Body of Work
Alex Coughlan (non-binary, they/them) grapples with gender dysphoria, and its counterpart — gender euphoria. They speak of their personal experiences, and send a message to all people — cis and trans alike. Alex is a third year Human Rights student at NUI Galway. They are the Students’ Union Gender and LGBT+ Officer.
TW: dysphoria; self harm; body image
There is a misconception around trans bodies. There are many. Unfortunately, many people don’t take the time to ask us what we feel, the thoughts behind our actions, or what is actually best for us (looking at you, TERFS).
I love my body. I want top surgery. These are far from mutually exclusive statements.
I first started questioning my gender around age fifteen or so. I had never even heard of the word transgender in a positive context. Luckily, I stumbled into some wonderfully inclusive feminist corners of the internet — but even at this, I didn’t come across the term Gender Euphoria until years later.
I didn’t even know the idea that I, as a trans person, could be comfortable in and love my body. I delayed putting to words my experience of gender, in part because of the feelings I was scared of having to have to be ‘trans enough’. I did not see myself in the narratives of trans people I was presented with.
I did not magically know from birth I wasn’t a girl. I still didn’t have the words to really describe my experience of gender. I couldn’t — I can’t — see someone who felt the way I did. I didn’t hate my body. I told myself I was just a girl who didn’t like typical femininity. I tried on and discarded styles and personalities like a myriad theatre quick changes.
I played the role, but I never found one that fit.
My feelings about my body are complex. I hope they always will be. I have years upon years of ingrained social norms and imposed beauty standards on a body designated female to work through. Most people I know have complex feelings about their bodies, trans or cis.
As a person with disabilities and experience with illness, my relationship with my body has been further complicated; drastically changed and grown over time. One of the few constants in this has been my appreciation of body for what it is. Despite all of my cursing and complaining about insomnia, despite my rebellious stomach and worse joints, despite all this and more: I have remembered how hard I fought the narrative of my being less than. My body being not enough. The narrative of me, being not enough of a person to love my body, to care for it as best I can.
So I remind myself of what I can do. Of the strength carried in fragile skin and bone. Strong enough to reject someone else’s narrative. Strong enough to accept my own.
There are days when I struggle. There are days racked with dysphoria, where I want to shed my skin, to shred my skin, to change it into something else. There are days I cannot bear the sight of my chest. I have not left my home without my binder in over a year. I must wait until I can afford top surgery. Sometimes it takes all I have not to scratch my skin raw again, to hurt until my brain quiets down. I reckon that is okay. I imagine that no matter how long I live, there will be days when I struggle with my body; the pain, how it appears, that it will never be mine or anyone’s perception of perfection. It doesn’t have to be.
I love my body. I love it enough to paint the walls and change the floors. To make it my own. My body is no rental apartment, no blink-and-you’ll-miss-it stop. It’s my home. My safety and comfort. So what if there’s a broken window? I can fix that.
When I told my parents that I will be getting top surgery, they accepted it as my choice with the parental grace of ‘supporting your child no matter what crazy shit they’re pulling now’. They took it much better than I was expecting.
After a few awkward questions, where my poor father wasn’t quite sure what he was asking, and I had no clue what he was on about, he essentially asked about regret. If, someday, I would be jealous of those who didn’t ‘give up’ what I had. I can now say what I wish I had the coherent thought process to explain then.
I am choosing surgery because I love my body. I want freedom in it. Top surgery is not cause for regret — for me, top surgery is a liberation. My body is amazing because it is mine, because of all that it gives me. I want to live in it in the best way I can.
My experience is by no means comprehensive of the relationship between any trans person and their body. But it is a trans experience.
It is an experience fifteen year old me longed to see was real and valid. It’s an experience which is as enjoyable as it is difficult.
So, once more for good measure: I love my body.
And I love that I can now say that without fear.
Opinions of writers do not necessarily reflect opinions of The Galway Observer, unless, of course, you agree and think the opinions are great. Then we totally agree. For sure.
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