Steps

Not everyone gets to be who they want to be. It could be that they didn’t have the passion or the talent or circumstances in order to have that career or to be that person. I grew up at a time in life where parents told you that you could be president if you wanted. That wasn’t true, the reality is that life is not fair and it doesn’t play favorites just because your parents loved you enough to lie. I didn’t want to be president; I wanted a vagina where my penis was. I wanted boobs where my, well man boobs are. I wanted what every girl wanted, for her dad to tell her she is pretty. And that the boy she has as crush on but doesn’t notice her, is insane for not liking her. 

My dad wasn’t horrible, he was mean when I was younger, but he mellowed over the years. But for him I was a boy, so he treated me as a boy. This isn’t his fault; it’s mine for fearing him so much I never told him I’m not a boy. My fault for not pressing my mom, after briefly telling her I wanted to be a girl. I detested going to the department store with my mother, who would take me each year for school clothes. I was led into the boys section, a man would help my mother pick out pants and shirts and then I was to go and try them all on. She would ask me how they fit and if I liked them. I never liked them. They were not what I wanted to wear. It wasn’t the clothes; it was that they represented the opposite of what I felt. I was made to wear a big sign that said, “Here is a boy, let no one dispute this, for he is a HIM and never to be mistaken for she, her or girl!” I was made to stand there, embarrassed because I was in the boys section being pinned down as what they wanted me to be, what they thought I should be.

I have made a few steps lately, small changes for most, but big leaps for me. And I think I am ready to stop hiding in my skin. I’m calling the therapist for an appointment. I kept putting it off; I kept thinking not yet, that there are other things to spend money on. I have to do something; I am just playing house right now, dressing up at home and not actually living my life. So tomorrow, I am calling the therapist so that I can get some help on my journey into transition. Sounds grand right? It’s a long, hard slog I know, but it will never be over unless I start.