There’s no step-by-step rulebook dictating how a local reporter should come out as a transgender man.
It’s a strange position to be in, somewhere between a public figure and a private citizen. My name is published in the newspaper multiple times a week, but I’m sure no one’s walking around spearheading an Eva Herinkova fan club in Summit County. People read my stories because they want to know what’s going on in their local community. It’s not about me, and it never will be.
But it’s inevitable to become used to how someone presents themselves, especially in a position like mine, which involves a lot of speaking to strangers, sources and residents daily.
So what do you do when everything’s about to change? Write a column about it in The Park Record, obviously.
I’m not going to go into all of the personal details of why I identify as a man, but I will say it’s been a very, very long journey. There have been a lot of questions, a lot of fear, a lot of denial and a lot of difficult feelings I’ve been doing my best to avoid for almost 30 years.
This decision has been a long time coming, though. From wishing I were a boy in elementary school as I played Anakin Skywalker in a full re-enactment of the “Star Wars” prequels during recess to changing my name to “Peter” in high school before getting too scared and convincing myself I was “too young” to care about my gender identity, all of the signs have been there for years. I just wasn’t brave enough to acknowledge them.
To be honest, I don’t really know what changed for me. I think I was sick of lying to myself more than anything. I thought if I continued to look in the mirror and tell myself I was fine with how I looked, my more feminine features, the pitch of my voice, surely it would come true one day through the sheer power of positive thinking. But that never happened.
It’s a tough feeling to explain to anyone who is not transgender, especially because my “gender dysphoria,” or discomfort with being perceived as a woman, has much less to do with my appearance than most people would think. There are physical aspects of my body that I wish were more masculine, but at the end of the day, what prompted me to transition was a simple realization: I can envision myself happy and healthy as a 50-year-old man, but I can’t see myself happy and healthy as a 50-year-old woman.
There are small things, too. I would always feel uncomfortable when past partners referred to me as their “girlfriend,” for example. Someone calling me “ma’am,” which is common in my homeland of East Tennessee (and not so much in Utah), made me feel on edge. But when people accidentally called me “sir,” or my friends jokingly referred to me as a boy because of my interest in video games, it felt thrilling, like something had secretly clicked into place.
It took a good 10 years since my first attempt — when I asked my high school buddies to try calling me by a different name on Tumblr to see if I liked it, in true 2014 fashion — but now it’s official: My name is Petr, I am a man and I use he/him pronouns.
It’s been scary to come out because coming out sucks, quite frankly. I envy non-queer folks who don’t need to explain their sexuality and gender identity to strangers, friends and family until the day they die. It’s a strange dichotomy: People who oppose LGBTQ+ rights, or possibly just don’t understand the queer experience, decry gay and trans individuals for seemingly flaunting their identity while asking invasive questions about our relationships and our bodies.
I’ve always taken the approach of a subtle mention, which is easier with sexuality than with gender. My go-to coming out method — dropping something like, “Yeah, my girlfriend and I went to see that movie together” into a conversation when appropriate — doesn’t work as well for coming out as transgender.
“Yeah, I went to see that movie last weekend as a man,” doesn’t really communicate the same thing. Cue the lengthy column you’re currently reading.
Now, to address another quick question: Yes, my name is spelled P-E-T-R, and, yes, my last name changes, too. My dad is from the Czech Republic, and it’s a quirk of the language. Czech doesn’t like vowels as much as we do, so my name is “Petr,” pronounced Peter. Surnames are gendered, so my last name changes from the feminine “Herinková” to the masculine “Herink.”
I want to joke that I have a completely clean slate with my new name, but that’s not entirely true. A lot of transgender people have feelings of animosity toward their given name, often referred to as a “dead name.” But I don’t view “Eva” that way. It’s a family name, and it was part of my life for 28 years. It always felt a little too girly for me, but I’m more than happy to hide it away as my middle name, holding some space for a past version of myself while opening the door for Petr’s future.
Bonus: I don’t have to come up with another name. I love being efficient.
More than anything in this column, though, I want to thank my coworkers and the Summit County community. Coming out in my personal life felt easy, but coming out at work felt like an insurmountable obstacle, with way too many people to tell and no idea how to approach it.
Much to my surprise, however, the whole process has been relatively painless.
Everyone at The Park Record was immediately on board, making the switch to Petr internally, giving me a new email ([email protected], in case you have any good news tips) and generally showing their excitement for me as I venture into the world as a male reporter. The handful of sources I’ve talked to have given me nothing but kind words and encouragement, and I am eternally grateful to the community for making this easy on me.
I like to joke that as a boy, I’m only about a month old. I started my hormone replacement therapy in mid-November, and I’m already seeing results from the weekly testosterone injections. My voice is deeper, my hair texture has changed and my face is starting to look more masculine, so I figure I can’t put off the public announcement much longer.
This will be a lifelong journey for me, but I’m excited to reintroduce myself as Petr. And, as always, I remain committed to my work as a journalist and to the Wasatch Back. I could wax poetic about local reporting for hours, but to keep it short, I’ll say I feel privileged every day to have the opportunity to serve Summit County as its beat reporter.
Thank you so much for having me, and I’m sure I’ll see you around soon.