What does soccer have to do with my transition? Nothing, except that I love the sport, and along with it I realized the other week that nothing I loved was exclusively male. There is nothing I like doing, or of the material world that I cannot also like and enjoy as a woman. Most men would not say that, but then again, I’ve also come to realize that looks can be deceiving, and my book cover most definitely is.
So, I’m really doing this? I’m really going to start a blog to chronicle my transition journey? The short of it is, yes. To get it out of the way, my daughter transitioned last year on her seventh birthday, and no I didn’t push her towards it…I was still in deep denial…thirty plus years of it. However, what it did do was blow the door off my closet of skeletons like nothing else could.
I began researching transgender issues, and as I did so I found myself gravitating more and more to transgender women, and specifically what transition entailed. Now, I made excuses to myself that I wanted to get an idea of what my daughter would face as she got older, but that was complete bullshit. I was looking into it for myself, without even realizing it at the time.
This went on for a few months, until I started to begin to make other connections within me, but the first big one that stands out was my realization that I suffered from dysphoria, the same as my daughter does. We went off on a backpacking trip in early April of this year, and she had been suffering badly before we left, but what I didn’t realize was that so was I. Oh, I felt what I called the “yuckies” because that’s what strong men would call it, but it was more than that. This realization came as we were dropped off with two young women where we would start our hike. While it was freezing, one of the girls was wearing running tights, and I found myself staring at her legs and crotch. Now, this wasn’t the first time I had ever done so, but it was the first time the realization hit home that I was staring because I wanted what she had…and more to the point I accepted that in a normal way…and over the next two days of walking I thought on what it might mean.
Being born in the seventies meant that you knew the binary, and you knew what was allowed and what wasn’t. I had a penis…so I had to be a boy…case closed. I followed those rules to the T…except I didn’t, I mean not really, or maybe I did when people were watching, but when they weren’t?
Every girl (and I’m talking trans, so keep up) has her stories. At five, I would play girl characters in make believe, and like it in ways I shouldn’t have. Watching Disney movies I found myself wanting to be Ariel or Belle. I was enamored with my mother’s clothing, the materials, the colors, and the smell of her perfume.
After the hike in April I began remembering my past rapidly, all the things I had pushed in the closet and locked up tight. I had convinced myself that my love of pretty underwear and lingerie was a sexual fetish or kink…and then I remembered I had started trying on my mother’s things in the 3rd or 4th grade…long before I was sexual. Puberty only confused me, and made me bury it down. I stopped dressing up as I grew out of her clothes, and other than pretty underwear, I stopped dressing. The wearing of pretty underwear would come and go in spurts, depending on if I was dating, etc. My parents even caught me a couple times, and I’m sure chalked it up to horny teenage boy, and there is no doubt I was horny, but the other element they didn’t catch is that I did it because it made me feel pretty and feminine. The thoughts, those never really went away, but the behaviors I learned to hide, or block completely.
I also remembered my love affair with Playboy. My dad had a subscription, and I loved to read them cover to cover (what boy does that?), and while don’t get me wrong, the girls within could arouse me, there was something else that went along with it. Looking back, I often realized that I wanted to be those girls, to wear the pretty things they wore in the spreads. I wanted to have bodies like theirs (although, never cared about big boobs)…I would just chalk it up to fantasies, but nonetheless, I don’t think my friends were having similar thoughts.
Freshman year of high school, I was told by a friend that I held my books like a girl, and I swung my arm like a “bitch.” I fixed that shit immediately, but I still found myself daydreaming of being a cheerleader, or pom girl…I rationalized, “they’re hot!” No, dipshit, other guys think about fucking them, and while you did that to, they did not also fantasize about being them. Boys don’t want to be girls. I also learned in high school that sharing was dangerous, and that boys didn’t share how they felt like girls did. I still screw this up from time to time…I can’t help it, it’s who I am.
High school didn’t see me date much. My best friend from kindergarten to around junior high had been a girl, but she moved, and I was stuck with only boys. It was easy to hide because of my size and strength, but I missed my girl friend. I did become friends with girls in high school, but always thought there had to be an ulterior motive, that I must be attracted to them. Again, I was way off, and lost good friends as a result. I hated having to ask girls out, I wanted to be the one asked out, but that’s not how it was done, and so I didn’t begin really dating until almost the end of 11th grade, and even then it was pretty weak.
College I got to remake myself, and boy did I become the man…kind of. I still made friends with girls more easily than getting them to want to be with me, and often this would lead me to self-destruct and ruin friendships. Honestly, looking back the closest friendships I had in college weren’t the guys in my fraternity, but those girls who I was friends with, who I’d hang out in dorm rooms with, and even sleep over in their rooms. My fraternity brothers would always assume I was getting laid, and sometimes I even corrected them…ok, most of the time, but still I found value in those friendships.
It was also during college that I realized I approached sex more like a female as well. I turned down several girls because the situation wasn’t right, and guys definitely don’t turn down sex, especially at 19 or 20, but I did. I would turn down the girl if she was drunk, or if she was offering out of pity, or just because we didn’t know each other well enough yet. I had to know she wanted me as much as I wanted her…I had to be desired.
Half of college I spent with a girl I would become engaged to, and I even started to share with her my secrets. She was great about it during the relationship, but when things eventually fell apart, she threw it all in my face. It was after her that I decided no more sharing, and locked it all up tight.
I didn’t even mention crying…and boy was it easy for me up till around the age of 20. I’d cry if sad, hurt, or happy. I’d cry if I got too nervous, but it was the last time, begging my dad’s friend back for a job at 20 that was the last time I would lose control of my emotions. Nowadays, I have problems letting them completely free, and I hate that I’ve become so twisted.
I was also a gamer, video games, Dungeons and Dragons, and I found myself as I got older playing female avatars and characters more and more…as the woman in me sought ways to express and get out…I always made excuses for it, but at times I would secretly admit or rationalize that it would help me get in touch with my feminine side…right? I was deluding myself…but I let it go one for years.
Fast forward to this summer. In July, I began to realize and put name to the dysphoria I suffered from, and I finally came out while being interviewed as being nonbinary, because I was too big a chicken to admit the next step. However, that would quickly change as I became friends with more and more transwomen online. I began to realize how much my childhood mirrored theirs, and that in many ways I still felt the same way. In addition, I was amazed at how easily I was accepted by them, and that also prompted deeper thought on my part. Girls have an ability to sense fakes and chasers, but that never came up once with me. I admit, I did use my daughter to get close initially, but why was I sharing about my past? Why explore it with others? In short, because I already knew the truth, but was looking for someone to tell me I was wrong, that I was a fraud…but it never happened because I am not, I am transgender. They knew it, and deep down so did I.
Men don’t start a twitter as a woman to explore their feminine side. Men don’t pick a female name that they would use if they were to transition…because men don’t think about transitioning…men don’t think about what their “girl” name is.
The funny thing is that once I admitted to others that I was “nonbinary” I began to take my mind further, and that’s when I realized that I had never really been happy, and that I really wanted to go on HRT, that I needed to know how it would make me feel. I still say that, and use it to qualify that I need to know before I can commit to transition. In reality, I can admit that I want to transition,that I think I need to, and that HRT will make me feel whole…because if it doesn’t then I don’t know what I will do.
My life has been driven by one thing…FEAR! Fear of being found out, fear of failing, fear of stepping wrong, fear of not being loved by those I loved, but I can’t let it rule me any longer. I have to own it and move forward. I harbor no illusions about how tough this will be for me and those I love, but it is the right thing to do. I almost feel a biological need to move forward, to be the real me.
I begin gender therapy next week, and at times feel like a little girl waiting for Christmas. When the therapist used my female name in her reply email, my heart skipped a beat…it just felt right, and so I’m pretty sure just based off of that I have chosen the right one. I’m hoping when we sit down to talk that I can leave the male in the lobby, and let Allie do the talking. It would be a first for me, I do it online all the time, but face to face…that has yet to happen. While nervous, I look forward to speaking as myself…even if my body, face, and voice are nowhere near where I want them to be yet, it doesn’t mean that my mind and soul are any less female. After all, who you are is dictated by what is on the inside, and not on the outside.