Reflections of a trans youth
by Alex Rose
Content Warning: Talks of Dysphoria, Depression, Intrusive Thinking, Self Harm
When I was a child, I don’t know that I ever specifically questioned my gender. The beautiful thing about being so young is that you don’t know yet what you’re not supposed to be, just who you are. It’s easy to love everything then, at least when you’re allowed too. Before you’re told otherwise, gender doesn’t seem to mean anything when you’re small. When we played house, I was the mom; when I played with my brother and my cousins I was one of the boys. Winnie the Pooh was my idol (and we all know he’s a gender neutral icon). Even my Barbie dolls played with the Star Wars figurines; it was no big deal.
Things started to change though the older I got. The more I matured, the more I was expected to be a girl. Not because any one person said I had to be, but because of the society we live in. Once puberty started to hit, it felt like everyone had some idea of how one should “be a girl.” From family, friends, classmates, TV, movies, music, magazines, ads, and so on, we are taught how to adhere to our assigned gender. Some kids get lucky, while others don’t. I’d be lying if I said my family didn’t encourage me to be more feminine at times, but I know it was their way of trying to help me. More so, I am grateful for the ways in which I had freedom and autonomy over my self-expression; even something as simple as letting your child determine the length of their hair can make all the difference.
At this age though, roughly 10-13, I didn’t understand any of this. I couldn’t –or wouldn’t– process why I felt the way I did. There was no way for me to break down the big feelings I was developing, so I kept it to myself. The only thing I knew was that I was different, and that I wasn’t going to have an easy time. When the adults weren’t around, I would sit myself so close to the tv while Mulan sang to me, and I would cry alongside her the words I believed to be true:
“Look at me, I will never pass for a perfect bride
Or a perfect daughter
Can it be I'm not meant to play this part?
Now I see that if I were truly to be myself
I would break my family's heart”
I had no idea why this was true, but it was my anthem. Who is that girl I see? Why is my reflection someone I don’t know? When will my reflection show who I am inside?
It was as if I inherited it from birth, this feeling of being misplaced.
Middle school passed and I had done my best to fit in with my peers, but I entered high school a different person. Depression found me, and it was incredibly hard for a while. It didn’t take me long to realize I felt incapable of being able to keep this up forever. Even in high school, I had no concept of gender identities; I didn’t hear the term nonbinary until I was in my early 20s, and I only saw stereotyped portrayals of trans women on television. There was no word or definition for why I felt this way, I just knew I hated my body and I hated myself. The more I had to mature into a young woman, the worse I felt.
One night was particularly bad. We were on a family vacation, a cruise ship. I don’t remember what exactly caused me to feel so hopeless, but I did. In a secluded spot, under the big bright stars, I stared into the waves crashing alongside the ship for a long time. We can say it was l'appel du vide, or “the call of the void”. All I knew was that what I was afraid of down there wasn't as terrifying as what I couldn't understand up here. Nearby on that deck, an elderly woman slipped and hurt her hip very badly. Her cries pulled me away from a dark place, as I made sure she got the help she needed. This accident left me feeling an overwhelming amount of sympathy for the woman, and so much guilt for considering my own harm. This random encounter taught me something important though: that in a world full of uncertainty, I could survive by being kind. Perhaps I was a broken person, but if I showed others that I cared, maybe I could prove I deserved to exist in this world. If compassion could be the brake that stopped me from falling, maybe that would protect me.
As I continued to get older, I found new ways to mask my feelings, but I also found others who I could feel safe with. My two best friends gave me the freedom to be myself. I found a safe space in my high school’s photography courses. I found my joy in writing, things that could distract me, while quietly I was still at war with myself, naïve and in denial. All this time I hated my body, especially my chest, and it was only getting worse. I started to inflict pain on myself, on my breasts, because they caused me so much anguish and shame. It never occurred to me that it was in any way related to my gender identity; I thought all women felt this much shame surrounding their bodies anyways, so why question it.
(Let me take a moment to clarify that by this point, there was zero trans representation in my life. There certainly weren't many positive portrayals and though rare, the ones I did see were insults disguised as a joke. People so badly want to blame access to awareness and representation as a tool of conversion, when the reality is that people are who they are regardless. The only thing censoring our children does is make them feel alone and scared to be themselves. When I was seventeen years old, I snuck into a midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show. When I saw Tim Curry up on that screen, wearing that outfit, while dozens of fans sang and cheered along - I didn’t suddenly become transgender, in fact it still took 6 plus years to figure it out, but it did give me hope that one day I would belong somewhere.)
Another bad night, this time I was a junior in college. A conversation with a friend transported me right back to that cruise ship deck, and all my fears of never belonging came rushing back. That night was one of the weakest I’ve ever felt. I felt as if I had failed. I had an idea of the woman I wanted to be, but nothing I could do ever felt good enough. Oftentimes I wonder if it was obvious to everyone else, that I was trying too hard to be someone I wasn’t comfortable being. The amount of shame I felt over my presentation though didn’t actually prevent me from doing it, it just made me feel bad about it. I was still cutting my hair short, and dabbling in masculine expression. The problem for me was that I was enjoying it, and it scared me. However at the same time, I was being introduced more and more to the LGBTQ+ community through photography and I slowly began to question what was possible.
At a gallery opening in Chicago I saw top surgery scars for the first time ever. The artist was Jess T. Dugan, and it was a self portrait. That image left me so stunned that all I could think to do was get their autograph. For months I would search for top surgery results on Instagram, always sure to delete my history just in case. I couldn’t fathom how people could go through with it, it didn’t seem possible, but I was obsessed now that I knew.
No one convinced me that I had to hate my masculinity, but I did. I would hurt myself so much by comparing all the ways in which I wasn’t a woman like everyone around me. Always so afraid of being a disappointment, I tried to really change myself after graduating. I thought what I needed was to dress more feminine, and to look more desirable. I realized eventually if I were to ever be in a relationship, I’d have to be comfortable with them seeing my chest - something that had ruined all my previous relationships. What are you supposed to do when you want to be seen as a woman, but you don’t want to be seen as a woman?
The first person to ever tell me that my femininity felt more like a costume than an expression of joy was my wife. As our relationship grew, so did I. Having her explicit support and encouragement to explore my gender identity gave me the courage to learn how to express it. I wish I could say it was an easy time for me, but once I finally admitted the truth it became harder to run from it - I was not a woman, and I was never going to be. Finally it seemed like I had an answer, but I wasn’t a man either, I still had to figure out how to embrace the multitudes in which I exist.
Then COVID-19 came and along with it came more time and less distractions. I had just recently left a queerphobic studio where I felt the need to hide who I was for an office job, and suddenly I was working from home. Even in isolation, I was struggling with my gender dysphoria. The pandemic terrified me, I didn’t want to get sick and die in this body. Finally I understood why someone would go through with top surgery. My body did its best with the blueprint it was given, but I wasn’t meant to have breasts. It really is just that simple. Even with no one but my wife around to perceive me, I struggled allowing my body to exist as is. My dysphoria was like an itch, once I felt it I had to scratch away at it. So I took advantage of the time given to me due to the pandemic, and started the process of scheduling my surgery. A task that would not be made easy, or in my case possible, by our dysfunctional and transphobic health care system. Frustrated and depressed, the intrusive thoughts began and I started wishing myself harm when things seemed doubtful. Maybe one day I would get breast cancer, or injure myself so badly they would have to do the surgery. Thoughts so cruel I hate to admit them.
Despite this, I kept going and in May of 2021, I finally received my very own top surgery scars. It’s incredible what can happen when you ask for help, and I am forever grateful to everyone who showed me support and kindness while on this journey. With some help, I was able to get married to the love of my life looking the way I had always seen myself inside. For the first time in my life, I felt at peace with my body - it finally made sense to me. Truthfully I don’t know where this journey ends for me, as far as I know I am still on the ride. Lately I find myself taking notes from the small child that still lives in me, as she gives me permission to just love whatever it is I want to again. If I could go back and tell her anything, it would be that one day her reflection does indeed show who she is inside, and that I’m so proud she didn’t give up.
Thank you to those who read my story and to those who helped me get to where I am today. I am truly so grateful, but the work is far from over. Now more than ever, the transgender community, especially our trans youth, need your support. I am not asking, but begging, that you will join myself and others in actively fighting back against the horrific rise in transphobia sweeping this country so that we may survive and thrive.
Below you will find a list I have put together of organizations and resources accepting donations, and I encourage you to explore others as well.
Human Rights Campaign - Donate