I’ve told this story before, but I’ve never written it down…
When did I know? That’s what everyone asks. When did I know that I was trans?
The short answer is that I realized it almost two years ago. The long answer is that I’ve always known, but only subconsciously.
When I was a child I had really bad asthma. This was a time before the emergency inhalers that exist now, and my breathing difficulties were treated with a lot of corticosteroids. Which was great, because I didn’t die. However, it was also bad because I started to gain weight when I entered middle school. On top of that, I was quite the smart nerd–ahead in class, into science fiction and gaming, etc. So, combine those two things with the standard social structure of middle and high school and I was bullied. A lot.
My defense against this was to build up emotional walls in such a way that I stopped feeling certain things and developed a robust defense mechanism to deal with the torment in my head. These walls were quite useful, but they were also hiding me from the world. I was hiding anything that made me different, in a misguided attempt to fit in and be less noticed. This mechanism of hiding my uniqueness also hid the fact I was trans. But the mechanism was autonomic. I didn’t realize it was happening, and I didn’t fully understand that I was hiding because when I was alone, I was myself (or so I thought).
The problem is that when you are born a male and begin to identify as a female, no amount of hiding that from others will fully work unless you hide it from yourself as well. And so I did. I buried that knowledge behind walls of denial that would impress the architects of Fort Knox.
That’s not to say that my behaviors were all hidden. In fact, many weren’t. I started wearing panties as early as mid-college. I simply rationalized it away believing I did it because they fit better and were more comfortable. I discovered what a trans woman was in college by coming across a porn image of one. I only looked at trans porn from them on simply believing I had a fetish, not understanding that I completely identified with them. I became petrified of doing anything that might identify me as anywhere on the LGBTQ spectrum, and while I didn’t turn into a bigot or a phobic of any kind, I did vehemently deny any accusations of identification along that spectrum.
And so I lived for years, until someone managed to crack that foundation.
And then the realizations started to happen. Slowly at first, and with much distress. At first, I just though that I was a cross dresser, and felt that was the end. Then I understood more and thought I was gender fluid. Finally, I realized that whenever I had to stop being a woman, I hated it, and just counted the time until I could be one again. That’s when I realized I was trans.
And that’s when I felt whole.
Then as time progressed, I was able to look back and see all the behaviors I’d had that were clearly feminine. See all the choices I made that were hiding my true self. See the points in my life where I acted upon my true nature but rationalized it away. Let me tell you, that’s a sobering walk down memory lane, and a powerful lesson at what the mind will do to protect itself.
So, when did I know? Not until I was 46 years old. Not until about 25 years after my earliest recollection of a difference in me, of wanting to be feminine.
I’m now 48. All my walls are down. I have no more personal secrets. Not from myself. And since I’m fully out, not from the world either. It is the most liberating feeling.