

Well, let's recap first:

• Kicked off twitter four times < Lost in total over 321,000 followers, but who's counting? Currently 3600 followers 314,000 lost

• Facebook banned 42 times.

• YouTube banned kicked off 3 times lost who knows how many followers

• TIKTOK Banned four times < Lost 63,000 followers.

• Countless shadow bans

Listen, I don't have the energy to list all of it, way more than just what's above, death threats, videos making fun of me, calling me every name in the book, attacks by feminists, evangelicals, trans, liberals, conservatives, republican, democrat but never giving in knowing that the solution to all of this is joining hands together. Falling short so many times, allowing my enviousness of others with what I could not achieve and seeing others do, not honoring but hating, catching myself realigning, blaming others for their business acumen within activism and my ignorance and not understanding my failure has led to my success with reaching across the line as I have always said is critical to stopping this travesty—losing sight of the why just being an a&*hole from time to time, allowing my hurt-to-hurt others to forget and then remembering. But failing again and again, having to align five minutes after an epiphany, then losing sight again, again and again, that this is about saving gender-confused children, 'Not you, Kellie," embarrassed of the conversation needed to realign me.

This has been a roller coaster and the hardest thing I have ever done.

But today, I received an email from Facebook, I am officially monetized; last month, I made .26 cents.

Yup, this entire essay because I made .26 cents, and I am so f&^%king proud of myself, as well as disgusted it took me this long to learn all of this, ignorance is not a good feeling. But through all I have remained steadfast with one thing always SCREAMING Louder

'STOP Transing Kids!'

-Scott Newgent

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