I have spent the last couple of years trying to learn more about myself; about who I am as a person, about how I see myself, about how I want others to perceive me, and about, ultimately, what it will take to feel confident and happy. It's taken me this long to not only figure out, but begin coming to terms with the fact that I am transgendered. Trans* is generally an umbrella term, and can mean a lot of things to a lot of people, so allow me to clarify what it means for me:
I have never felt any sort of connection or unity to my female body, or other girls, in general. The way I think, the way I behave, the things that interest me, the way I dress and the way I feel about my body have never been in synch with other girls I have known in my life. I was always a little tomboy when I was a kid, preferring to run around playing sports, getting grass stains on my pants, rather than play dress-up, or house, or put on make up with the other girls my age. I was always so comfortable around the boys my age; they treated me as an equal because I was good at sports and games, and I was strong, and I didn't cry if I skinned my knee when we played street hockey. That recognition of strength and that feeling of brotherhood with the boys I grew up with was always extremely important to me; I was determined not to be seen as, or treated as a girl.
High school was an incredibly awkward and unhappy time for me, socially. Sure, I loved my friends, and I am one of few people I know who truly enjoyed their high school and got a kick out of being as involved as possible in the events and activities that went on there. But the other side of high school--the becoming a teenager and going through puberty and all of that confusion and uncertainty was really hard on me. I pretended to have crushes on boys at school, because that's what I knew I was expected to do. There's a big reason why I didn't really date anyone while I was in high school--I was never attracted to any of the guys I knew and would have been terrified to actually have had to go on dates with any of them. I didn't want to write in my diary every night about how cute so-and-so was, I wanted a chance to share in the experience of being a teenage boy, because it made more sense to me than being a teenage girl.
University was the first time I had met anyone who identified as transgendered. I was sort of familiar with the term, but didn't really pay very much attention to it; at the time, it was enough for me to try and come to terms with my attraction to girls. Recognizing and accepting my sexuality was a really difficult, and painful process. But I can look back on it now, 8 years later, and realize how immensely important that process was, and how grateful I am for having been able to realize such an important thing about myself at such a relatively young age. There are a lot of people out there who live in denial for years and years; one day they wake up with a spouse and kids, and wonder how they allowed themselves to get into such a dishonest mess. How do you rectify your sexuality and sense of self when it will mean breaking up your family?
It was from that point on that I vowed to be as honest and forthcoming with myself about how I felt; trying to deny who you really are is an awful ordeal, made even more difficult when you're doing it to make other people happy. "The truth shall set you free," isn't that right? Living in the shadows of self-imposed denial really is like living in a dark, dank dungeon. You carry this immense burden around with you, and you start to lose parts of yourself in the process. Soon you become what others want to see, rather than who you really are. Yes, there were people I lost in the process of coming out, but the people who stuck by me--the ones who I can still count among my friends today--are some of the most important people in my life. They are a second family to me, and we have shared in each other's joys and sadness because we are so close.
After I moved out to Vancouver and started my relationship with my [ex-]girlfriend, I found myself changing a lot just to make her happy. Things that upset me, I had to keep quiet about in order to keep the peace. Things I was interested in, or that excited me were subjected to intense scrutiny and criticism. It seemed that she had a very particular idea of what she wanted in a significant other, and I found myself sacrificing bits and pieces of who I was and what I felt, out of some desperate attempt to transform myself into that ideal. I was so miserable in that relationship, and I became depressed. In the two and a half years that we were together, I gained about 40 lbs. I never went out and was active anymore, and I rarely saw my friends because she wanted to stay home all the time. We just sat on the couch every night and watched tv. As difficult as it is to admit, some part of me knew that this relationship was completely wrong for me. I wasn't being true to myself, and it was making me emotionally and physically unhealthy in the process.
Shortly after we broke up, I bought a bike and I rode that thing for hours down to the seawall and into Stanley Park--it was amazing. It was spring in Vancouver, the weather was warming up, the beach was fantastic, everything smelled fresh. It really was my new beginning. I then gave up eating dairy--I have been lactose intolerant since I was 20, but had been denying it to myself, because I wasn't prepared for the sacrifice. Eventually, I had to accept that my body was trying to tell me something, and that it was really unhealthy to continue to subject myself to something that was making me physically ill.
After about a month without dairy, I lost 10 lbs. A friend took me out for some post-break up shopping, where I was able to buy myself the clothes I wanted, and was comfortable in. It was one of the first moments I was able to consciously acknowledge my desire to dress more masculine. I hated the girls' section of every store we went into, but was instantly drawn to the men's clothes, and wished they could look as good on my body as they did on the mannequin's. I started to resent my hips and breasts--the parts of myself that made me so obviously recognizable as a female.
That feeling hasn't gone away--in fact, since that moment almost 2 years ago, the quiet resentment I have always felt for the female aspects of my body [clinically known as gender dysphoria] have intensified to the point where I can no longer accept the unhappiness I feel when I look in the mirror. I really want to clarify that this isn't an issue of body image; these feelings are directly related to the fact that my body does not reflect my mind or my heart. I know that deep inside of me, I am not a woman, and have never been one. I know that biologically I am not a man, but everything about me feels masculine. I am more comfortable when I look, dress and am perceived as male.
When I cut off my hair in that all-too-common, post-break-up catharsis, it was like a giant weight was lifted from me. My confidence shot through the roof, and I started feeling more comfortable exploring androgyny and blurring the lines between the gender I was born into, and the identity I have always felt. The further I go into altering my physical appearance to become more masculine, the more comfortable and confident I feel. There have been a number of occasions in the months leading up to my Hormone Replacement Therapy [HRT] when I have been perceived as a boy, and I can't tell you how freeing it has been for me. It makes me feel as though, for the first time in my life, people are seeing me for the person I am; for the person I have always been and am just starting to discover.
My journey to becoming my true self has just begun, and yet I feel like all of those key moments in my life have led me to this point--this is a journey I was always meant to take, and now I have finally reached the point where I can rectify my outer appearance to more accurately reflect my mind, heart and soul. I had been seeing a psychologist regularly in order to understand my gender exploration a little more clearly. After about six month's worth of counseling, I decided to start hormone therapy, to begin my physical transformation. I have the full support of my doctor, and have been assessed and am under the close supervision of an excellent endocrinologist. I am also fortunate enough to have access to Vancouver's Transgender Health Program, which is a department of Vancouver Coastal Health that is dedicated to providing accurate and accessible information and support for transgendered people.
In exploring my gender identity, I have discovered a name which more accurately reflects my true self; that name is [preferred name]. I have always had a strange affinity to that name, though I'm unsure what the connection is. I just know that the name seems to suit me so well, and have recently applied have my name legally changed. I have no issues with my birth name, other than that it has strong ties to the female gender--ties that I am working hard to break.
My partner and I have been together since July 2007. I have talked extensively with her about my feelings every step of the way. She was not surprised at all when I told her of my feelings, and has mentioned on a number of occasions how much happier and more confident I've become since embarking on my transition. I love her more than I've ever known I could love someone; she means the world to me, and it feels wonderful to have her at my side while I continue this journey.
In so many ways, my break-up with my ex signified a new point in my life, one in which I've found the courage to pursue the things I want, and to become the person I have always known that I am.