A bit over a year ago, shortly after coming out as transgender, I committed to a historically women’s college.

It should be needless to say that I didn’t make this decision on a whim. I got into seven of the eight schools to which I applied, the majority of which are considered to be quite academically prestigious. Mount Holyoke was the only one of these that was not entirely co-ed.

I didn’t end up here by accident. I put hours upon hours of thought into choosing which college to attend, and gender diversity was a huge factor in this process. Mount Holyoke’s admissions page declares that it accepts students who “are (biologically) female or identify as women.” I think this could have been phrased more delicately--my biological traits don’t determine any aspect of my gender--but the point remains: Mount Holyoke publicly acknowledges and accepts people like me as a part of its student body. That, combined with the many other attractive features of the school, helped me decide to commit.

This doesn’t mean that going to a historically women’s college has been the easiest experience for me. I’m misgendered almost daily by well-meaning professors, who seem to forget that not everyone who attends Mount Holyoke is a woman. There are generalizations, too: in groups, we are addressed as women, or even as girls. The hypothetical Mount Holyoke student is always described as “she.” Inclusion is far from seamless: in the eyes of many people, I don’t quite belong here. I’m reminded of that every single day.

And I’m okay with that. Yes, there’s a part of it that hurts--but I knew to expect it. I committed to this school prepared to struggle with frequent misgendering. For some trans people, that would be unacceptable; for me, while it may be far from preferable, it’s something I can live with. I have a network of wonderful friends and classmates, many of whom share this experience, and all of us are working towards a more authentically inclusionary future for our school.

Many cisgender people are helping with this, too. This isn’t a battle that we alone can win; your solidarity means the world to me. Your pity does not.

Cis people’s speculation that my life at the college must be “so hard” is not welcome. If I weren’t emotionally prepared to take on the difficulty of attending a women’s college as a non-woman, then I would never have committed--or even applied. I love my life at Mount Holyoke--and when you imply, however subtly, that I shouldn’t, that is an exclusionary act. Unless and until I express discomfort to you, it is alienating for you to assume that I am unhappy here.

If you are uncomfortable with me, as a transmasculine person, on your campus: I honestly understand that. Mount Holyoke has been, is, and should continue to be a safe space for non-men. Your discomfort is legitimate, and I do my best to avoid events at school that are specifically geared towards the self-empowerment of women.

However, the fact remains that the school itself is now a place for trans people of all genders, as well. When you say that you doubt I can be happy here, you’re telling me that I’m an addendum--that I’m not wanted here, that I don’t fully belong here, that I’ve managed to cheat my way in by being trans. None of these are remotely true.

Mount Holyoke should continue to be focused on the empowerment of women. Women will always be the majority and the priority, but that does not make me an afterthought. I’m not the exception to the rule. I’m just another person, here to get the best education that I can. It isn’t easy, but I have the support that I need. I can deal with it. I don’t need your pity.