“But I am Genderfluid”: When Transitioning is Binary, but Gender is Not
Okay — first things first: Transition does not have to be binary. There are many options out there for it to be whatever you want it to be, though some countries may be more accepting of non-binary transition than others. I am fortunate enough that my country fully recognizes non-binary transition, that one does not need to be binary trans to transition, and that one can even be gender non-conforming in their trans identity. In theory, trans men who want to wear skirts and makeup should thus not be gatekept from accessing HRT (Hormone replacement therapy) or SRS (sex-reassignment surgery) simply because they enjoy femininity.
I also subscribe to that idea, and I will stick to my own lane here and describe what that could mean for AFAB people: Not wanting facial hair or extra body hair, not wanting top surgery, not wanting bottom surgery — for reasons that are entirely from within what one prefers their body to look like (so not financial or scared for surgeries or unable for health reasons). Still wanting to wear clothing items we commonly associate with women more so than men. That sort of thing.
Now that we’ve cleared up that I don’t believe transition has to be binary — My transition is going to be, at least from a medical point of view, unless of course something will stop me. That means that there is not a side effect of HRT I would deem unpleasant — well, apart from potential balding, since I’d like at least to have a decade, maybe two, where I can have hair still. Okay, maybe there’s one other I’m not looking forward to: Acne. I was a mere 14 when I was put on birth control, not because I needed it to prevent pregnancies, but because I needed it to avoid hormonal acne.
The idea of having hormonal acne as a young person with gender dysphoria is terrible. I did not have too much acne, but it was there each and every month, like clockwork. My mom needed one look at my face to know what was going on “down there” and I absolutely hated it. On top of that, I have a skin picking disorder. My body’s riddled with scars from where I’ve picked my skin. Acne is absolutely perfect to start a new picking spot. It does also mean that zits don’t just come and go: they will be picked, and then kept active for at least a month or so, until the spot had enough and started to heal despite me trying to pick, and I’ve found a new spot.
But all the other effects of going on testosterone: Wanted. Desired. Needed. Even body odour — I mean, I could do without that one. But I still want it. It’s part of the deal after all.
There’s a strange disconnect between how I want people to see me, and how I see myself. Part of me blames it on being trans, on having to have pretended for so long, even to myself, that I was just a cis woman. That, perhaps, all of that will change once I’ve transitioned to a point where my voice has dropped, and I have had top surgery and most people start to read my body as male.
But then I am taking back to one of the last times I questioned my gender before fully submitting myself to the truth, where I asked myself how I would feel if I were to just be a man. As in, the person I am today, the personality I have — not so much the experiences, even if they shape us — but born as a boy.
“I would be happy, happier than I am today. I would take more pride in how I look. I would want the people to see me as a man. To interact with the world as a man. But- I think I would still have some interest in femininity. It would be like now, where there are times I enjoy experimenting with makeup, or pretty clothes. I’d be a crossdresser. Not always. Sometimes. I’d be pretty effeminate. Not always. Sometimes. I’d be pretty queer, and, I’d open myself up to having my manliness questioned every step of the way. Perhaps I’d feel terrible about that side of me, perhaps I’d then question if I were a trans woman. At the end of the day, if I now want to wear pants and a t-shirt and not do my nails and not wear makeup and wear flats — people allow me to do so. People allow women a certain level of gender non-conformity they do not allow men. Yes, men then generally see those women as non-attractive, but I don’t like most straight men “that way” anyway — and being non-attractive opens women to more platonic friendships than men. As a man, however, I’d not be as allowed to experiment the same way women are. I’d be bullied, ostracized, potentially attacked, simply for expressing a side of me that exists today, no matter the reason it exists.”
Obviously, the answer I had actually answered was simple — “Hey, [deadname], what would happen if you transitioned?” Because there’s no saying I’d want any of those things had I simply been born as a boy.
That brings us to me coming out — I had already “come out” before, but to random strangers on the internet that knew nothing about me, to an online friend of mine who, in an attempt to tell me she was trans, was so drunk at the time I knew she’d not remember the next day — the time I did it “for real” anyway. To my partner.
I was scared, scared I’d lose him. Scared that despite him having come out now as bisexual, he’d simply prefer to be in a relationship with a woman. That he enjoyed femininity more, even in men. That when he said he would date trans people, he referred to trans women, and not trans men.
Maybe that’s why I was so quick to add I was fluid.
Maybe I had to first see that he’d accept it, no matter the “degree of transness”.
Or that maybe he did not want to come out to the world that he also liked men.
Even if we both agreed that our relationship hadn’t been very straight from the start.
That he enjoyed the masculinity in my personality, but that didn’t mean he’d want it in my appearance.
Or maybe it was all about self-acceptance, needing that extra time to admit there was little “woman” left in me.
It was definitely all of those things. But even, to this day, I do consider myself quite fluid. Usually, I see it as something that’s my own business, that others do not need to see explained to treat me the way I wish to be treated. That’s true.
But today I want to explain it. I am still genderfluid. I am also a binary trans man. My medical transition goals are binary. My journey, the person I’ve become in the past thirty-six years, has strayed from the person I could have been had I not hid from myself for so long.
I realize that through the years I’ve felt three different gender identities the most strongly: Agender, bigender, and just… a man.
The more I accept myself, the more I realize that my fluidity was a response to the dysphoria, the disconnect, I felt. That they may fade the further I go, and the more I accept myself. That they likely still exist because I still feel like a fraud. Like a woman invading men’s places. Like I am appropriating men.
I’m okay with them fading over time, and I’m okay with them sticking around. Gender is a journey, we don’t always know where it will end. And we are free to use words that describe our current state, how we experience it today, without having to fear that tomorrow, we may have extra information.
So to our partners, our friends and family: Sorry, not sorry, if we came out as something else first. We’re just figuring ourselves out. We didn’t necessarily lie. We didn’t necessarily do it to “test the waters” (and even if we did, the world is hostile, stop blaming us, but blame those who continuously attack us!).
And to those of you understanding this piece as “genderfluidity is a phase”: No, no, it is not. But it can be part of an individual’s journey. That doesn’t make it non-valid as its own gender identity.
