Born Michele Angela Petrillo on January 3, 1964, I grew up in an Italian, Catholic, middle-class family in a small town in New Jersey. My grandfather immigrated from San Giovanni a Piro in Italy as a young man. My grandparents loved talking Italian and refused to teach the grandchild because they said “we don’t want you to know what we are saying” but I understand the curse words. My childhood home was filled with the close presence of extended family. Living with my dad’s parents, his only brother, my aunt, and two male cousins meant I was the only girl among us, a fact that made me the center of attention for my grandparents. Oh boy they must be rolling in their graves now knowing they have three grandsons. Grandma Minnie and Grandpa Angelo, whom I later named myself after, were a profound influence on my upbringing. Unlike my cousins, I accompanied my grandparents everywhere, forming a unique and special bond.
Grandma Minnie came from a large family herself, having twelve siblings, which meant I had a multitude of cousins and a sense of being surrounded by a big, close-knit family. Our relationships were strong, and the love was abundant, but despite this warmth, something inside me felt amiss from an early age.
Looking back on my early years, I can see that I was plagued by a persistent sense of inner turmoil. As young as five, I filled my childhood diaries with a recurring plea to God, asking to die while I slept. Every morning, I would wake up disappointed to still be alive, carrying with me a profound feeling of not belonging anywhere.
Being the only girl in my family meant I was often dressed in frilly pink dresses and adorned with bows—outfits carefully chosen by my grandma, yet they always felt foreign to me. I longed to dress like my cousins and the boys in my neighborhood, preferring pants and t-shirts over the clothes laid out for me. Whenever I had the chance, I would hide those dresses and sneak away in more comfortable, boyish attire.
As a child, I struggled to control my anger. It was a challenge that I only learned to manage later in life. At age twelve, frustration with my grandma led me to punch a window in anger. The resulting injuries were severe, with cuts dangerously close to a major artery. I vividly remember the doctor asking my family if I had tried to commit suicide, and I sometimes wonder if, subconsciously, I was trying to end my life. The scars, four inches long on my wrist, remain as a reminder of that moment.
Sports became my sanctuary as I grew up. I felt most comfortable and at ease on the field or the court, and I excelled as an athlete, even if academics were not my strength. Softball and basketball were my entire world, and they played a key role in saving my life during those years. I never wanted to upset my grandparents or let them down. I knew that if anything happened to me, it would devastate them, and that thought kept me going.
During my high school years, I dated men and even had a boyfriend named Matt from the age of fifteen until I was about twenty. We were engaged for a brief time, but I found myself uninterested in a sexual relationship. Matt tolerated this because his love for me was unwavering. At one point, my dad confronted me and asked if I had been sexually abused as a child. Uncertain, I told him I did not know. He then remarked, “Because you have little interest in Matt sexually and you are giving Matt blue balls.” That comment left me stunned; although I can laugh about it now, it was certainly uncomfortable at the time.
After Matt, I dated a few men, but my romantic interests faded following the death of Mark, the only man besides my father whom I ever absolutely loved. Mark passed away when I was twenty-seven, and his loss deeply affected me. Following that period, I was not interested in any relationship until I was thirty, when a business associate unexpectedly kissed me. That moment was transformative—being kissed by a woman felt right, and I loved it. The realization that I was attracted to women brought immense relief; for years, I thought something was wrong with me because I did not enjoy being with men. I could only bring myself to kiss a man if I were drunk, so finally understanding my own truth was liberating.
My happiness was so profound that I did not hesitate to share it with others. When I told my dad, he revealed something unexpected: he was gay. This revelation became a turning point in our relationship, forging a deep bond between us. We now shared something very personal and meaningful. However, while I was content living openly as a lesbian, my dad struggled with the burden of keeping his true self hidden. I look back with compassion, recognizing that his need to conceal his identity led to pain, anger, and alcoholism, which he sometimes directed at me both physically and emotionally until I was sixteen.
Despite the difficulties, I never held a grudge. When I was twenty-seven, my dad sincerely apologized, explaining that his actions stemmed from his own unresolved issues, not anything I had done. All of my life, Genny (the woman who gave birth to me) blamed me for making my dad abuse me because I was a bad child—reinforced that I made him do it. I had to have the last word made me difficult, but my dad’s admission allowed me to forgive him completely. From then on, he worked tirelessly to become a better father and a better man, and our relationship was forever changed for the better.
At thirty years old, I reached a pivotal moment in my life. I had just opened my own business, Baskets-n-Beyond—a significant achievement that marked my independence. Around this time, I experienced a powerful turning point: after being kissed by a woman, I realized I loved it. Accepting my identity as a lesbian brought me happiness, yet something was missing deep inside.
One of the first ways I expressed my newfound freedom was through clothing. I was finally able to dress the way I wanted, shopping in the men’s department for clothes, choosing men’s cologne, and gradually switching to boxer briefs. Society expected me, as a lesbian, to present in a more masculine way, I found relief in embracing a style that felt true to myself. Although these changes improved my life, a sense of inner turmoil remained.
Everything shifted when I was about thirty-nine. My grandma Minnie, the person I loved most in the world (who was the woman who raised me), passed away. The grief was overwhelming, and I felt like I wanted to die with her. Suicidal thoughts consumed me, but something within pushed me to reach out for help.
Terrified and desperate, I began calling every therapist I could find in the telephone book, telling each one, “I want to commit suicide, and I am scared.” Time after time, I was told that no one could fit me in for at least a week or two. Just as I was losing hope, I connected with Andrea, who told me to come to her office immediately. Andrea became my therapist for the next twenty years, guiding me through my darkest moments and ultimately helping me discover my true self at the age of fifty-nine. Sadly, Andrea passed away just two months before my surgery.
Andrea was instrumental in my journey. She was the one who recognized that I was struggling with bipolar disorder and depression. She helped me find a psychiatrist and get on the right medications, which made it possible to control my moods, manage my anger, and step back from the “black hole” that had overshadowed my life for so long. Without Andrea’s support and insight, I might never have found the strength to keep searching for my authentic self.
At 59 years old, following a traumatic experience at the Morocco airport, I was forced to confront my deepest truths. Although the assault was horrific, it unexpectedly became a turning point—helping me realize who I truly was. In June 2023, I discovered my authentic identity as Micky Angelo Petrillo. With clarity and determination, I immediately found doctors and began the steps necessary to bring Micky Angelo Petrillo to life.
On October 28, 2023, I started testosterone therapy. Then, my name became legally recognized as Micky Angelo Petrillo through the courts. Shortly after, on December 27, 2023, I underwent surgeries that helped me fully transition. By my 60th birthday, on January 3, 2024, I was finally Micky Angelo Petrillo in every sense—physically, emotionally, and legally.
The moment I spoke my truth aloud; I felt an overwhelming sense of calm. All the anger that had weighed me down for years disappeared, and the suicidal thoughts I had lived with faded. My doctors were able to reduce my medications for depression and bipolar disorder, as I began to experience a new outlook on life. Suddenly, the world appeared colorful and beautiful to me.
Now, I wake up every morning eager to start the day—no longer dreading early mornings but embracing each new opportunity. I have been given a second chance in life, and I am determined to make the most of it.
15 years ago, I weighed 297 pounds; as of October 13, 2025, I am down to 174 pounds. I work out and lift weights every day, eat only healthy foods, take vitamins, and treat my body as a temple. Where I once avoided my own reflection, I now proudly look in the mirror. I went from hiding from photos and never taking selfies to joyfully snapping pictures and jumping into group shots.
My journey has taken me from self-hatred to self-love. I now appreciate my body, my hair, and my face. I genuinely enjoy spending time with myself, often walking around my home in nothing but boxer briefs from the moment I get home until I wake up the next morning.
Even my cat, Nugget, is adjusting to the changes. She spent her first year with a sad, angry mama, but now has a dada who dances and sings in his underwear. Nugget is so confused; she might need therapy herself.
This is my story for now—a rollercoaster of emotions and transformation. I lost my dad on September 29, 2021, and he never got to meet his son. The sad little girl he once knew is now a happy son, living life to the fullest and embracing every moment.
Hey, it is Micky Angelo Petrillo here—Jersey born, and reborn at 59. After decades spent living out someone else’s story, I finally stepped into my own truth, and now I am capturing that journey on film.
My documentary, The Man I Was Born To Be, is a raw, funny, and deeply human look at what it means to start life over from scratch. It is filled with moments of laughter and heartache, culminating in a celebration at the end.
Through humor and honesty, I discovered peace. Now, I am sharing my journey to remind others that joy is always worth choosing, no matter how late you start.
The Man I Was Born To Be is not just a story about a transgender man; it is a story of resilience, redemption, and the extraordinary freedom that comes from finally living authentically.
