I didn’t expect to be one of those genders
I grew up in the shadow of the culture war, in a conservative family embattled in a very blue part of '00s Maine. Chesterton and Belloc and Day shaped my political views: Catholic, morally legalistic, economically third-way. My parents drafted me into the fight against comprehensive sex education and the Maine Human Rights Act. I was a good little soldier.
But something was wrong with that boy; she didn’t know what was the matter with herself while her parents, — they sure worried. It must have been a relief when I was willing to stand up at school-board meetings or to go door-knocking.
At home, behind the front lines, there was occasional, rumbling turmoil. My father was slipping into the orbit of early alt-right radio personalities. This was before Facebook and iHeartMedia, the days of phpBB and Rush Limbaugh. He trolled the interwebs and invited small-time televangelist into our home.
My mother uninvited some of them. She didn’t stand up to my father very often, but I don’t think she appreciated the used-Jesus-salesman vibe and even less some of the things they said about women and girls where my sisters might hear.
I spiraled deeper into the confines of the Man Box. Maybe if I could be, somehow, sufficiently not queer I would earn enough acceptance I could be the sensitive, thoughtful, compassionate person that God was calling me to be.
And maybe I was successful at blending in. Maybe they did accept me — I couldn’t tell because of how generally awful I felt, like I was in someone else’s skin living someone else’s life. But I get thee sense that I failed. There was something about me that they didn’t seem to like, and I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
but God, as always, Had Plans
At the time I didn’t have the language or knowledge to identify myself as queer. This is partially because I was so sheltered, but also because I wasn’t blessed with a strong sense of sexual attraction as a teen. So I was aware, vaguely, of gay people (the poor souls) but I didn’t have the benefit of having a boykisser’s heart to guide me.
My awareness of trans people? Even less. My father had made friends with one of the sex education teachers, so I was allowed to take his class. Kids being kids, someone asked about a porn actress having a penis. Mr X, a master of deflection, explained her existence away as a special effect.
On one wing, “porn isn’t realistic” is a good lesson to teach. But special effects? It’s not a high-budget industry, if someone wants to show something awful, or merely something intense, it’s practical effects and showmanship, — fake in a way that’s similar to professional wrestling. And people do get hurt, physically or emotionally. Mr X, you did a C+ job there.
On the other wing, the difference between primary and secondary sexual traits was part of the curriculum, wasn’t it? I’m sure my memory is correct because you can’t tell 11-year-olds what to expect from puberty without talking about breasts and curves and sex hormones. The ‘special effect’ wasn’t computers or whatever, it was hormone treatment and living in her body.
This information blockade kept me from having words for myself, but it didn’t stop the feelings. I struggled with my voice as it changed, something deeply subconscious made it difficult to speak like one of the boys. I didn’t mind it so much before puberty but once puberty got rolling, I could barely tolerate being a boy.
And since there was no alternative, I could barely tolerate being. So, yeah, Mr X. I know you thought you were doing the right thing — moral tradition is a double-edged sword — but you failed little glasswings. You really did.
My feelings made it impossible to plan for the future, to discern my calling. At the time I wasn’t healthy enough to hear, and God like a mother hen spread her wings and kept me warm and alive through the misery.
And that, I guess that’s what I have to say for today. I do kind of hate trans stories that are downers, but honesty demands that. Things sucked before they got better and even when they got better there was a cost to pay.