Wednesday, June 10, 2020
He was reared to give respect
one, two, ready, fence
“I am deeply sorry for the pain these comments have caused you. I really hope that you don’t entirely lose what was valuable in these stories to you. If these books taught you that love is the strongest force in the universe, capable of overcoming anything; if they taught you that strength is found in diversity, and that dogmatic ideas of pureness lead to the oppression of vulnerable groups; if you believe that a particular character is trans, nonbinary, or gender fluid, or that they are gay or bisexual; if you found anything in these stories that resonated with you and helped you at any time in your life — then that is between you and the book that you read, and it is sacred.” - Daniel Radcliffe
There once was a little girl who grew up desperately wanting to be a little boy.
It was “just a phase” when she took scissors to all the pink, feminine, clothing her mother used to buy.
It was “just a phase” when she decided she had to learn how to do boy things. Like pee standing up.
It was “just a phase” when she asked her father to call her Tom. (He thought it was short for tomboy. Yeah. no.)
It was “just a phase” when she got her period and felt suicidal.
It was “just a phase” when she realised that she preferred being a tomboy because it was as close as she could get to the real thing.
It was “just a phase” when she stopped buying women’s clothing.
It’s funny… out of all the things in the DSM-V that’ve I’ve been diagnosed with, gender dysphoria hasn’t been one of them.
My pronouns remain she/her.
My body remains as is.
My brain remains as is.
I’ve come to a kind of internal compromise in the war between my body and brain.
Had I known that being transgender was a real thing and not “in my head”, I might have pursued treatment and had my gender changed.
Now that I know that it’s OK to have my brain and body not match, I actually feel better. The dysphoria has actually lessened, just from knowing that I could actually get the penis I’ve always wanted. (Yeah, the one I was left in the Band Senior Wills, I think ‘96 or ‘97, doesn’t count.)
When I started fencing, I’d already studied gender reassignment and tossed around the “what ifs”...
And then I met Phil.
He had kids my age and we became fast friends. It was hard not to notice that he had longer nails, was growing out his hair, and spelled his name “Phyl”. He wore a female chest protector and had pronounced (but tiny) breasts. I kept my questions to myself. It was none of my business.
Until she made it mine.
She came out to me one night before we took the piste for a match.
I nodded, said “Cool”, shook her hand, and proceeded to win the match. When we were off to the side waiting for our next match, she told me she was surprised I was so calm about it. All I could say was that I knew. It was obvious to me. I was surprised she hadn’t said anything sooner.
Her wife had always known something was off, and it was’t until she died that he started to take how he felt into consideration. He realised that it was more than cross dressing, more than… well, just more.
She made me reconsider my options even more. Here was a biological male, 60 years old, and beginning to transition.
What a fucking inspiration.
Maybe, one day, I can be as brave as she is and finally live in the right body.
