My name is Emily Pratt Slatin, and I’ve lived a life most people wouldn’t believe even if I told them — but I tell it anyway, because truth doesn’t care if it makes people uncomfortable.
I was born in New York City in 1979—intersex, XX chromosomes, female from day one, even if the world tried to convince me otherwise. I am the daughter of Dr. Harvey L. Slatin, and Anne P. Slatin. My body didn’t follow the rules, and neither did I. I was assigned female at birth, I’ve always been a woman, and I’ve always known it. I’m a lesbian, a queer woman, a hermaphrodite, and I’m not interested in shrinking myself to make others feel comfortable.
By sixteen, I’d been kicked out of my house for bringing my girlfriend home to meet my parents, as I refused to lie about who I was. Having few options, I took my first job at the same summer camp I’d attended as a kid—the first place that ever felt like home. From there, I built a life with my own hands. I ran away from boarding school in my senior year, and took a job at the local fire department. I earned my EMT certification at 18 and went on to become a Firefighter and Paramedic Lieutenant-Specialist, specializing in rescue work that most people couldn’t stomach. I walked into burning buildings, pulled shattered bodies from twisted metal, talked people off ledges, and once carried a transplant heart and its recipient in the same ambulance through New York City traffic. I led. I taught. I lived. I thrived.
I left that career behind after seeing more tragedy than any human being should ever have to see, and a handful of moments I’ll never write about simply because there are no words to describe them. I walked away when my certification expired, and I never looked back—because some chapters don’t need closure. They just need to end.
I’m a multi-published writer, a master photographer, and a polymath with with a 178 IQ, and far too many certifications, life experiences, and accolades to list. I was personally mentored by Allen Ginsberg. I passed all my Firefighter and EMS exams with near-perfect scores. I can rebuild a web server, rewire a house, and outshoot most men at the range—but I’d rather fix my tractor, mow my ten acres, and keep the world at arm’s length.
I live in Vermont, in a modest ranch-style house on a farm I maintain myself. I don’t pay people to do what I can do myself with my own two hands. I like dirty fingernails, freshly changed oil, and the sound of the radio in the background because silence has never been kind to me. I’m not interested in luxury. I want grit, utility, and freedom—and I have all three.
I was married Amelia Phoenix Desertsong on May 24, 2021. We are best friends, neurodivergent code-breakers who speak in shorthand and inside jokes. Our love is real, even if it doesn’t follow the blueprint.
I don’t do small talk. I don’t lie to make people comfortable. I’ve been told I’m too much, too intense, too much of an over-sharer, and too honest—and I take every one of those labels as a compliment. I was never meant to be easy. I like a good challenge, and was built for fire.
I’ve always been different. This blog is where I keep the pieces of myself that still need somewhere to live. The writing here is mine—raw, unpolished, unfiltered, and often unflinching. If you’re here, it means you either stumbled in by accident, or someone knew you’d understand.
Either way, welcome. Just don’t expect me to sugarcoat anything. That’s never been my style.
—Emily, emily@rescuegirl557.com
