“I carry a storm, and the storm carries me,” writes Emily Pratt Slatin in one of her many introspective blog entries that have captivated readers seeking authenticity in a world of carefully curated personas. The Vermont homesteader speaks with the hard-earned wisdom of someone who has transformed profound challenges into extraordinary strength. From her decades as a first responder pulling “shattered bodies from twisted metal” to her current life tending ten acres of farmland with “blistered hands,” Slatin embodies resilience without compromise. In this candid conversation, the former Firefighter and Paramedic Lieutenant-Specialist opens up about her intersex identity, her unconventional marriage, and how writing became both sanctuary and declaration of selfhood on her journey toward what she calls “the quiet, unbreakable joy of being whole in my own skin.”
Your writing style is remarkably candid. Has that always been your approach?
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 don’t do small talk or sugarcoat hard truths. Truth doesn’t care if it makes people uncomfortable. I don’t shrink myself to make others feel comfortable. This is where I keep the pieces of myself that still need somewhere to live… raw, unpolished, unfiltered, and often unflinching. I carry a storm, and the storm carries me. I was never supposed to tame it… I was supposed to become it.
Tell us about your current life on your Vermont farm.
I wake up every morning in a house I wired, on land I protect, with things I built from scratch. The same hands that once extricated victims from wreckage now mend fences, change tractor oil, and re-wire my home’s electrical system. I’m out here on ten acres, maintaining the land with blistered hands and finally living life without edits. Every square inch of this life is mine. There are no name corrections needed on this property. The coffee tastes stronger when you’ve earned your peace with blistered hands. The sun feels warmer when you no longer hide your skin.
Many readers connect with your writing about your relationship with Amelia. How would you describe finding love after so much adversity?
It started quietly – a serendipitous online exchange of writing that blossomed into marathon conversations. Amelia saw me as a person in a way that hit harder than I was willing to admit, because I had grown used to being overlooked or misunderstood. What began as a few kind words turned into a meeting of minds and hearts. It didn’t feel like work. It felt like breathing after feeling like you’re drowning for far too long. She was just there – steady, real, brilliant… a different kind of gravity in my life. With Amelia, love was not struggle or sacrifice; it was as easy, and as necessary, as breathing.
What philosophy guides your approach to creativity and work?
I’m not built for mediocrity… I don’t fear obsession; I embrace it. Anything worth doing deserves my full force, my entire intellect, and my unwavering focus. Prose is what kept me alive on dark nights. I was never meant for smallness, never meant to be quiet, never meant to fit inside the lines someone else drew.
You’ve written extensively about your early struggles with identity. How would you describe that experience?
I was Emily when I looked in the mirror… when I introduced myself to strangers. I am female… so intrinsic, so deep within my being that no external measure could ever touch it. The name they gave me… I wouldn’t answer to it even under threat. You’re genetically female. You were born intersex. You have XX chromosomes – that’s what doctors confirmed when I was 16. But my family’s reaction was explosive – a detonation of rage. Shortly after, they staged an ‘intervention’ to condemn my identity and sexuality. One by one they pronounced me ‘disgusting’ and ‘unacceptable.’ I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just stood up, said I had better things to do, and walked out. That decisive moment was when I lost my biological family and found my freedom. They were never really mine to begin with, and their absence hurt less than their expectations.
You’ve been open about your non-traditional marriage. How do you define your relationship?
We married not to possess each other but to affirm our commitment as equals. Love isn’t about possession – it’s about freedom, about trust, about choosing to stay when leaving would be easier. In our home, we literally give each other space yet remain profoundly connected: side by side – rooted in the certainty that neither of us needs to be diminished for the other to thrive. We’ve built a life stitched together from understanding, patience, and a kind of love that never asked either of us to be anything other than who we already were. There are so few places in this life where a person can be fully seen and still fully loved… Amelia was, and always will be, that place for me. Some loves are loud. Ours was simply true.
After leaving home at 16, how did you rebuild your life?
I made a name for myself – not the one they assigned, but the one they tried to erase. Emily. Rescue Girl. The one who didn’t flinch. The one who stayed standing. By 16 I was working at the beloved summer camp where I’d grown up, and by 18 I had earned my EMT certification and joined a local fire department. While other teens were finishing high school under parental care, I was already running into burning buildings and pulling shattered bodies from twisted metal. In my thirties and beyond, I became a Firefighter and Paramedic Lieutenant-Specialist renowned for rescue work that most people couldn’t stomach. I led crews, taught trainees, and quite literally saved lives on a regular basis. I didn’t just survive. I excelled. Quietly. Without their applause. I became the version of myself they never had the imagination to believe possible.
After two decades in emergency services, you made a significant career change. Why?
After two decades in emergency services, witnessing tragedies that no human being should ever have to see, I felt my soul wearing thin. I have memories that never fade, no matter how many nights I drank myself to sleep. Eventually, when my professional certification came up for renewal, I made the bold decision to walk away and I never looked back – because some chapters don’t need closure. They just need to end. It was an act of self-preservation.
How do you define success after everything you’ve been through?
I didn’t need happy. I needed honest. And that is exactly what I finally have. The stories they told about me are irrelevant now… my story will still stand. Not carved in marble, but lived in moments… and the quiet, unbreakable joy of being whole in my own skin. Here, I am Emily. Rescue Girl. Intersex. Woman. Queer. Strong. Authentic.
Emily Pratt Slatin’s journey unfolds not as a simple narrative of overcoming obstacles, but as a testament to the power of claiming one’s identity in a world that often demands conformity. From the teenager who walked away from family rejection to the homesteader who finds peace in honest labor, her evolution reveals how authenticity can be both compass and sanctuary. Through her candid reflections on gender, love, work, and creativity, Slatin offers wisdom not through platitudes but through lived experience. “Every square inch of this life is mine,” she declares—a statement that resonates beyond her Vermont acreage to encompass the sovereignty of self she has fought to establish. In her story, readers find inspiration not in easy triumph, but in the courageous act of living truthfully, even when that truth comes at considerable cost.
