I am not now, nor have I ever actually been, a man.
I guess you can consider that the tl;dr of this post. Which, to dress it up a bit, is what we used to call a thesis statement in school, right?
I tried to be a man. Well, sort of. I guess I tried to be a different kind of person than the men I saw around me. The traits I’ve always striven to nurture within myself are what we culturally refer to as feminine traits – compassion, nurturing, kindness.
When friends – women – would ask me about guy behavior, “You’re a man, why do men do that?” I always found myself at a bit of a loss. I’d joke that my MANual got taken away when they kicked me out of the Men’s Club for being an imposter. But honestly, the only reasons I could come up with for why men did some of the toxic and self-defeating things they did were the same grotesque caricatures of actual men that I saw reflected in media, books, news, and reality television.
Of course, I came to realize over the years that often men behaved the way they did because they’ve been taught to emulate grotesque caricatures of men they were taught about in school and saw in the media marketed towards them. And while I absorbed a fair amount of those characteristics during my masquerade, they always felt like a toxin, a foreign substance I’d been forced to consume. If baffled me, saddened me, and – often – angered me.
Yesterday a friend, seeing me for the first time since I came out as trans, asked why I’d waited so long. “Surely,” he said, “your liberal creative friends would have accepted you if you’d come out much sooner.” I explained that it wasn’t something I kept hidden from people. That it’s something I’d been keeping hidden from myself.
So, yeah, at 49 I guess I was a little slow on the uptake.
And that brings us to pronouns.
For 49 years I accepted people’s use of male pronouns for me. I, after all, was desperately trying to align my sense of self with the sex – and gender – society told me I was. Now that I correctly identify as a female human being, I am asking people to use female pronouns. And because I spent 49 years being confused about things myself, I’m pretty forgiving when people have a hard time with it. I don’t get angry when I’m called ‘sir’ in a restaurant, even though each time it happens, it fills me with a growing wave of dread and nausea.
But make no mistake – I was living a lie for 49 years. Every reference to me as a man was another sting introducing more toxin into my system.
I wasn’t once a man that is now becoming a woman. It felt like that – even to me – at first. But as I reinventory my life and sort through the harm (both transmitted and received) it’s increasingly clear to me – I have always been female. From the moment of my birth until I came out as a trans woman, I have been misgendered, incorrectly identified as he/him (except by those people in my youth who somehow saw the truth in my nose). And I’ve been misgendered because, penis.
But this body of mine, penis and all, is a woman’s body. I know that runs counter to everything we’re taught about sex and gender. Sex is a binary, we’re told. X chromosome? Female. Ovaries? Female. Y chromosome? Male. Testicles? Male. But the binary is an artificial creation of the modern age. Having a Y chromosome, we’re learning, does not guarantee you’ll have testicles, just as having an X chromosome doesn’t mean you won’t. We’re learning more and more about fetal development and now know that the assignment of sex is a more complex process than we’ve previously believed.
Just remember – binary exists in computers, not in nature.
So while I intend to take steps to make myself appear more traditionally feminine (and while I hope some day to “pass” as a woman when I meet strangers) I am a woman now, and have a woman’s body. I always have. If that’s difficult to wrap your brain around, that’s okay, I’m still working on it myself.
And the biggest help – for you and for me – is not to differentiate between who I was before and after coming out. It’s the same person, I’m still just me, and I’m 100% she/her.