The immigrant experience

I've been spending a lot of time reading others blogs and learning their stories. While I'm amazed, and actually relieved, to find out so many of our stories are so similar, I've also been a bit disheartened that I really have little to say that someone else hasn't already said better.
This probably isn't new either, but I haven't seen anyone express this before, so maybe it's something I can put out into the world that will be of use in describing the experience. Then again, maybe I'm the only one who feels this way. Well, let me just lay it out & you decide whether it reflects your experience too.
A while ago, when setting up an online profile, I blithely tossed out the phrase "gender immigrant". I was really just trying to be clever, and hadn't thought much about it. But as soon as I read what I'd typed, I began to think about it. Maybe this just bubbled out of my subconscious, because the more I thought about it, the more I realised that the term really seemed to fit.
I was born into a culture where I was automatically accepted and nurtured, the only one who felt uncomfortable about my presence in this culture was me. Those who tried to acclimate me were perplexed & frustrated that I wasn't "getting it". They didn't BLAME me, but they couldn't understand why there was a problem. Meanwhile, once I hit the age where I understood there was another separate culture, I looked longingly across the gulf. They didn't acknowledge me or even know that I existed. I was "from the other side" and of no concern to them, yet I knew about them. I instinctively understood them. I spoke their language, though never taught, even though with "my own" language, I was at best ...remedial. I lived in my homeland for years. A ghost among the living. Unseen and uninvolved. I didn't miss what I had passed up. It was never of any interest to me anyway. Eventually, it all just got to me. I had to emigrate. I knew I would be "a traitor" to those who considered me a brother. I also knew I would never be accepted as a native by many in my new, chosen home. It didn't matter. A hard life in the place I felt in my core I always belonged, was better than an easy life in a place I never felt I belonged.
This isn't a perfect metaphor, but I think it's close enough to make my point. I don't want or expect a dream life. I just want to live an honest life. I hope I can make my way in my chosen land, and while never being accepted as a native, I do hope for a little respect and empathy as an immigrant who gave up so much to make a life in the land I always thought of as my home.