At 46, I Moved For Love—And Found My True Self

I wake up most mornings just in time to see the sunrise sweep over the Toronto skyline, its golden rays illuminating the downtown core. It’s a startling contrast to watching the sun peek over a fence in my suburban Ottawa backyard just a few months ago.

Life looks dramatically different than it did at this time last year, when the idea of leaving Ottawa—the city I called home for a lifetime and raised four children in with my wife—sounded absurd. As someone with a lifelong trauma disorder in the PTSD family, safety is something I crave more than anything, and I equated Ottawa’s familiarity with safety. I was never going to leave.

But then, I hadn’t yet met Dani.

I reached out to Dani on X (formerly known as Twitter) after a friend recommended I talk to her about a worrisome experience we had both shared with someone we met online. Dani was kind, smart, talented and beautiful, and we ended up with far more in common than our mutual plight. We bonded immediately in a way I rarely do these days. The trauma scars I carry have left me wary of letting new people get too close.

A week later, we spent a weekend in Montreal celebrating our budding friendship. Dani lived in Toronto but was visiting Montreal for an upcoming surgery, and given the city’s proximity to Ottawa, we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet in person. We had been texting and talking on the phone every day, and oddly enough, this weekend did not feel premature to either of us. We spent two days walking around Old Montreal and rating cafes by their cappuccinos. By the time I drove home on Sunday evening, my feet hurt but my heart was alight.

Dani and I devoted a lot of time to our new… friendship. We sent each other pictures of sunrises and sunsets every day, saying good morning and goodnight without fail. We laughed, cried and talked about everything we had in common—which was a lot.

But we both repeatedly stated to each other and everyone around us that we were just friends. We each had reasons why it would be complicated for us to become anything else.

Over the next few weeks, however, it became clear to everyone, including my wife Zoë and Dani’s wife Dame, that we were trying to deny the undeniable: the two of us were falling in love.

A lot of married people fall in love with someone other than their spouse. It doesn’t usually go well. This turn of events can spell an affair or the end of the relationship. My wife and I had been married for 25 years; I still loved her immensely. But I couldn’t refute my feelings for Dani. She filled a piece in my life I hadn’t known was missing.

Thankfully, polyamory—a type of ethical non-monogamy that allows for more than one romantic relationship—is something Zoë and I had recently explored. Our first polyamorous experience had ended terribly, however, and I was hesitant to take another chance. Polyamory only works if everyone involved is honest and communicative. In that relationship, we had ended up being far more open than the other couple involved, and the results had bruised my heart. I had told Zoë I likely would never want to open our relationship back up again.

But Dani—who, as it turns out, was in a polyamorous relationship with Dame—was worth it. With much encouragement and enthusiasm from our spouses, we started a long-distance relationship a few weeks after our first meeting in Montreal. We could make this work with some weekend visits, right?

The funny thing about love is how infectious it can be. Since we were spending a lot of time together, Dani and I encouraged our spouses to get to know each other outside of our group chat. They started talking over Facetime and making shared playlists, spending nearly as much time chatting as we did. Shortly after our relationship was made official, it was clear Dame and Zoë had started falling for each other, too. In what felt like a one-in-a-million situation, two couples became four people with a whole lot of love for one another.

It didn’t take long before we all realized that being apart more than we were together was too painful. The two weeks we spent between visits felt like months. After much conversation and with careful planning, Zoë and I did something I had sworn I would never do: We picked up stakes and moved to Toronto to start a new life with new loves. The fact that our children were now grown and our jobs were remote made the transition easier—as did a painful period of growth I had undergone a few years earlier.

In the spring of 2020, I wound up in the hospital after a week-long targeted online harassment campaign, and I was diagnosed with a trauma disorder. While I nearly died before deciding to get help, the diagnosis was the beginning of a healing process that led to big change. Coming back from the darkest place I had ever been led me to unearth some long lost strength and confidence. No longer was I pinned down by the rubble of a traumatic past. Now free, I could take more risks and do things I never would have considered before—like moving. It also eventually led me to write my second memoir, One Sunny Afternoon: A Memoir of Trauma and Healing.

Childhood trauma is layered. As we peel back one layer, we discover things about ourselves that can take us by surprise. Moving to Toronto, and away from the roles of mother, daughter, sister and friend, helped me release the expectations I had placed on myself to stay safe. Slowly, a deeper layer unfolded under which a little boy had been hiding.

Six weeks before One Sunny Afternoon came out and a month before my 47th birthday, I came out to the world as a trans man. I have a new name, new pronouns and a new wardrobe full of great ties. Not long from now, I’ll be starting my medical transition. Throughout it all, I’ll be surrounded by my partners who love the authentic me.

It’s never too late to change your life. When people ask if I wish I had done this all sooner, my answer is always “no.” I did it when I was ready and not a minute before. I don’t regret my past, nor do I live for my future. Today is the gift, and I’ll spend my time unwrapping it to see what it holds.

Rowan Jetté Knox is a bestselling author, human rights advocate, speaker and journalist. His newest book, One Sunny Afternoon: A Memoir of Trauma and Healing, is out now. Rowan lives in Toronto with his partners and a very busy coffee maker.