The Inevitability of a Gender Transition

Fear necessitates Change

Physical changes tend to be the first thing anyone thinks of when they know someone is going through a transition. In that regard, I haven’t thought about my transition any differently than anyone else. Over these past 2 years I’ve sought to change much of my physical presentation in order to fit into society as the person I identify as. While I don’t necessarily care if I “pass,” I’m more focused on looking in the mirror at my naked body and seeing a shape that reflects my innate sense of self.

Some people will lambast Trans people with the notion that changing the packaging doesn’t change the product. It’s extremely insulting, but in retrospect, it’s a true statement. The product that is Kira has actually always been in here, and changing my external presentation will not change who I am, but rather how confident I am in presenting as the being I’ve always felt myself to be. Society at large doesn’t see this as anything other than an ploy to cover up something that they believe is immutable. This is the point where we get accused of being fake — no better than your average con-artist.

I have no doubt that there have probably been a handful of remarkable con-artists throughout history who have gone to great lengths to change their outer presentation for the sake of perpetuating their deception. Unfortunately, the depth and gallantry that the trans community has undertaken is the very antithesis of such con-artists. Where the con-artist endeavours to make someone believe a falsehood about themselves, the Trans individual seeks to destroy a falsehood that was forced upon them since birth. Their “con” was one that everyone in their life told them they had no choice but to maintain; a curtain pulled over their identity and self-perception that clouded every decision they’ve ever made - which sport to play, who to fall in love with, which bathroom to use, and what color to paint their house.

Ultimately the greatest con was the one that society convinced us to participate in. No doubt this was executed by mostly well-meaning people who were clueless to the timult one can have when confronting their own gender identity; as we know most people will never experience this struggle.

But what happens when we do?

I remember in the weeks before I came out to my wife, I was overcome by fear, but none more significant than what would happen to me if she rejected Kira. I know she could sense an intense depression; having recently given me an ultimatum regarding my alcoholism, I’m sure she thought the two issues were directly linked. In reality, over the preceding years I had moved into some of the most masculine (and labor-intensive) work a person can do - it pushed me further from anything even remotely feminine and reinforced a self-destructive tendency which materialized through excessive drinking. What she took as straightforward decline into alcoholism fueled by life’s general malaise was actually compensation for the hyper-masculine caricature I was made to play every day of my life.

What happened next was inevitable. For a few weeks prior to coming out, I had been behaving a little different, it’s because I knew what I had to do, but I was extremely clueless how to go about it. As the story goes, on the evening of August 27th 2016 I decided it was time to speak my truth. I was terrified that I would be kicked out. But by this point the intolerability of my own existence had reached an apogee that I could no longer push against. My wife didn’t tell me to leave, which was about as surprising to me as being told your spouse is Transgender. I guess we both shocked each other that evening.

After that day, it was as though a massive weight had been lifted. But while I aimed to transition quickly, my wife would have rather I’d taken a more moderate or leisurely route to becoming Kira. Unfortunately, after carrying this burden for more than 30 years, I was like a dog off it’s chain. I chased transition with as much fervor as possible, but still governed by the WPATH Standards of Care.

Now, 27 months after I started, I’ve done it all, or at least all that I deemed necessary for my own emotional wellbeing. While I had certain expectations of happiness throughout my transition, I have come to learn that those expectations are just as much a delusion of happiness that we often associate with the pursuit of something material. Transition itself is not a gateway to happiness, especially if it leads to familial gatekeeping, job loss, homelessness, or dozens other other negatives that clandestinely work against your becoming. But happiness is found in no longer living a lie; no longer living a life that was predetermined on the day of your birth by a random physician who made an observation of your genitals. To be free of the caveats that were forced upon you based upon your perceived gender, and all the “norms” that come with it, that is a source of happiness. It’s less about the transition and more about finally being able to live in a manner that feels organic; it’s finally feeling comfortable in our skin, finally being able to breathe.

While my transition may have seemed to have been executed at an expeditious pace, I feel that pace was dictated by the half wasted life that lay behind me. My mind now shifts to the younger generation and how they needn’t really rush.

Children who have accepting parents can simply begin living their truth prior to puberty without any medical intervention beyond counseling. The androgenousness of youth is a marvelous opportunity to actually find comfort in one’s gender long before a natal puberty has a opportunity to create dysphoria inducing changes that are irreversible at worst, and will require surgery at best.

For me, this is one of those things where the anti-transition crowd is often ignorant. They love to make wild proclamations about children being rendered sterile, or perpetuate the falsehood that they’re actually performing surgery on children. They completely don’t understand the process, and make no effort to do so.

While I was always destined to need (at least) a bottom surgery to feel comfort in my skin, the onset of my natal puberty has created more pain and emotional suffering than anything. Fixing this so late in life has required several surgeries, and depending on how hormones ultimately influence my body over the next few years, I may seek more. Knowing this, it becomes increasingly bothersome when there are intentionally incompetent individuals who think that their belief about gender should abrogate another’s agency over their own body.

Maybe this piece has gone off course, or maybe this is spot on.

I lived my life in fear of making this very necessary change, but it was inevitable. I wasted 39 years swimming against a riptide, and as such, I was destined to drown. If transition is inevitable, then why risk self-destruction? Push against your fears, accept your truth, and become the person you know you are. The sooner the better; don’t be like me, otherwise you’ll be looking in your rearview mirror and seething over the loss of something you can never get back — time.

At 42 years old, I finally feel comfortable in this skin. Don’t waste another day being someone you’re not.

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