Written in July of this year while I was putting together information for a presentation to the staff at Station 7.
I'm sharing my previous
two trans-related blogs with the Station 7 staff (in an educational
packet that could very well end up getting distributed much farther),
and in re-reading the other blogs noted that there's some important
background and context missing. So I'm writing another one to fill in
the gaps.
In the redneck rural
area that I grew up, being a tomboy was the norm. In addition to
that, being five years older than my only sibling (a sister)
justified a lot of male-typical activities with my dad (assistant
mechanic, poisoning gophers, chopping wood, etc). Somewhere around
second grade I decided that I hated dresses, and that was the end of
that... I stopped wearing them and nobody complained. I think I was
in middle school before I started to realize that the 'real world'
had gender-specific expectations, although at that point I was so
overwhelmed with trying to survive in a culture that had suddenly
lost practically all adult supervision of interactions between the
children (allowing a never-ending stream of hostility) that I didn't
really care about details like that for the next decade or so.
Puberty was hell. I'm
told that it is for everybody, but I'm pretty sure that my experience
of it was well outside the normal range of misery. The wider hips
were disorienting and I kept bruising myself on corners of walls and
tables because my spacial perception of myself wasn't adjusting. I
didn't want breasts, and held out as long as I could before finally
conceding to wearing a bra; and even then, I wouldn't wear anything
other than sports bras because I didn't like the bouncy feeling of
not being solidly contained.
Menstruation started,
and I hated that even more. Having to wear a 'diaper' was
humiliating, and the unpredictable bleeding didn't allow me to enjoy
my favorite water-related activities anymore. I didn't try tampons
until after I became sexually active, and even then they were
uncomfortable in the “this feels like [name of boyfriend who had a
habit of sleep depriving me to the point that I'd have sex when I
didn't want to just so I could get some sleep]” sense. And there
was the cramping and puking; every menstruation period came with
several hours of disabling cramps and my digestive system would flush
itself out in both directions. (I found out much later that part of
this is likely caused by endometriosis... which my mother knew
nothing about because I apparently got it from my dad's side of the
family)
I made no secret of how
much I hated the changes that were happening to my body, going so far
as to tell my parents and counselor that I wanted to 'rip out my
uterus'. They took that surprisingly well. My mother asked if I would
rather have a penis (looking back, I realize that was probably her
way of asking if I wanted to transition... although at the time I
wasn't aware that such a thing was possible). I sat down and
seriously thought about it. The decision (which still holds) was that
I'd rather stick with a set of social rules that I despise but at
least halfway understand than switch to another set that I would have
to start over on learning and might very well equally dislike. I
wanted (and still wish I could have) a body with no sexual anatomy
whatsoever. When I joke that I'm going to get myself a hysterectomy
and double mastectomy for a retirement present, I'm a lot more
serious than most people want to believe.
PMS for me is a
week-long cycle of severe anxiety, restlessness, and depression;
there are few things in life that I've encountered that are more
discouraging than knowing “four days from now I'm going to spend an
evening feeling suicidal... and there's not a damn thing I can do
about it.” Although I didn't realize that was the cause for several
years... I was in college before I made the connection between my
seemingly random mood swings and my menstrual cycle. Once that link
was identified, treatment was as simple as taking birth control pills
which block the majority of the female hormone cycle. As a bonus, the
birth control also got rid of most of the cramping and puking.
For the remainder of
college and my first few years out in the work force, the hormones
minded their manners. Then the puking that used to happen with each
period became the norm during the placebo week of my pills, with
little to no bleeding. When I told this to my ob/gyn, who I have to
this date not yet shared my identity with, his conclusion was “Your
body really doesn't like it's own estrogen.” (I found out later
that adverse reactions to naturally produced hormones seem to be the
norm within the trans population... and that many care providers
consider the 'hormone test' of whether or not the individual responds
better to the opposite set of hormones to be the ultimate test of
whether or not transitioning is right for that individual.)
Hormone treatment was
then adjusted to taking just the 'active' portions of the birth
control pills and skipping the placebo week to start a new pack right
away. This was predicted to result in a practically nonexistant
hormone cycle, with breakthrough bleeding occurring periodically that
can be dealt with by taking one placebo week in order to 'reset' the
body. For me, this is (at least very close to) the ideal condition...
no hormone cycle, no mood swings, no bleeding, no physical
discomforts; what that deep-down-inner-part of me knows is the way
it's supposed to be.
And of course through
all of this I'm doing the usual schooling, work, and social life that
most of us do at that age range. I was aware that I was going into a
male-dominated field, but didn't think much of it. With a family of
technically-minded people (including a programmer aunt and both
grandmothers having had occupations outside the home), I never
questioned whether there might be anything wrong with becoming an
engineer. There were women in OSU's engineering department, but most
of them seemed to be there just because their boyfriends were and
dropped out when the relationships ended; I was there for my own
benefit so wasn't interested in association with people who weren't
serious about their studies. I did make friends with several of my
male peers, and had a romantic relationship with one of them for a
while.
Throughout college and
my first few years in the workforce, I found myself falling into a
destructive dating pattern: In the initial relationship stages, I put
extra effort into acting feminine and submissive in order to be
attractive; once I gained confidence in the relationship, I became
more assertive and asexual... this didn't go over well. Men don't
generally handle the shock of realizing that the woman they'd been
treating as a trophy doesn't want to continue playing that role. Most
were angry and intimidating, a few even threatened violence.
Practically all of them complained that I was trying to act like a
man and/or accused me of being a lesbian.
After one particularly
disappointing episode of this type of rejection, I decided I'd had
enough of it... it was time to tell the world what I am, and my
attitude became “If you're going to call me queer, at least get
which KIND of queer right!” I went looking for other people like
myself, as previously discussed in the “Coming Out” blog.
Being painfully aware of
the dangerous dating situations I'd gotten myself into, I made an
effort to show my androgynous/masculine (pick whichever word you like
better) side during the early relationship stages. It really didn't
help. Men see boobs and hips and a vagina, and they somehow manage to
not see what the person who has those things thinks and acts like
until they're smacked upside the head with it. And of course when
that finally happens, they have the same old hostile reaction as if
you'd been hiding it all along instead of dangling it in front of
their face the whole time. That's the two-sentence summary of my
failed marriage... I was 'out' to my husband when we were first
dating, but he didn't really see who I am/was (and subsequently
reject me for it) until after we were married.
Nowdays all of my
friends have been told about my identity. Most of them don't fully
understand it... which really isn't surprising; when your brain and
body have always matched each other, how can you possibly understand
what it feels like when they don't? A few think that “transgender”
isn't the correct term for me, taking a more restrictive definition
that only acknowledges MtF & FtM. I take what support I can get
and am grateful for it.
At work, I'm grateful
that current culture generally provides equal treatment for men and
women in my field. I have a strong dislike for women's dress
clothing, but grit my teeth and put it on each morning, painfully
aware that there's no such thing as gender-neutral dress clothing.
I'm on friendly terms with my female co-workers, but I don't feel a
connection to them... I know that I look like them on the surface,
but feel like an imposter playing a practiced role rather than a
genuine member of their kind.
I consider my sexual
organs to effectively be 'on probation': As long as they mind their
manners and don't cause trouble, they can stay where the currently
are; if they cause excessive difficulty, I can and will have them
removed. Hormone cycles and the associated mental and physical
discomforts have been creeping back into my life despite the
medication treatment over the course of the last year, which I'm
assuming is going to require another change to the treatment plan. I
don't yet know if this can be managed with medication or if surgical
intervention will be necessary.
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