There’s currently a diary on the trending list about a gay man who suffered from gender dysphoria for many years. I am completely empathetic to his story because we share a lot in common as far as our understanding of ourselves goes, but I need to make a few crucial points.
First, I also have thought on occasion that my life would have been tragic had I been prescribed puberty blockers. But it’s important to note that the only time I’ve had that thought is when an anti-trans person brings it up, and paradoxically if I think about it further, my life would have been a lot better had my parents even considered such a thing. That would have meant that they recognized this thing that had caused me so much distress and unhappiness.
When I was a little girl, I assumed that when I went through puberty it would turn me into a boy. That was the only thing that made sense to me. All my friends were boys, I was a rough and tumble kid, I loved sports and guitars and girls. Oh, did I like girls. Not as friends, but as something different, though I didn’t quite understand the difference.
When I went through puberty I felt like this had to be a mistake, even though I was old enough to know better. My inner feelings did not make sense to me. I had crushes that I recognized as crushes on girls my age and older, but that couldn’t be permanent, could it? It had to be an odd side effect of puberty because puberty was supposed to clear things up for me.
At the time I did have gay and lesbian friends, but every lesbian I knew was a butch one. I love butch lesbians but I’m not one and I didn’t want to be, so I didn’t think I could be a lesbian. I just didn’t see myself in them. But I also didn’t see myself in my straight friends. I was completely lost and confused.
Finally (TMI, I know, but relevant), I share with the diarist the experience of it all making sense the first time I masturbated. I had a long term, very good looking boyfriend at the time and I was considering having sex with him, which would be my first time. I got curious about what it would be like, so I started experimenting. It took a while before it started to feel good (girls really need a positive sex education earlier in life) and as soon as it did I tried to think of my boyfriend but all I could see was the girl in my class who always flirted with me.
I couldn’t make it stop. Her smile, the way she looked at me when I took off my coat, the way she’d approach me but suddenly become shy and look down instead of at my face. She was the cutest punk girl I had ever met, and all I wanted to see was my hands in her purple hair that night alone in my room.
It took me a couple more years to completely accept this truth about myself, and a bit more time to tell the truth to everyone else. It was a very painful, scary, confusing journey. But the one thing that became clear to me is that I did actually love my body. I loved being a woman. I had never thought that was possible before.
I empathize with the other diarist on a very intimate level. But I must say, this is exactly why I think he’s wrong.
