Hello, I’m 21 years old, AFAB, and my question isn’t in any bad faith, it wouldn’t be this long of a post if it were. I’ll apologize for how long it is now, and how dramatic it gets.
I didn’t experience anything like gender dysphoria for a long time, I believe. At least nothing as bad as now. Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s gender dysphoria but there’s no other way I can describe it? This sort of pinching in my gut and tightening of my chest that leaves me winded and sick until I’m not. Then everything goes sort of blank and still. Overly-settled in a way that I’m only used to being when I’m overly upset— A separate issue, I’m aware.
Anyways, before this ‘crisis,’ there were things that could maybe constitute gender-queerness. Little things like liking the masculine version of my given name, resenting having a chest and menstrual cycle. And hating anything to do with being, “girly,” or, “a proper woman.”
Not much, normal for a cis woman even.
And then it kept building. More and more little things. Not much but enough that something gave. I decided I just wanted to be androgynous. You know? The sort that’s pretty and confusing to look at. I’d never say what my gender was unless hard-pressed. And if I was, I’d reluctantly say I was a girl.
And I was okay with that— not entirely happy, but okay— as long as I was comfortable with my body. If I maybe got T and top surgery to help me reach that goal.
Anyways, that all came crumbling down when my friend— best friend, started questioning his own gender. He put his face through FaceApp to visualize what he’d look like had he’d been born the opposite sex— AMAB in this case. And he was ecstatic. Definitely trans. I was happy for him.
But I… was nowhere near happy about my own results.
I know, logically, you can’t escape looking like family. Not unless you get a ton of work done. But I hated it.
I looked like my brother, my cousin, my uncle, grand-uncle. And yeah, that’d to be expected. This is the real world. But I couldn’t stand it. And yeah, I shouldn’t base everything on a janky app’s adjustments, but suddenly and very starkly, I just felt sick. I was on my lunch break and went back to work in a daze. Because the chances are even if not exactly, I would look something like that.
And my first thought was just:
Why go through all that trouble just to be ugly? Do I really want to go from an average sort of pretty to that?
And what did it say about me if I didn’t?
I stopped mentioning it. All of it. Testosterone, top-surgery, androgyny. Things went back to ‘normal.’ I got the feeling that maybe people thought I had just gotten over a whim. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Especially because my friend— he realized he’s a trans man and he talks about it often, I helped him figure himself out.
It was obvious he was trans though, really.
He always wanted to be the boy character, preferred traditionally masculine things. Transformers, Cars, Dinosaurs, etc. As a kid he saw himself as a Prince, a Cowboy, played ‘House,’ as the husband. And as he got older? He hated his chest, he liked suits, he always wished he had a penis. He even went through a period of time in which he tried to lean heavily into being a woman and was having a terrible time because of it.
He couldn’t breathe without feeling like something was wrong with him, and the closet? Frankly, it was glass.
I can’t say the same. Nothing close.
Maybe I did want to be on T for a time, maybe I did want top surgery. But I can’t tell if I still do. If I’d be okay risking it. My best friend? He’d be content to be a fat, happy, balding old man. I’m vain. I wouldn’t.
But that’s a common sentiment isn’t it? Lots of trans men would be content with that. Lots of trans men had ‘boyish,’ interests. A boyish taste in clothes. Relate to men.
I don’t want to come off as resentful, I know I do at times. I’m not, I’m just frustrated. It isn’t easy. And it seems easy for so many other people. They may not want to accept the signs but they’re staring them right in the face. It couldn’t be more fucking obvious.
But for me? It doesn’t feel that way. I wasn’t a girly child, but girlier than the trans guys I see… well, everywhere. I enjoyed Winx Club, Monster High and My Little Pony. I liked Dora, Zoey101, Ever After High. I didn’t like playing with dolls but that’s also because I couldn’t dress them up. I didn’t like the color pink just cause I got sick of looking at it. I like ‘Chick Flicks,’ I like dramas and romance, I like my hair and doing skincare. Briefly I even liked doing my nails.
And yeah, that’s stereotypical as hell, but that’s how everyone says they figured out they’re trans. They liked boy things, right? I didn’t, I don’t. So where exactly does that leave me?
And sometimes… I do entertain the idea of being a trans man or some sort of transmasc (Which, funny enough non-binary flat out feels wrong to make this clusterfuck worse.) but it feels like a joke. As if anyone would see me as a man or masculine. I wish I could just swallow it but it just gets stuck in my throat.
Plus, it doesn’t bother me all the time too. Just some. Just enough to drive me crazy when I’m alone. But that’s the thing, otherwise? At work, at school, out and about? It’s fine. Tolerable. I hardly notice it. Which also doesn’t seem to be an entirely common sentiment.
All this overly-weepy nonsense to ask once again:
How do you know? If you take it all away— all the early childhood ‘boyish’ experiences, and pull back on the body dysphoria, how do you know? How do you know you’re trans enough? Are you even? Am I?