#they really gave us the gnc woman of all time had her say she's been with women and proceeded to make her straight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sharkenthusiast · 3 years

Text

A bit of prose I wrote a few months ago for English class on being gnc/genderfluid.

When I was eight years old, I fell out of a play structure.

It wasn’t particularly high up, only seven or eight feet above the ground. But still, when my fingers slipped off of the slick metal bars of the ladder as I was climbing down, it felt like I could fall forever. It was a nice feeling at the time, different and thrilling, and I could feel the wind rushing past my face and blowing my hair out behind me. When I hit the ground I almost didn’t even feel the pain. I still felt like I was dropping downwards, even with the leaves crunching beneath my shoulders and the splintered wood chips under my legs.

I had a bruise on my back for the rest of the month, and I smiled through the pain for longer than that.

In eighth grade, I got a sweatshirt with the word “feminist” emblazoned across the front of it.

My mom and I had been walking through a store together when there it was in all its glory, perched delicately on the bargain sales rack. My mom was immediately in love with it. “That would be perfect for you!” she said as we walked towards it. She took it carefully off the rack and smiled at me while holding it up next to my torso. “Do you want it? It looks like it could be just about your size.”

This had happened so many times I couldn’t count any more. The words “strong young woman” had come up in so many conversations that we’d had together. Feminism was the empowerment I was supposed to have, the important thing that brought all women together and encouraged them to do things for themselves. And yet the way that only women seemed to be able to use the word made it feel more like an exclusive club, only for women to commiserate together about how terrible men had made their lives.

I smiled at her and the words fell out of my mouth almost before I could stop them: “Of course.”

And so we bought the sweatshirt and took it home.

I actually liked it, for a while. It made me feel strong and untouchable, and almost like the empowered woman I was supposed to be, that my parents saw me as and wanted me to grow into.

But I never wore it past the day that a boy in my class made fun of it and I hadn’t known what to say. How was I supposed to explain to one person that I supported women’s rights but not in the exclusive, girls-only club kind of way that I’d seen so many women take it as? How could I explain that I loved the power that it gave me, loved the feeling of the word on my lips, but hated the way that it made me feel like I was excluding others?

As soon as I got home from school I stuffed it away into my closet and mumbled that I was “going for a walk” before going back to the park with the structure that I’d fallen out of so many years ago. I sat on a bench next to it while staring at the ground, tapping my feet on the wood chips, and trying to ignore all of my swirling thoughts.

“She’s just tired, I think. She’ll be out for dinner, or at least for the board games.” Words spoken by my dad, which I heard through the door of my cousins’ guest room as I pretended to sleep on the pink, roughly carpeted floor.

When we’d first arrived that summer week for our annual family reunion, my aunt had hugged us as we walked through the door.

“I’ve missed you girls!” she’d said to me and my sister, and ruffled my brother’s hair, calling him a “handsome little man.” She then proceeded to point us to “the girls room--it’s right up the stairs and down the hallway.”

Always the pinnacle of femininity in the home, she was the perfect hostess and never said a cross word to any of us. My mom didn’t dislike her as a person, but even though she never said anything about it, I could tell that she didn’t like the way my aunt was always so deferential, always willing to say what people wanted to hear. I personally quite liked my aunt, even if I felt like she didn’t take much initiative to get what she wanted.

Our boy cousins slept in the basement, staying up talking about Mario Kart, or what they’d do the next day, or even just books they liked, while the four of us upstairs tried to fall asleep in the small room, silently listening to music and hoping the night wouldn’t be too long.

But right then as I lay there it was less that I was tired and hoping for a nap, but more that I was so, so awake. I felt like I’d been holding onto something for so long, whatever it was that made me a “girl” in that way that I’d never questioned before, in a way that everyone else saw me as and wanted me to be. But now, with nobody there next to me that I was going to tell, I’d let go.

I wasn’t a woman, not in the way my aunt was, and I wasn’t really in the way my mom was either. I wasn’t quite sure what I was, but it wasn’t that.

And it felt like I was falling again. I didn’t know when I would hit the ground, or if it would happen at all. All I felt was that wind in my hair, and the feeling that nobody else was watching while I quietly let go and dropped downwards. It meant that there wouldn’t be anyone to catch me, but I’d already started falling and I almost didn’t want to stop. Even if I could have.

It was almost like a game--when would I finally hit something new, something different? And would anyone notice that I’d moved away? How much would it matter to them?

Once I’d fallen, would I try to grab back on?

Later in the summer one evening, I left the house for a walk. I’d planned to go somewhere to get some fresh air, and brought a book to read in case I got bored. The sun was starting to set and casting a faint pink glow over the clouds on the horizon, the sky slowly dimming as I walked.

Somehow I found myself back at that park again, with the structure in front of me, the pavement still the same dull gray, the wood chips dry and splintered. A few younger kids were playing on it, probably around seven or eight years old, occasionally shouting “gravel!” or laughing as they tried to run from each other. Girls and boys alike jumped around and laughed at each other and played, not worried about anything fundamental about who they were or what they were going to become.

A few of them fell off when they tagged each other, and a few cried, but I sat down on the field nearby and read my book.

There was still time for me, still time for me to fall and get hurt and grab on again, maybe to stay, or maybe to let go. Time to figure out if I even needed to land at all.

#the line breaks got messed up but #yeah #my writing #prose #genderfluid #gnc #nonbinary #nb

8 notes · View notes

gayregis · 4 years

Note

which characters are trans this is a scientific inquiry

all of them except vilgefortz and leo bonhart

ok ok jokes, ill go more in depth... some of this is taken from things ive written before but not posted. also for anyone reading this im non bee nary so know that im not trying to describe the experiences of different identities in first-person, i’m basing this off of both my own and my friends’ experiences... none of this is “OMG YES CHARACTER ANGST >:))” but rather depicting personal struggles in fictional characters, so just know that the more difficult subjects that may be covered are not there just to see the character in pain, but rather to think about their eventual resilience against it and development afterwards

for geralt and yennefer i have more specific reasons why i think being transgender actually fits with their canonical characters & related story arcs, and then for the rest i have headcanons and maybe some reasoning but not a lot.

geralt: geralt already represents how a struggle with toxic masculinity and expectations of masculinity can influence one who wants to be seen as masculine to deny and bury their emotions. him being trans develops upon the aspect of his struggle with emotions, ive seen my friends who are transmasculine / myself when i used to ID as transmasculine struggle with showing emotions bc of feeling like you’re going to be misgendered if you shed a single tear. in canon, we already learn that kaer morhen has a bit of a macho culture (just fyi eskel and lambert and coen are trans too now, don’t go getting any idea that those guys are cis) and i believe that the “witchers have no emotions” thing is like 5% actual biology and 95% being raised to fight and not to feel. vesemir is a good father but he just wasn’t very emotionally nurturing, it’s the caste’s way of raising kids that geralt breaks out of.

i think geralt’s self-image also speaks a lot to the feelings of harsh internal transphobia. he constantly others himself from others and feels like people view him as different, which is metaphorical for any marginalized group under the sun, but also is very common for lgbt ppl. again this is smth ive really struggled with within the past few years so im just projecting/know what it feels like and feel that how geralt sees himself in canon is similar to a view suffering from internalized transphobia.

geralt's character already redefines manhood because he has to learn what it means to be a good father. and i think him being trans would be representative of his constant learning and growth as a person, yet also somewhat involved with his self loathing and feeling like just Him Existing is an affront ... but of course he unlearns this with time and love from others and all of his character development

yennefer: yennefer’s whole backstory revolves around defining who she is and defying the people who mistreated her and told her she was nothing. canonically yennefer of vengerberg is the story of the successful self-made woman... her life as janka she would rather forget, no one calls her by that name, and no one ever would because its not who she is nor who i think she ever was.

shes incredibly strong-willed and knows what she wanted from life but some things are terrifying to reach out for, like love and acceptance. yennefer has a conflict with love and being loved because that was never a safe topic for her ... (also sapkowski handled this specifically poorly imo, but:) yennefer canonically struggles with being loved for who she is. i think she deals so much with her previous abuse and again, expectations from parents, and coming to terms with the fact that she survived it all. also this isnt even touching upon her arc regarding motherhood. wanting to give a child your everything and everything that you never had... the love and kindness that no one gave you...

ciri: ciri hesitated to ever identify with “girl” or “boy,” she’s also i think the representation of childhood in general, she’s naturally curious about gender presentation as she ages and just never really cares to commit to gender. i think she’d say she was a girl but only reluctantly bc she just doesn’t care much.

dandelion: [from his TV Tropes page:]

he’s an artist and a musician, he’s not gonna be cishet...

ok in a more serious context i think he’s a nonbinary guy, i think him being trans might explain why he has way more friendships than relationships with family members. dandelion, like yennefer, is also someone that had to define who he was for himself, i mean for one his stage persona of dandelion is entirely an artist’s creation/hyperbole of himself, i think he also had to think abt his inner identity too

his gender is also just “your friend that comes to your house and eats all ur chips and drinks all ur beer and passes out on top of you on the couch”

milva: ok unfortunately i currently think milva is the token non-trans friend (she’s nonbinary just doesnt think of herself as trans) but it’s only because her major arc in baptism of fire revolves around her pregnancy and miscarriage and just bc she is not trans doesn’t mean she doesn’t go through her own difficult struggling process surrounding her womanhood. she struggles enormously throughout the series and in her backstory with defining herself between two rigid identities: the feminine maria and the cutthroat milva. in her talk with geralt, she reveals how she feels trapped between these two identities and feels like they cannot coexist. i feel like she’s a nonbinary/gender non-conforming butch* lesbian whose struggles with sexuality intersect her struggles with gender and what it means to her to be a gnc woman. also you have to consider that milva was raised in a small village in lower sodden so she understood gender in the very strict roles ascribed to men and women, so she felt like she couldn’t be a woman unless she was this very traditional idea of what a woman is “supposed to be like,” which she’s both been trying to shape herself to be and also running away from simultaneously. she learns to accept herself within the hansa bc they love and support her for who she is, and she doesn’t need to be strictly feminine or masculine to be understood by them

* i know the terms nonbinary and gnc and butch didn’t exist in the 1260s tyvm, i’m just saying this as how i interpret her in a modern context

regis: gender is a human sociological construct so basically don’t ask him unless you’re prepared to listen for 20 minutes. vampires can exist noncorporeally so they can exist without gender, also i hc the telepathic vampiric language is nongendered as it’s a transmission of pure thought, will, and force, so it doesn’t even use any grammar. i also hc that vampires just appear the way they feel in terms of appearance and age (e.g., regis at around 300 when he died still looked 25 bc he was as stupid as a 25 year old, now he’s calmer and understands more, so he looks middle-aged). when chilling out with humans regis will be referred to as a man bc that’s just how he appears but it’s an identity he had to learn about and adopt, not something he was assigned. most vampires look androgynous anyways bc they just feel androgynous, how are you gonna feel a gender when you don’t know what a gender is... if you HAD to understand him with human labels / put it in a modern context (like if i was making an modern real life AU) i’d say he’s a nonbinary trans man.

cahir: much like geralt i think cahir’s story is one of living up to expectations, but cahir’s actually takes it a step further because his major motivation in his backstory is trying to prove to his mother that he can be a good son that will make her proud and gain honor for the family... he seeks validation from external sources but faces ruin when he learns that war is not the way to prove one’s prowess and skill

angouleme: shes trans and i simply say so bc shes very cool and funny and i dont think a cis person could be this cool and funny. also i think the story of a runaway teen who was abandoned by her biological family and found solace in a new family is both very good and featured in a lot of trans ppl’s narratives. she kind of exudes this “im finally at a point in my life where i’m safe and cared for, i can start HRT now, let’s gooOOoooOOooo” energy.

#ask #dandeliyn #the witcher #hansa

11 notes · View notes

aph-oklahoma-46 · 4 years

Text

Transtalia Week 2020 Day 4

Day 4: Not being accepted

@the-transtalia-blog Wow, so this got a little depressing. And very long. So, uh, enjoy me projecting onto David and beating them with the angst baton.

Tennessee = David (Nonbinary person, they/them) Kentucky = Henry (Cis man) North Carolina = Nolan (Cis man) South Carolina = Nora (Cis woman) Missouri = Miles (gnc Cis man) (only mentioned) Virginia = (I don’t actually remember their name, sorry Sybil)(Nonbinary) @hws-germania‘s oc (only briefly mentioned)

TW: Transphobia, including misgendering, deadnaming, invalidation, etc.

Day 4: Not Being Accepted

“So… I was thinking about changing my name.”

Henry looked up from where he had been pulling up bits of grass to braid together and blinked.

“Oh? Do you not like Fiona anymore?”

“I just… It doesn’t feel right. That doesn’t feel like my name.”

“… Ok. What were you thinking of changing it to?” Henry sat the length of braided grass in his lap and leaned back against the tree, waiting for an answer. His red-haired friend had tucked her knees under her chin, hugging them. She had been watching him, seemingly gauging his reaction, but now she looked down and pressed her forehead to her knees.

“Well, I was thinking… I kind of like David.”

Oh? Oh…. Nodding, Henry sat up again. That was really not what he’d expected. “Do, um… Do you want to change anything else?”

Fi- David peeked up from over… his? His arms. Tears had started to gather at the edges, and Henry did not like that at all. He shifted away from the tree, crawling over to David to sit next to his friend. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand and rested it on David’s shoulder.

“It’s ok if you do. I like David, too. I like you… even though you definitely cheated on the race over here.”

That got a giggle out of David, and he raised his head and wiped his eyes. “Thanks, Henry. And I did not cheat, I’m just a better rider than you!” David poked Henry in the ribs with a grin. “But, um, yeah… I think there are some other things I wanna change.”

Henry nodded. “Ok. I’ll help, if you want.”

David smiled, and Henry felt warmth come with the grin. He was sincere; he and David had been the best of friends since they were children, and they had always understood that if one of them needed something, the other would do whatever was needed to help. That wasn’t going to change just because he and David might, even if David’s changes might be… bigger than expected.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

David stood in the parlor and he (that really didn’t feel quite right, but neither did “she,” so…) could feel the eyes directed at him. He was so glad that his siblings weren’t visiting today, so they could have this talk with just the three of them.

Well, four, counting Henry, but he had tucked himself away in the corner as emotional support and was adamantly trying to avoid drawing too much attention to himself. David would have almost found it funny, if they weren’t so nervous; they had learned a long time ago that the Carolinas were not fond of their- his choice of friends.

Hmm… that wasn’t so bad. Can I call myself that, though? I’m just one per-

“What do you want to talk about, Fiona?”

David was shaken from their thoughts. They blinked over at Nora, who was sitting next to her brother and staring at David unblinking. Ever since they were little, David thought that look was creepy. Of course, Nora didn’t mean anything by it, she was just an intense person and when she gave her attention to something, she gave all of her attention to it.

Which was really unpleasant for David right now.

They shifted their weight to their other foot and took a deep breath, before speaking, “Well, first off, I wanna talk about changing my name. I don’t wanna be called Fiona anymore.”

Both Carolinas nodded, and Nolan commented, “Alright. It’s not uncommon for a personification to change his or her name, especially since we live so long. Times change, and things go in and out of fashion.”

“What would you like to change your name to?”

David glanced over to Henry, who was standing in the corner by the door. Henry nodded, and David grasped onto the reassurance that he offered.

“I, uh, I want to be called- I want to be called David, please.”

Both twins blinked. Neither spoke for what felt like hours, but David knew was probably seconds. Then Nolan cleared his throat and said, “David? Well, that is a very good name, but… I’m not sure it’s the best choice.”

Nora added, “Yes. We realize you must be looking for a change, Fiona, but perhaps you should consider a less… drastic change, hm? If you’re looking for a name that is less feminine, Logan is a lovely name for men and women.”

“It is. Are you trying to display your boyish tendencies? We know you were irritated with Madam Willingham for scolding you as a tomboy. She really should… Well, she should mind her own business, if you ask me, but Logan is a fine name for a lady who is not afraid of a little dirt and sweat. Or Riley.”

In spite of how they had prepared for this reaction, David felt themself (themselves? No, that’s not right, there’s only one of me…) deflate a little. In contrast, they could sense Henry bristling behind them. Henry normally was very calm, and it really to some doing to get him riled up, but god, the twins sure were good at it.

I should really say something before he do-

“I really don’t think that is what David meant.”

Nora and Nolan pivoted toward Henry, and David, despite the twisting in their gut, sighed at the thought of having to drag Henry out of another shouting match with their siblings.

“Really? Well, please, what do you think she means?”

Henry opened his mouth for a retort, then closed it again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before responding, “That’s not my place. They can tell you.”

David held his breath at the wording. Nora frowned and Nolan quirked a brow, but neither addressed how Henry had referred to David, so David let out their breath and decided to move on quickly. They wanted this to be over with.

“I, er, well, Henry is right,” they stumbled. “I’m not trying to let people know I’m a tomgirl, or boy or whatever. I… I’m not a tomboy or a tomgirl. I…,” David sighed, and continued, “I don’t want to be called Fiona, and I don’t want to be called a girl anymore. That’s not what I am.”

Again, there was silence, but this time, the twins were much more obviously thrown. David waited for what they would say and prepared for the worst.

“Fi… David,” Nora said. “If you do not want to… be seen as a girl anymore, or if you think you would prefer to act and dress as a man, then… well, Nolan, I think we can work with that.”

“Yes… yes, we’ll go to the tailor tomorrow and see about having some new clothes put together. Just a few outfits, in case you reconsider this, ah… decision.”

“No.” David wasn’t quite aware of speaking.

Nolan hesitated. “No?”

“No. I mean, yes, I would appreciate new clothes, but I don’t want to be seen as a man. I don’t think I am a man. I don’t feel like a man.”

Nora shared a look with her brother before fixing David with a firm look. “We’re not really sure what you mean, then, dear. Are you going to act as a man or a woman, Tennessee?”

A cold feeling gathered in their stomach.

David swallowed.

“Neither. Or both? I am neither. But…” they trailed off at the looks they were receiving from both siblings. Nora always looked unimpressed, even when she was entertained, sometimes. She discovered early on how to garner respect among her peers as a young woman involved in the politics and finance of her state. But even Nolan, who was not particularly warm but was still less severe than his sister, was fixing David with a withering stare.

“Don’t be silly, Fiona. You are not a plant, or a chair, or a rock. You are a young lady, and if, for the moment, you fancy trying your hand at a man’s life, then feel free; we will help, within reason. But do not start running around with some fanciful ideas of… whatever it is you’re thinking.”

“Yes! Why, if-,”

“Do you want to leave, David?”

David almost jumped at the hand on their shoulder. Henry stood next to them, looking directly at them and ignoring Nora and Nolan’s spiel. David just stared at Henry for a full thirty seconds. They hadn’t realized that was an option.

Nora and Nolan were equally dumbfounded by Henry’s interruption. They stared at the pair standing by the door, somewhat shocked at being cut off and very irritated at Henry’s audacity to suggest walking out in the moment.

“Excuse me, but I thi-,”

“I think that you should kiss my ass, but looks like none of us are getting what we wanted, huh? I wasn’t talking to you.” Henry turned back to David and waited for an answer.

David couldn’t walk out in the middle of this. It was rude, and the problem would still be here later. All that walking away would do was postpone the unpleasant.

But David nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They didn’t notice they were crying until Henry wiped their face. They were already in Tennessee and had stopped to rest and decide where they were going to go. Henry was sitting next to them by the road and put his arm around their shoulders.

“Um, I really… I’m not gonna say everything is ok, because it isn’t. That, what they said and did, that shouldn’t have happened.” He paused and rubbed his face. David had left with Henry, and before they did, the Carolinas had made it very clear that until David had made up his mind and started “thinking clearly,” neither David nor Henry was welcome in that house. They had also threatened to write to Virginia about how terrible of an influence Henry had been by encouraging their sister to run off and confuse her about her gender and such, but Henry assured David there was little to worry about on that end.

“But, y’know, everything doesn’t have to be ok. Hey, look at me, please?”

David looked up at him and placed a hand on the one Henry had yet to take from their face.

“You’re ok. Ok? And I’m ok. And we’re ok, and that’s what matters right now.”

“Wow,” David laughed, “how very humble of you to add your whole self into that.”

“Well, I mean, if you wanna trot off alone, that’s cool. I’m just stating facts, my friend; I’m doing fine, you’re doing fine, or you will be, and that’s the important part.” Henry grinned. “Besides, are you really gonna tell me I’m not fine? Because let’s face it, I’m pretty fine.”

David rolled his eyes. “I think you’ve spent too much time with Miles.”

Shrugging, Henry stood up and helped David to their feet. He thought for a moment, then suggested, “We could head to his place, speaking of. Him and his older brother will probably be much more welcoming about this than those two d- *ahem* than the twins. Or we could just hang out here, or go to Kentucky, or Virginia, or… I don’t know. It’s your crisis, you choose.”

“Well,” David mused, “I’d rather avoid anywhere the twins will be willing to march into to scold me more, so Miles is probably the only option left at that point. They like him even less than they like you. Speaking of, thank you for not getting into it with them. I’m glad we just left, instead.”

“Hey, if being polite to them will make you happy, then…,” Henry made a pained face and swallowed, “then I will bite my tongue and not tell them where they can stick their fancy fucking teacups.”

Laughing, David shook his head. “Thank you, dear. Alright then, let’s be off.”

#transtaliaweek2020 #transtalia #hetalia #statetalia #hws states #aph states #tw: transphobia #aph tennessee #aph kentucky #aph north carolina #aph south carolina #I'M SORRY DAVY

14 notes · View notes

werevulvi · 5 years

Text

I hate my chest... situation. I know I fucked up my ribs real bad from my 5 years of binding (and I used sports bras additionally under the binder, literally just to have a barrier with softer fabric against my boobs, I didn't think anything of it) but it was alright, for the most part, for the next 4 years after my top surgery when I didn't bind anymore. I'd only occasionally get random chest pains and random moments of not being able to take deep breaths, but it was just a few times per year and didn't bother me much. But now since detransitioning, I've been wearing bras again. And god damn... for these past 11 months that I've been doing so, my chest situation has increasingly worsened by the day.

I know I've been mentally resisting trying to get over my top surgery regret cause I just really, really badly wish I had boobs again. What kind of cruel fate is this?! Hating my boobs from the start of puberty, then trying everything I could to be fine with them, then sexually assaulted by my fucking boyfriend so to the point I wanted to rip them off my chest and swore to never let anyone touch them again... and kept that promise. Then bound them for 5 years as I despised them, then I finally got top surgery that I had been waiting for and anticipating... only to regret it at 9 days post-op when I first saw it. Then stuffing that regret away for 4 years until I detransitioned last year, when I released those feelings.

I cried my fucking heart out for months in a grief so heavy I've never felt before. And now realising I can't wear my breast forms most of the time. I need to wear them less and less...

Especially sports bras and underwire bras are the worst. But I tried buying an extra soft mastectomy bra that's said to even be fine to sleep in but even that one is hurting really bad. Getting implants might not put too much strain on my chest in and of themselves, but I really wanna get back to karate again. And I'd have to wear a sports bra for that if I'd have boobs again, but I can't if it restricts my breathing like this. So this is where I'm at now, if I'm gonna have to choose between boobs and karate... I can't let my dysphoria kill my dreams. Not any more.

Now this sure is a tight fucking spot to be in with no damn wiggle room in either direction. I have to try to overcome my chest dysphoria and top surgery regret, cause there's just no way around it. I can't ignore my physical health for the sake of my mental health anymore. Cause if I do, it'll just backfire on me eventually. I can exercise just fine without anything constricting my chest, like just wearing regular loose clothing, but that means I can't have boobs then. Why... why should I have to choose between boobs and my dreams? Don't even get me started on how "unfair" it is, I don't care. It's cruel, that's what it is. It's simply cruel. I begged to all the damn gods and godesses any which where to please not make me choose between those two. I guess they didn't care. I wish I hadn't dug up that regret last summer. I wish I hadn't let myself grieve. Cause at least it was bearable when I could pretend that I was fine with my chest being flat, during those 4 years between 2014 and 2018. Oh, what a waste. All of it.

This will be hard to get through, as if it wasn't already. Cause I never once liked it being flat, I'll surely struggle to find ways to live with it. But I do think it's possible. Oh come on, I've gotten this far, I believe pretty much anything is possible at this point. But I also believe I'll need to go through a living hell to get through it. And knowing I'll actually willingly open that door to yet another hell and force my way through it... you don't fuck with that kind of willpower. So I know I can do it, it's not that. I just... really hate this situation. I've already been wearing my boobs less often, and even been outside without them twice this past week. I know I can do it again. And again. Although I don't wanna face my mom pressuring me about my "gender identity crisis" if/when she sees me dressed up but without boobs (likely for driving me somewhere). None of of her damn business! Out of all the people picking at my looks, strangers included, her comments are the worst. So what if she doesn't think it's socially acceptable or whatever for women to be hairy, have deep voices or flat chests, so fucking what?! She gave birth to me and changed my diapers as a baby, she if anyone knows I'm female. I wanna tell her to just fuck off about my looks, body and style, but instead I just keep resorting to trying to explain and only failing better each time. How can a gnc woman keep ragging on her gnc daughter for not being gnc in the "right" or exact same way? I don't understand!

If she had grown up in my generation she probably would have transitioned too and then ended up asking herself what was the point of it all, like I did. Or at least that's not at all unlikely. So how the hell can she rag on me for not wanting to mutilate my own body even further, but in a feminising direction instead? That's the part I can't understand. Isn't coming to terms with BOTH my female biology AND the changes I made to its exterior the best possible route I could take? But I think she's in denial about how she herself stands out with her own gnc looks, cause me standing out in a crowd really seems to be the torn in her side.

I don't even understand where her views are coming from, if it's closer to radfem or old school conservative views of gender but with a liberal "do as you wish" leaning. Not knowing her perspective on what she even thinks makes me a woman or a man or whatever she even sees me as, makes it kinda hard to explain my perspective on it. But it's possible that her reluctance to accept my way of being gnc could be her thinking I in some sense "became" a man through my transition, and that I won't "qualify" as a woman again in her eyes unless I'll start looking like one again. If so, she can take that stick and just jam it in a little farther. Cause that's bullshit, and I would not be afraid to straight up tell her that. But I do not know if that's what her stick is about.

I know I'll look at those cute feminine tops and dresses in my wardrobes that require boobs to look good cause of how they're sewn, with a sinking feeling in my chest of how can I ever wear this again? I'm a femme by heart, fuck knows no damn clothes fit my broken body anymore! Nothing is designed to fit a flat chest and wide hips. Literally nothing. And I look dumb. My chest doesn't match my curvy ass, and I hate that. It looks so bad. Like I've got a male upper body and a female lower body. But I don't wanna cut up my ass to match my chest, that would be even dumber, and I like my ass. I feel like a table with unevenly long legs whobbling around, but I've come to a point where I've realised I can't just keep cutting its legs so now it just has to be uneven like that. And now I can't even put a book underneath the shortest leg to keep it steady anymore, cause that's the metaphor for my fake boobs. Anyone else feel like a whobbly table which's legs has been cut too many times to irrevokable unevenness, or is that just me? Well, tight tank tops with some cute lace details or pattern fit my upper body quite nicely even with just the flatness underneath, and I can always wear any skirts cause they're really "one shape fits all" and I love that about how easy it is to wear skirts. Tied blouses are neat too (unless I tie too hard), and open tunics. Most cardigans and feminine jackets work as well. Stretchy bolero's will fem up any outfit. Jewellery and makeup will too, of course.

And the bonus: if me not having boobs will somehow make me less likely to be perceived to be a trans woman, I'll fucking cheer halleluja. Cause sometimes I'd just rather be perceived as a regular gnc dude cause at least then people don't tend to think I'm an oversensitive TRA ready to dislodge their heads from their shoulders if they'd accidentally misgender me or say something "offensive." Male is male regardless of how you twist and turn it and how it identifies. To be seen as a fake woman is no fucking better than be seen as a straight up man in a flamboyant style. They're both just as damn incorrect when applied to me, but people do tend to have a better attitude when they think I'm just a straight up man in a dress. So if I have to choose, that's the better of those two options, seriously. But it's a damn difficult decision to put my boobs away for good. It feels like I'm living the twisted nightmare version of my childhood dream. I wanted to be a feminine man so badly. Now this detrans femme lesbian who can't pass as female anymore reality freak show, feels like some kind of twisted nightmarish version of that childhood wish. Oh I always knew that sex dysphoria sucked... but I never could have imagined back then, that it could suck quite this bad. I'll never get away from it, never entirely. Cause no matter what I'll always have to live with the consequences of my transition.

Now this is no joking matter, I know that, but I can't stop laughing at this truly miserable outcome. Cause I know I can't truly grasp it. It's bewildering.

#me venting #ok to rb #detransition #letting out my emotional frustrations #top surgery regret #detrans woman #chest dysphoria #damaged ribs #breast reconstruction #difficult decisions

8 notes · View notes

jameseros-blog · 6 years

Text

My personal struggle with GD

**Trigger Warning -- talk of genitals, sex, transphobia, and misogyny** This is a vent post about my feelings surrounding my gender dysphoria, how I figured out I almost definitely have it, and why my family would probably think I'm faking because of tucutes making trans people look like clowns. It is unorganized, entirely too long, might not make sense, and I'm positive I'm forgetting big details. I just need to get this off my chest though.

All throughout my life I've hated my body, and even though I could try to blame it on other problems, I had some pretty clear signs of gender dysphoria even before my life got fucked up. It all seemed normal to me though. I could rationalize it. I'm too masculine to fit in with girls; autistic females have a tendency to function on the same social level as neurotypical men. That makes sense. I hate my body; I definitely don't look like the girls I would like to date. That makes sense. I feel like cutting off my female chest and sometimes guiltily wish for a horrible disease that requires its removal; I'm a CSA survivor and was bullied in elementary school for my early development. That makes sense.

In middle school something started to happen that I couldn't explain though. I developed a "phantom penis". It actually felt like I had a fully functioning dick. I asked a guy friend what a boner felt like and he described what I felt perfectly. I never told anyone what I felt though. I just made a joke out of it. Whenever I felt a "hard on" I'd whisper to my friends "Suck my dick" or "My dick is hurting". We constantly made dick jokes so nothing seemed off about it. I liked the feeling of it. It upset me that it wasn't real. The feeling came around less often in high school and I wrote it off as nothing.

The inkling of negative sexual habits was already in place in 4th grade, but I fell into truly self destructive sexual habits in high school. I felt unsatisfied with life and everything regarding my existence. Every day was a chore I could barely manage. I wanted something to fill up how empty my life felt. I started using my tits to get free food in 4th grade. I would tell a couple of guys that I'd show them my tits on the last day of school if they would give me what ever food I wanted from them for the rest of the year. This took place up until 7th grade where they stopped believing me because I never held up my end of the promise. It didn't matter too much though because at this point they were already used to giving me food.

As 8th grade ended I noticed how unnaturally masculine I felt, even more so than before, like it didn't really fit my body. It was getting harder to blame it on my autism. That scared me so I went seeking some sort of validation that I was a woman. I found my first boyfriend. I've never really been one for romance, so our relationship quickly turned into something sexual. The entire thing made me uncomfortable. I hated the whole ordeal. I didn't really find him all that attractive, but I pretended to fairly convincingly. Neither of us wanted to be purely sexual, but it was the only thing I knew how to do so I kept being this sexual creature I hardly liked and barely knew. He broke up with me because we never really talked anymore and when we were together I always ended up sucking his dick. It was fine. I never stayed true to our relationship. I was sending nudes to people on the internet. They made me feel like I was a pretty girl, the kind I fantasized about. I could escape my real self and be someone else on the internet. It always felt like I was catfishing them. I never felt as feminine as I portrayed myself online.

My 10th grade year of high school I dated one of my ex boyfriend's best friends. The same thing happened as my last relationship. I'd try to change how unnaturally male I felt by being in the most misogynisticly feminine role I could think of. The first time I had "real" sex it felt good, but something was off about it. And I don't mean in the "the first time always sucks" kind of way. I'm a firm believer in if you are fully comfortable with a person and you both know each other's boundaries and there isn't any judgment between you, then there won't be anything uncomfortable about sex. We had all these things, but I still felt uncomfortable. Then he went down on me. I had another "phantom dick" moment; I could imagine him sucking me off as if I had a penis. That's when the discomfort ended. I couldn't explain that so I told no one and wrote it off as nothing.

I've always heard mentions of trans people in passing throughout my life. In 3rd grade I heard my friend call another boy a "he-she". When I asked him what that was he said it's a guy who dresses and acts like a girl. In middle school I learned there were surgeries to give males female genitals. In 9th grade my science teacher corrected a girl when she said "they have to cut off their balls and turn their dick inside out" in reference to mtf bottom surgery. I saw an article that same year about a man that gave birth and learned that ftm trans people exist. In that same 9th grade science class a girl mentioned the size of my chest when expressing her desire for bigger breasts. I spilled my guts about how much I hated having them. I realized that it wasn't a natural thing when other big chested girls told me it wasn't nearly as bad as I explained. It confused me that they didn't feel the same. At this point I still didn't know what GD was or what it actually meant to be trans.

I started to watch Blaire White. That set me on the path of finding more and more trans YouTubers. I connected to them in ways I didn't really understand. I felt less like an alien while watching their videos. I never connected this to my being trans though. They all had the same story of knowing when they were young. I never questioned my identity when I was young. I always just existed. When I look back at it I think I honestly should have questioned myself. If I weren't autistic I probably would have.

When I was young, about 4 or 5, it was the easiest thing in the world for me to just drop everything about being a girl so I could become James. This was done after hearing my dad say he wished he had a son. I insisted I was James for almost a year. Now that I'm older my nana has told me my dad was worried I might actually be trans and he didn't want me getting bullied when I go to school. He died when I was 5 or 6; this explains something that I'll touch on later.

Even after the James phase ended I prided myself on my masculine tendencies. I was proud to be "basically the son" of the family and "basically the brother" of my sisters. With my step dad we would make jokes about having a "guys night out". I would even try to dress as boyish as possible to get mistaken as a boy. One time I cried when a boy told me "I know you're a girl". When I found out girls could have beards I was extremely jealous and was confused by the fact I couldn't grow one. I've always hated long hair I always wanted it cut short in a boy's haircut. In middle school my friends told me I write like a guy as an insult, but I thought it was a genuine compliment. I've always had an obsession with extreme body modification. The idea that I could escape my body and look however I want was always appealing to me.

When I was young I held the belief that my thoughts and personality were exactly the same as a boy's. That was the reason I preferred to hang with guys. That was why I would feel happy when I was described as one of the guys. It was why I didn't connect with girls the same way as guys. When I was diagnosed with autism, I thought it explained why I felt like an alien among other girls, and why I fit perfectly with guys, and why my thoughts were so male to me. When I learned what GD was, it fit me too, but I thought I couldn't have it cause I didn't recognize it when I was young. Then I started watching the podcast 'You're So Brave' hearing the way they found out they were trans hit closer to home than any other time I heard stories of people discovering they're trans. I was still very iffy on if I had GD or not though. Kovu uploaded a video recently it basically sealed my belief that I have GD. I decided to list off all the ways I wish I could look. The look I created is absurdly masculine; tall, hairy, tatted, and rough. I couldn't be exactly that though. I'm far too short. Besides I'm not as one dimensional as that. I love the elegance of romantic goths and muted pastels are my favorite aesthetic. I love crop tops and even dresses. I'm very effeminate for a man. A lot of people hate on gnc trans guys, but honestly I relate to them hard. I'm still not 100 percent sure of my gender though. The only thing I know for sure is that I need my female chest gone.

Before I even started to question myself, I've heard my step dad's opinion on trans people. "There is no such thing as a third gender! I don't understand why these trans people keep trying to push this idea!" he says in reference to a completely binary trans woman who only wants to be seen as a woman and not a third gender. I defend them by saying the vast majority of trans people are completely binary, don't believe in three genders, and want to be fully recognized as the gender they transition to. He continues to think tucutes are the only kind of trans people there are and generalizes all trans people saying they all have the "76 genders" ideology. He thinks all trans women are instantly recognizable by their adam's apple despite the fact there is a reduction surgery and lots of cis women have prominent adam's apples. I won't even try to bring up non binary people to him. He'd never understand. My mom has backed him up on this multiple times. I can't come out to them. It's too dangerous. My step dad is a violent man that gets into lots of fights. (He's never hit me or my family; don't worry.) He has threatened to kick me out before and I know he and my mom have seriously considered it within the last year. I don't know if me coming out could result in my homelessness.

You may be thinking "You're 18, just move out." To that I say: I absolutely would, if I could. I'm autistic. It's a disability that leaves me unable to drive and makes it difficult to maintain a job. Not to mention no one has prepared me for living alone. I have a friend I could go to, but I don't want to live somewhere and not be able to give back to them in some way.

All I really want is to know for sure whether I have gender dysphoria or not. The only problem with that is all of the gender therapist in my area (deep south Alabama) have practices that sound eerily similar to conversion therapy. Even if I do come out and move in with my friend, I won't be able to get therapy or a diagnosis.

#ftm #transmeds #truscum #dysphoric

2 notes · View notes

gabriella-lost-in-the-big-city · 7 years

Text

“...and one day you’ll grow up to be a strong, independent woman just like your mami”

by Gabriella J Bolanos

This is a very sensitive topic about me, but over the course of the past six weeks of this hellish semester, I realized the importance of giving trans people a space of their own in the world of “maternal” / “woman’s” (A.K.A. Cis-woman’s health). I loathed the maternity nursing lecture, mainly because the double dose of problematic WASPs was too much for me to swallow on a weekly basis. However, those five days at Mt. Sinai’s labor and delivery/postpartum floors was such an uplifting, emotional, and sometimes conflicting moment. Let me just put it out there that yes I am transgender, and I own up to being a transgender woman. I am proud to be a transgender woman, and I don’t see myself being anything else. However, society has not advanced enough to where transgender people are respected by women and men as viable women; and science has not advanced enough to where they can put a functional uterus in me. I had a lot of experience observing and participating in the births of numerous children 3 of those 5 days, many of them being families who were introducing their first child to their lives. I enjoyed seeing the face of young fathers and mothers feeling nothing but pure joy as they hold their just born child in their arms. It’s honestly an amazing privilege to be able to witness a moment so intimate, so groundbreaking, so heartfelt, so pure like the birth of a newborn. However, in the back of my head, I could never shake the feeling of jealousy and resentment of these mothers. I will never be congratulated for being pregnant with my child. I will never be congratulated for spending all those hours in labor or overcoming all of the pain to deliver my baby. I won’t feel that overwhelming burst of emotion holding my newly born crying baby on my bare chest. Sometimes I feel like I won’t ever be a “real” mom because I’ll never have the opportunity to do things that our heteronormative society tells us a mother does.

*Side Note: Why is there no gender-neutral term for “person that gives birth,” it’s always when the mother does this or when the mother experiences that or when the mother holds her baby for the first time… mother is clearly a gender-charged word, but in reality, it’s not always a cis-female that gives birth, there are transmen out there that give birth, and gender non-conforming people that give birth – and I highly doubt that they would want to be referred to as the “mother.” One time during lecture, one of the instructors “tried” to be inclusive and kind of touch on this idea that LND may not be as heteronormative as we tend to think it is. However, things quickly went south when she started to bring up the example of trans people giving birth. And so she says “ I had a colleague tell me that she one time had a transgender mother, male to female, give birth…” and I don’t know about you, but as far as I know, transwoman cannot give birth – and if somehow they can, PLEASE LET A GIRL KNOW. So essentially, I am 99.99% sure that she meant to say that there was a transgender man who gave birth but instead chose to mis-gender the father who gave birth. Anyway, I hope one day this changed and we see a bigger presence and respect of LGBTQ (esp. Transgender people) in maternity health and in woman’s health in general.*

I have always wanted to be a mom since I could remember, or I guess I’ve always wanted a family of my own and I didn’t know that meant becoming a mother until I realized that I was a transgender woman. A part of my desire to be a mom comes from a desire to make up for the mistakes my mother made raising me – in no way was she the worst mother to have, but we never really saw eye-to-eye, she internalized most of her emotions, she never really understood me, she never really could sympathize/empathize with me, she was never pushing me to go after my goals, it took her forever to accept the fact that I was trans, and along the way made me feel like a complete, worthless piece of shit for being who I am. However, at the end of the day, although I can’t 100% forgive her or honestly say my relationship with her was healthy and beneficial, she is still my mother and luckily she eventually got it together and now accepts me for the woman I am today, her daughter. I want to learn from my parent’s mistakes and be the parent I always wanted/needed growing up to my future children. Additionally, there is a bond you can’t recreate or break between a child and their mother. For example, I wouldn’t say my sister is the most positive mother, she can let her frustration and anger get the best of her around her child, she can be overwhelmed with work or too focused in her personal life to spend whatever time she does have with her child. However, no matter how many times my sister yells at him, spanks him, or leaves him behind to be cared by someone else, my nephew will always tell her how much he loves her and comes to her defense whenever me and my sister fight. This was a complicated lead up to the fact that I part of me wants to have a child so they can unconditionally love me, because I feel so lonely in this world sometimes, to know someone loves me, means the world to me. Although some parts of my desire to be a mom come off as selfish, in all honesty I want to have kids one day to take care of them and smother them with nothing but love, raise them to be “woke” individuals in society, take them to soccer practice or piano lessons, help them with homework, remind them that they matter and no matter how stressful things get, they will overcome all obstacles eventually, support them with whatever career/academic decisions they make, take care of them when they are sick, give them advice on love and life, the list goes on and on. I even have baby names picked out, even though adoption will most likely be my route of raising a family (unless someone wants to give me their second child) – so if I have a newborn son, I want to name him Brandon Mauricio Bolanos, and if I have a newborn girl, I want to name her Jacqueline Celeste Bolanos – cheesy names, I know. So Brandon comes from my obsession of Beverly Hills 90210 from the summer (Brandon Walsh was definitely my dream guy) and Mauricio comes from my father’s middle name and my original birth middle name – a part of me has a little guilt for being trans as I am my father’s only child and I know how important it was for him to have a “son” and I would have been the only person to pass down the family name as all of my cousins on that side of the family are girls. Therefore, I want to give back to my father somehow, but naming my son after him – not that I have a reason to feel guilty for being trans. And in regard to Jacqueline Celeste Bolanos – I just really like those names, it's different, and not something you hear every day. And ideally, I would like a third child (my favorite number happens to be 3), but the name on that one is a TBD for now.

I love the idea of being a mom, and can’t see myself not having a family of my own, but I can’t help to have my fears about it as well. Honestly, my biggest fear is getting into a fight with my child and having the phrase “well you didn’t give birth to me, so you’re not my real mom anyway” – I honestly believe if this ever happens I would kill myself right there and then because that would just crush me beyond the point of any possible repair. I also worry about if my child going to accept that I am trans? Is the world going to accept me as a transgender mom? Are the kids at school going to say to my child about me being trans? Is he going to get bullied for it? What are the moms at the PTA going to say about me? All of these thoughts, good and bad, swirl around my mind whenever I see a birth, or see a pregnant woman on the subway, when I see a baby in a stroller, or when my friends complain about never wanting to give birth, or when people randomly ask me if I want to give birth or if I am a mom. I don’t know if I’ll ever accomplish this goal of becoming a mom, finding someone to help raise our children, I hope that one day they would look up to me as their loving, successful mother and eventually I’ll be trying to keep up with the numerous grandkids I’ll be expecting. Until then, I’ll continue to hold babies like they are my own, envision a future of a full, loving family, and hold my tears back whenever things get emotional, and be optimistic that one day I’ll hear the word “mami” come out the mouth of my son, daughter, or GNC child.

#transgender transwoman womenshealth motherhood transmotherhood

2 notes · View notes

werevulvi · 5 years

Text

Oh my god, what a day it's been! Detrans woman hanging around in the city core on a busy day. I've gotten more attention for looking like a gnc man during these 2-3 hours than I ever got for looking like a gnc woman during the total of my life up until today, and that's not an exaggeration. It was intense. Today's look was hyper feminine but with a beard stubble. To reiterate, I first went to the city during the afternoon and stopped by a hair salon to get my left ear pierced for drop-in. I went in there at the same time as two guys and the hair dresser greeted us while working on a third guy's hair. She exclaimed happily that she thought it was fun that 3 men where there at the same time, implying she usually only gets female customers. I just kept my mouth shut and nodded with a forced smile. I had to wait half an hour until it was my turn. One of the guys there gave me a lot of approving looks (kinda flirting? I dunno) and let me go before him. The hairdresser got very excited about that I picked the pink jewellery (was the only one that would match my ever so wine red and golden outfits) and then took me aside to a small room for piercing my ear. She was super sweet all along, but also noticably over-joyed by me. She gave me a bag of easter candy (which she didn't give any of the guys), gave me a hug and said congratulations. Thanks... for the candy I guess? Oh I dunno. I paid and went my merry way. Onwards to the lgbt cafe event which was my reason for going to the city. Thus far no one's ever really talked about anything actually lgbt related there, expect from some have talked about their same sex partners. But this time there was a new person there and she brought up my looks after she had talked about her trans son for a bit (who was also there, but clearly uninterested in participating in any discussion). And she asked me if I had changed to my current outfit upon arriving at the cafe or if went like that from my home. I told her went like that and she said that must require a lot of confidence. Oh yeah, it sure does. So we talked a bit about me but I didn't say I'm detrans or a lesbian and it became just about what I appear like on the surface without even mentioning genders. I didn't wanna make the conversation super personal and didn't know what to say either. Talking about detransing in Swedish without using a whole bunch of English terms that no one's heard of, bio sex and genitals, is a damn challenge! So mostly I just don't say anything about it. But I had a good time at the cafe. It was good conversation, and the pecan pie was good. When that was over I went back to the city core to spend an hour just waiting for the bus. Well that's just what it's like living on a small island. It could be worse, I guess. At least there is a bus. It was warm enough to sit on a bench outside, so I did that while chain-smoking cause I was bored. However, several strangers took turns in keeping me company. First there was two guys (around 20 years old) walking past me. One of them said "you're sexy" and I thought that was awkward so I just said "thanks." The other guy said to the first guy somewhere behind my back: "Don't you see she has a beard?" to which I had a hard time containing my laughter, so it became a half suffocated giggle. I mean, that's what I thought was awkward. Then that other guy kept circling me, asking random questions about my clothes, shoes, jewellery, nail polish, my phone, where I lived, as well as my name. I told him my name's Laura. He had a few other guys in his company that stared at me while also circling me but they didn't say anything. I think they went and came back 3 or 4 times, and each time that same guy kept bombarding me with questions that I barely even got the time to answer. I kept calm and not defensive. His tone was kind and non-threatening, and I was fine with it, but after a while I started getting a bad feeling about it. Like if they planned on doing something bad. But soon after I got that bad feeling they left and didn't come back. A short moment after that, a small group of young teens walked up to me, 3 boys and one girl. The boys started talking to me while the girl strayed off, saying the girl had said "fucking trans" to me, but that they were totally supportive of me. One of them said "Everyone can be however they want." They then left and came back again another moment later. One of them said to me, as I was smoking a cigarette: "It's bad to smoke" to which I said: "There's a lot that's bad here in life." "That's so fucking deep, in just three words" he replied back, then asked if he could borrow my lighter. "Sure" I said. Then they wanted me to help them light a cigarette, and I said okay. Then the girl said: "They're 12 years old!" to which I shrugged and said I've bad influence. Then helped the boy light his cigarette. The girl, who didn't look much older (maybe 14 or 15) asked if she could borrow my lighter too. Sure. I calmly asked her: "Did you say 'fucking trans' to me?" to which she responded: "No, I asked if you're trans." "Oh, okay" I said. After that I was mostly alone on that bench, just looking around at the neon signs on the buildings and the doves flying around, bored out of my skull. Was some 30 minutes left to wait. When I had gotten to the bus station, I ended up standing right next to a few elderly people who may have been drunk, or just strange. One of them, a man walked up to me and asked: "Are you a guy?" I hesitated for a moment, knowing what I looked like and how complicated it is to explain the truth... so I lied. "Yes" I said, as I felt a weight in my chest. The man then stretched out his hand to greet me and I again had to think, before I introduced myself as John, my old male name. The weight in my chest sank. He told me, hesitantly, that he thought I still looked nice while gazing my outfit. He was friendly and totally non-threatening, and seemed intrigued by me. An elder woman who obviously knew the guys talked to me a bit too. She looked rather peculiar too and kept shouting at the guy, with the hoarsest voice I've ever heard from an actual person, to shut the fuck up whenever he talked to his friend. It was vaguely amusing. I didn't like lying about my sex or using my old name like that, but I was just too tired to cause hassle, and knowing people don't ever believe I'm female, I figured that what he asked was not actually a question... but a statement. And my lie was just me merely playing along, cause it was the easiest option."Can't I just get back home already, I'm so fucking tired" I thought to myself while waiting for the bus for those last 5 minutes. Eventually I did, and now I'm definitely exhausted. I didn't know that just going in to the city for a piercing and a meeting at the lgbt cafe would turn into an adventure of probably 10 different strangers in total talking to me out of the blue. Like that's the kinda stuff I see in American Hollywood movies, it doesn't happen in real life, in little Sweden, right? Also, it's Maundy Thursday today, but I don't think I blended in much with the Easter witches... but I kept joking to myself that I did. At the end of this day, I have mixed feelings about all those encounters. The cafe, the hairdresser and the kids I feel mostly positive about, but the older guys... not so much. Moral of the story... it's a billion times harder and scarier to be perceived as a gnc man than as a gnc woman. I feel like this was an almost dangerous look to have in the city. And being aware of the risks is one thing, but actually taking them is another thing. Is it bravery... or stupidity? I've always balanced that thin line, between bravery and stupidity. Somehow I ended up in gnc men's fight for more tolerance. I may not be one of them, but I'm clearly being treated as if I am. And for not even being trans... I'm very visibly trans. And it's uncomfortable to me now that people are much more likely to believe in the outright lie that I'm a crossdressing male or trans woman... than they are to believe in my factual truth that I'm a born female. It's a new kind of sting, of having lost something that I used to take for granted. I didn't know how much comfort and security it used to give me, before I lost it. I clearly did not at all fully consider the consequences of my medical transition at the time I went through with it. Of course detransition was not what I intended on back then, but it was one possible outcome which I was surely aware of. But I refused to acknowledge that it could happen to me, and what I'd do if it would. So here I am, having to face and live with the consequences of my own willful ignorance. Detransitioning is surely one heck of a lesson in life, and it's teaching me really a lot.

#detransition #getting attention for being gnc #this was an experience #kinda transphobic interactions #kinda harrassment #at least the circling guys #my bad influence on kids... thats why i shouldnt become a parent xD

5 notes · View notes