Week One

T-minus god only knows how long – but I’m out, just about.

Many of my close personal friends, and more to the point the entirety of the internet (at least the denizens thereof who have basically ever come across me) know that I haven’t been comfortable with my assigned gender for a long, long time. I’ve been loudly and publicly nonbinary for years, and for all that time the constant misgendering has been painfully, harmfully dysphoric.

It’s taken me a long, long time to come to terms with what needs to be done. My particular nonbinary, which I’ve long classified as being firmly within the transmasculine camp, is in fact so much more closely aligned with the masculine that it feels more honest (not to mention, and I regret that I have to say this, and I apologise for it, more straightforward) to say I’m a genderqueer trans man.

This is in no way an abandonment of my nonbinary siblings, though I hope that they will understand – perhaps better than many – that identities are fluid, and my finally settling on one which doesn’t make me sigh and resign myself to yet another painful day of being assumed to be the wrong thing is really quite natural. The simple fact is this: however queer I may be (and I use the term to cover all the things), the default – the immediate assumption cis-het folks jump to – needs to be ‘he’. From there, I can comfortably queer up and challenge perceptions and all the rest as much or as little as I like, but the fact that the baseline assumption is always wrong is absolutely destroying me.

So, on Wednesday evening, I went to my GP and said that I’m a trans man and I require a referral to the GIC, and that I’d like to blend private and NHS care via GenderCare in London, assuming they can see me.

Thus began the process of being out. Cue a Facebook post, because that’s how we do things, no? Explained the situation (in neat binary terms, to make it easy to understand) and the he/him pronouns and the Mr honorific and all. Some forty-odd supportive comments flooded in, which was rather reassuring.

Email to my mother; heart attack. Her response was quick, short, and surprisingly supportive. I didn’t quite expect that, but damn, I was grateful for it.

In-laws: told in person. Slightly shocked look. Then, “If you’re happy, that’s fine by us.” A pause. “I can still call you pet, aye?” (Aye, mum-in-law, you can.)

That, I think, is the important people sorted out. Next up is work. That shouldn’t be too terrible, as there’s a recently-transitioned lady on my team. Hopefully they’ll have some clue what to do with me, then. (Hint: nothing much special, to be honest.)

The intention here is to blog the process, but we know how well that goes around me: we’ll see how many posts we get, or how regular they are. I’d suggest you don’t hold your breath, if I’m entirely honest, but we shall see.

Next up: a response from GenderCare, maybe?

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