a new year that consists of a new me
Jan. 20th, 2026 11:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omaewokorosuliterally because I am going to see my doctor on Thursday and discuss gender affirming care. namely going on T.
I have been struggling for over a decade with my transness including doing things like gaslighting myself or otherwise not trusting my gut when it comes to, really, anything, but especially anything involving me; I was taught that I was unreliable and that how I saw myself or how I felt just didn't matter.
Egg wanted a little girl to dress up in frilly dresses and lace trimmed socks with fancy shoes, barrettes in her long and very straight hair, who kept quiet unless spoken to. Carted around like some sort of doll. A mini-me of sorts who would one day achieve all of the things that she'd wanted so she could embark on wish fulfillment and live vicariously through her child.
Except that's not what she got, because I always thought I was a boy. The minute I was able to dress by myself I wore pants or shorts. I would rip out the barrettes clipped into my hair. I wanted short hair. I played hockey, I rough-housed, I watched hockey games and WWE with my brother. We played video games and smacked each other around with cardboard tubes from paper towel rolls and wrapping paper. Even the shows I watched were geared more towards boys.
I have memories of when I was in preschool of always having to be escorted to the bathroom by one of the staff members because I kept using the boys' room and I didn't know why that was wrong. Why they kept insisting I use the girls' room when I wasn't, you know, a girl. I did this until first or second grade when I kept getting in trouble for it and I didn't want my parents to be told about my "issue" with the bathroom.
I went to Catholic school. To be born with a vagina meant, to them, I was a girl. Even though I felt like it was a mistake. In a place where they preached about how God made no mistakes and therefore what parts we were born with was completely intentional. How if you were born with a vagina, it meant you married boys and had babies; if you were born with a penis, you married girls and supported a household as the head of house. To be anything but heterosexual and cisgender was not only frowned upon, it went against Catholic values.
My family was devout. Me spouting nonsense about how I was actually supposed to be born a boy wouldn't have gone over well. It would've raised both eyebrows and concern.
I thought maybe puberty would fix things. Maybe I was just a late bloomer. Maybe with puberty my penis would grow and I would become the boy I knew I was.
No dice. I grew breasts instead. I looked up ways on how to get them to stop growing. I tried taping them down, I tried to pretend they didn't exist. I didn't want them. A big deal was made out of needing a training bra and then a regular one. I hated wearing them. Didn't wear them when I could get away with it. Unfortunately it got harder and harder to do so.
Periods are dysphoria hell. I'm not supposed to bleed like this because boys don't get things like this and yet here I am, every fucking month, doing this. The idea of being pregnant makes me want to vomit. It's a type of body horror I don't ever wish to partake in. It would be one thing if I could get someone pregnant, but to become pregnant myself? Disgusting.
Do you know how many times I've wished I could get someone pregnant? A lot.
I've used male pronouns since 2006. There were times when I went back to she/her, but that was always when I was trying to be something I knew I wasn't. I would end up back to he/him not long after. It always felt "right". It always felt "correct". For a while I used they/them in addition to masc pronouns, but that still didn't feel quite right. More correct than feminine pronouns, but not as correct seeming as masc.
I've lied to myself for ages. I continue lying to myself. Thinking that this isn't a big deal and I just need to suck it up. Even though there's things I can do there's nothing I can do. I was born with parts I know are wrong and I just have to live this way until I die. It'll make someone else unhappy if I "mutilate" myself. Except I ended up mutilating myself in other ways.
But what about me? What about my happiness? Who am I afraid of disappointing? There is no one around to tell me I can't go on T anymore. There is no one around telling me I can't change my name. There is no one around who can tell me I can't live as myself, as a man.
I want to finally be who I am meant to be.
My wife is so supportive. I was afraid, deathly afraid, that maybe she would end up leaving me. I don't know why, considering when we met I used masculine pronouns. But it's different when the person you marry goes, "Yeah, I want to be a man" and your relationship, your marriage, is perceived as a lesbian one. I am not a lesbian. I'm somewhere between bi- or panromantic. I have supportive friends.
I need to trust myself and my judgement when it comes to me and myself and who I am and know myself to be.
I have been struggling for over a decade with my transness including doing things like gaslighting myself or otherwise not trusting my gut when it comes to, really, anything, but especially anything involving me; I was taught that I was unreliable and that how I saw myself or how I felt just didn't matter.
Egg wanted a little girl to dress up in frilly dresses and lace trimmed socks with fancy shoes, barrettes in her long and very straight hair, who kept quiet unless spoken to. Carted around like some sort of doll. A mini-me of sorts who would one day achieve all of the things that she'd wanted so she could embark on wish fulfillment and live vicariously through her child.
Except that's not what she got, because I always thought I was a boy. The minute I was able to dress by myself I wore pants or shorts. I would rip out the barrettes clipped into my hair. I wanted short hair. I played hockey, I rough-housed, I watched hockey games and WWE with my brother. We played video games and smacked each other around with cardboard tubes from paper towel rolls and wrapping paper. Even the shows I watched were geared more towards boys.
I have memories of when I was in preschool of always having to be escorted to the bathroom by one of the staff members because I kept using the boys' room and I didn't know why that was wrong. Why they kept insisting I use the girls' room when I wasn't, you know, a girl. I did this until first or second grade when I kept getting in trouble for it and I didn't want my parents to be told about my "issue" with the bathroom.
I went to Catholic school. To be born with a vagina meant, to them, I was a girl. Even though I felt like it was a mistake. In a place where they preached about how God made no mistakes and therefore what parts we were born with was completely intentional. How if you were born with a vagina, it meant you married boys and had babies; if you were born with a penis, you married girls and supported a household as the head of house. To be anything but heterosexual and cisgender was not only frowned upon, it went against Catholic values.
My family was devout. Me spouting nonsense about how I was actually supposed to be born a boy wouldn't have gone over well. It would've raised both eyebrows and concern.
I thought maybe puberty would fix things. Maybe I was just a late bloomer. Maybe with puberty my penis would grow and I would become the boy I knew I was.
No dice. I grew breasts instead. I looked up ways on how to get them to stop growing. I tried taping them down, I tried to pretend they didn't exist. I didn't want them. A big deal was made out of needing a training bra and then a regular one. I hated wearing them. Didn't wear them when I could get away with it. Unfortunately it got harder and harder to do so.
Periods are dysphoria hell. I'm not supposed to bleed like this because boys don't get things like this and yet here I am, every fucking month, doing this. The idea of being pregnant makes me want to vomit. It's a type of body horror I don't ever wish to partake in. It would be one thing if I could get someone pregnant, but to become pregnant myself? Disgusting.
Do you know how many times I've wished I could get someone pregnant? A lot.
I've used male pronouns since 2006. There were times when I went back to she/her, but that was always when I was trying to be something I knew I wasn't. I would end up back to he/him not long after. It always felt "right". It always felt "correct". For a while I used they/them in addition to masc pronouns, but that still didn't feel quite right. More correct than feminine pronouns, but not as correct seeming as masc.
I've lied to myself for ages. I continue lying to myself. Thinking that this isn't a big deal and I just need to suck it up. Even though there's things I can do there's nothing I can do. I was born with parts I know are wrong and I just have to live this way until I die. It'll make someone else unhappy if I "mutilate" myself. Except I ended up mutilating myself in other ways.
But what about me? What about my happiness? Who am I afraid of disappointing? There is no one around to tell me I can't go on T anymore. There is no one around telling me I can't change my name. There is no one around who can tell me I can't live as myself, as a man.
I want to finally be who I am meant to be.
My wife is so supportive. I was afraid, deathly afraid, that maybe she would end up leaving me. I don't know why, considering when we met I used masculine pronouns. But it's different when the person you marry goes, "Yeah, I want to be a man" and your relationship, your marriage, is perceived as a lesbian one. I am not a lesbian. I'm somewhere between bi- or panromantic. I have supportive friends.
I need to trust myself and my judgement when it comes to me and myself and who I am and know myself to be.
