There are books that open before us like a door to another world, and Mam na imię Ania by Anna Grodzka is precisely that kind of book. It is not merely an autobiography but a journey into the essence of what it means to be human, a reminder that identity is not something we inherit but something we discover and fight for. In reading this story, we become witnesses to the transformation of a person who dared to defy a world that demanded conformity, a person who chose truth over comfort and authenticity over fear. Anna Grodzka’s life, both as told in her book and as revealed in my interview with her for Heroines of My Life, is not only the story of a transgender woman but also of a deeply reflective human being who asked herself, and now asks all of us, the hardest questions: what does it really mean to be yourself, to be free, to live honestly, to breathe and not realize how precious the air truly is until it is taken away.
Reading Mam na imię Ania feels like walking through an emotional landscape that alternates between light and shadow. The early pages take us into the world of a child who instinctively knows that she is different but has no words to describe it. Growing up in the 1960s, in a Poland far less open to diversity than it is today, Anna had to hide that difference behind silence and adaptation. She was loved, but she was not understood. Her parents, in their well-meaning attempts to protect her, bought her hockey skates instead of the figure skates she longed for, and a Zorro costume instead of a girl’s dress for a costume party. They believed they were preparing their child for survival in a rigid society, not realizing that each of these small moments left a mark on her sense of self. Yet what stands out in the book is not bitterness, but a quiet, dignified understanding of human limitations and compassion for those who could not understand her.
Anna’s story unfolds like a long and winding river, moving from personal struggle to public courage. At the age of 54, when most people begin to think about retirement, she decided to begin a new life. Her transition and gender-affirming surgeries in Bangkok were not only medical steps but acts of profound liberation. In the HBO documentary Trans-akcja, which captured this chapter of her life, one can sense both the vulnerability and the extraordinary strength of a woman who, after decades of silence, finally allows herself to breathe freely. When I asked her about that period in our conversation, she said that her decision was not born out of rebellion but from a quiet necessity to be herself, because living a lie had simply become impossible.
The book beautifully weaves this personal transformation with her later public life. In 2011, Anna Grodzka made history by becoming the first openly transgender member of the Polish parliament. It was a moment that resonated far beyond national borders. In Heroines of My Life, I reminded her that she was only the third transgender parliamentarian in the world, following Georgina Beyer in New Zealand and Vladimir Luxuria in Italy. She admitted that at first, she didn’t even realize the significance of her achievement. It was only later, when the initial whirlwind of media attention subsided, that she understood the symbolic weight of her election. Her presence in the Sejm gave hope to people who had never before seen someone like themselves represented in government.
In Mam na imię Ania, politics is not portrayed as a battlefield of ego but as a mirror reflecting society’s capacity for empathy and understanding. She writes about her time in parliament with a mix of pride and disappointment. She helped create the Gender Reassignment Act, which was meant to protect transgender people in Poland, but it was ultimately vetoed by the president. In our interview, she said that despite the setback, she felt her mission had been fulfilled. She had shown Poland that transgender people exist, that they live, work, and dream like anyone else. She did not need another term in parliament to prove it.
What makes the book so moving is its refusal to idealize life. Anna does not hide her pain, her loneliness, or her mistakes. She speaks openly about the price of being visible, about the tabloid cruelty and the weight of public scrutiny. Yet she never lets bitterness dominate her story. Instead, she writes with a calm acceptance that borders on wisdom. She acknowledges that pioneers, as she once told me, are the ones with arrows in their backs, but they walk on regardless, clearing the path for others.
The narrative is filled with delicate, intimate moments that give the story its emotional power. One of the most touching parts is her relationship with her two mothers, biological and adoptive. Both loved her in different ways, both struggled to understand her. There is tenderness in the way she describes them, especially her biological mother, Alina, whose musicality and warmth Anna feels she inherited. The book reminds us that family love, though sometimes flawed, can be a thread that holds us together even when understanding fails.
There is also humor and self-awareness in her reflections on femininity. When she talks about the joy of buying her first dresses after transition, her words resonate with anyone who has ever felt the thrill of finally expressing who they are. She laughs about how her wardrobe once overflowed with clothes and how she now shops modestly online, mostly boho style. There is wisdom in that laughter, the kind that comes with age and perspective, a gentle reminder that womanhood is not defined by the number of dresses in one’s closet but by the peace one feels in her own skin.
Reading Mam na imię Ania today, over a decade after its publication, is like revisiting a map of courage. It shows us how far we have come, but also how much remains to be done. When I asked Anna whether she still believes change is possible, she told me that political progress always follows social awareness, not the other way around. Without empathy and understanding among ordinary people, laws alone mean little. It is a simple truth, yet one that echoes through every page of her book.
What lingers after reading her story is not sadness, but gratitude. Gratitude for her honesty, for her willingness to speak when silence would have been easier, and for the way she turned her personal journey into a collective lesson about dignity. In the final pages of the book, she invites readers to reflect on questions that reach beyond gender or politics. What does it mean to live authentically? What does freedom cost? How much of ourselves are we willing to share with others, and how much must we keep to remain whole?
Perhaps that is why Mam na imię Ania feels so universal. It is not a book only about being transgender, just as it is not only about being a woman or a politician. It is about being human in a world that often forgets how complex humanity truly is. As long as we breathe, we rarely think about how much we need air. As long as we live as ourselves among others, we do not realize how fragile that privilege can be. Anna Grodzka’s story, in her book and in our conversation, reminds us of that fragility and the quiet power of those who dare to live truthfully, even when the world is not yet ready to understand them.
Available via lubimyczytac.pl
Photo by Lalka Podobińska via Heroines of My Life.
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