It’s really hard to articulate just how much of an existential crisis being trans is. There are so many other voices detailing transness, with the hope of reaching other people who are beginning their journeys. And despite all these available voices, we’ve all had a hard time expressing how being trans is a question of what it means to be human.
As someone discovering their feminine self and expression, I’ve had to ask myself this massive, near-impossible-to-answer question: What does womanhood mean to me? What has it meant to me when I haven’t realized it until now? What could it mean now that I’m acknowledging it?
A theory exists about the cultural concept of gender in the Kingdom of Buganda, present-day Uganda, in the 19th century. There were two classes: the workers and the nobility. The nobility were seen as male and the workers were seen as female — no matter their sex.
I finally came forward to my partner with the frightening truth. “I might just be trans,” I said, my face pointing up toward the ceiling with my eyes closed. Later, they said, “I don’t want you to think I love you until. I love you no matter what.” These were the words I needed to hear. I journaled a couple days before: “My hope is that our love overpowers everything.”
After talking and clearing the air, our love has felt stronger. We are already the love of each other’s lives. We already can’t imagine going any further in this life without each other. But acknowledging this part of me, this possibility, made us love each other even more. But what does that mean? It’s a feeling. As if the sun is shining brighter than you knew it could, shining from the inside of you. And their rays shine just like yours do, and you feel even lesser alone than before.
Now… I wait for the puzzle pieces to fall into place. I’m not able to transition right now. It’s not inertia, but I can interpret it that way on my bad days.
And because I’m waiting, there is more time to doubt myself. To preemptively feel agony from the physical awkwardness of transitioning and presenting. Not even to the outside world, before that — in my own home, I imagine it being hard enough.
I imagine not trying to present differently until it would be strange not to. With all the changes having come down the line. I don’t want to start too early, I tell myself. ’Cause who would I be fooling? I want to arrive all at once. I want to peel my skin off and present the new one, all ready and formed. I would have to inform people at work at most, and friends once they started noticing differences, which I imagine would happen somewhat quickly.
The disgust I feel when seeing my body now translates to an anxious disgust at what my in-between state would look like. Disgusting, hideous, and very demanding to love. There’s so much I don’t know. And while in sadder moments I have time to doubt, in better moments whose timestamp fades in the sand I realize how past decisions, seemingly innocuous, were a reflection, an expression, of the current realization I’ve been expressing on this blog.
What does it mean for everyone, that as the language around gender grows, so do the people who need and express that language? Will our view of gender eventually become moot? I imagine us living and thinking about male and female in regards to energy and archetypes, and less defined by outward expression of clothing and accessories.
But at the same time, the emphasis on the material (nearly at the expense of everything else) in this era means that it’s possible to alter oneself to match or at least move closer to masculine and feminine bodies — it’s fascinating. It’s alchemy.
The question for humanity is the same as the question I’m having to ask myself on a daily basis: Who am I really? And to imagine that the answer to this question doesn’t include the body, then it’s worth asking again and deeper: Who am I really? Who am I unequivocally? As I’ve been approaching the land of this answer, changes to the body begin to feel secondary, despite still feeling massive and overwhelming.
I’ve only barely made myself anonymous on here. There are a couple people in my life who know I’ve started this blog, but they haven’t read it. And when I come out, I probably won’t make a big announcement. Once people actually hear and read and see the experiences of trans people, I’m realizing I’m exhibiting one of these truths: I would just like to be left alone to live my life; while taking advantage of what’s possible today, like the possibility of physically transitioning.
When I picture it, it’s meeting up with friends who haven’t seen me in a while. And I’ll just tell them who I am now, and reassure them that I haven’t lost my mind. Family, on the other hand: to my family members closest to me I’ll give them a heads up as I begin the journey or once the effects start settling in.
Because of how I am, or how I’ve been, and had to be throughout my life, the reason I steer away from the idea of a big announcement is because if I were to, it would sound like I’m asking for permission from the people I know. I never want to feel that way. Not with the biggest thing I will have done for myself. I want to just do it and continue living, becoming more and more of myself.
