My Transition

To date I have written precious little about my transition itself or the reasons behind my de-transition except in a religious context (as in my bio). The religious context, though, is only a small part of the story, but one my detractors like to focus on. The whole truth, however, as to why I de-transitioned can be summed up in one word: deceit.

When I first started coming out to friends and family about my intention to transition, I used the typical transsexual shtick to explain it. I told people some version of the following: “I’ve always known I was really girl; I hate my body; I cannot stand living as a male any longer, etc.” This however was a lie. Why didn’t I tell the truth? Mostly because I felt it would be socially unacceptable to do so and I feared lack of support from those I cared most about in my decision.

The truth behind my reasons to transition would be better stated this way: “I’ve never fit in as a male physically or in the male social role. I am much more feminine than masculine and it would be easier to live life as a female than as a male. I prefer the female social role. I feel this option to become a heterosexual female is more socially acceptable than to live as a feminine gay man.” Essentially what I would have said were I to be honest was that I was becoming a woman because I didn’t want to be imprisoned in the male social role and felt I was a good candidate for making a passable female. I worried this would not be an acceptable reason to transition and my fears had a solid basis.

When I first entered into the world of transsexuality, it was through an emerging interface: the internet. Primitive chat rooms and message boards were my only connection to others who found themselves to be in similar predicaments. One of the first things I picked up being on these transsexual chat rooms and boards was what made one a “true” transsexual. Listening to the same mantra over and over again, I began to absorb it and even changed elements about my past in order to be match it. I wanted desperately to be seen as “real”. Telling people that I didn’t always “feel” I was female but rather was becoming one for convenience would put me in a negative box from which I might never escape. Previous to this time I lived in a world of rejection – mostly because of my feminine mannerisms and interests – and longed for belonging. The thought of being rejected by my fellow transsexuals was sufficiently motivating to deceive myself into matching my back story to the patterns they presented. Despite this, and the subsequent acceptance my story bought me, I couldn’t forget that it was fake.

So when I came out to others I used the same story I learned from other transsexuals feeling it to be story that would enable people to be the most receptive to my plight. The vast majority of people I came out to were accepting of me and my decision. I doubt their acceptance had much to do with my story and far more to do with the fact that most people in my life, specifically those who were adults (parents of my friends) assumed that I either was, or would grow up to be, gay. Coming out as transsexual wasn’t too big of a leap for them.

Regardless of their reasons for acceptance, I knew the transsexual community would only accept me if I stuck to my contrived story. It also didn’t hurt to validate them. In fact, over time I found the transsexual community to be a cesspool of people seeking validation – just like I was. My self-deception left an empty feeling inside – like I wasn’t completely whole. That hole left room for doubt to creep in – doubt that I might be doing the wrong thing, doubt that I wasn’t really “real.”

The easiest way to assuage that doubt was to talk to other transsexuals who were more than ready to affirm my validity as a transsexual. They would often share with me stories about themselves that they felt validated them as transsexuals, and I, often relating to such stories, therefore validated myself. In fact, any evidence a transsexual could conjure up, either from their own experiences, from the experiences of others, or from papers, essays, articles, and research that validated their existence as a “real” transsexual was often shared with others, who would do the same. Online tests and quizzes that validated one as female were especially popular as were studies that showed transsexuals as having a biological or intersexed basis for their transsexuality.

The more time I spent in the community (both online and later in person), the more I saw what I would eventually call the “cycle of validation”. Many transsexuals often doubted themselves, their validity as transsexuals, or the future that life would hold for them as women. Often older transsexuals seemed to be the first to comfort a younger transsexual when she began to doubt herself or bemoan her circumstances (be it affording surgeries, getting clocked, etc). They took on the role of what I can only describe as “mother hens” cautiously guarding and protecting her “chicks” (the younger transsexuals). They often helped reaffirm the younger transsexuals’ status as a transsexual. As an additional source of validation, or perhaps just fear mongering, the older transsexuals would often tell a doubting younger transsexual that life would be much worse for the younger transsexual if they quit transition (often using as anecdotal evidence horror stories of how many times the older transsexual quit transitioning/purged/married/divorced before they accepted transition and how happy they were now). Finally the older transsexuals guided the younger ones down the multi-step path to successful transition – where to get hormones, how to get your letters from your therapist, where to learn the female voice, and where to get SRS on the cheap. Usually the younger transsexuals showed extreme gratitude to the older transsexuals, but it seemed the younger transsexuals weren’t the only ones benefiting from this arrangement.

It seemed to me that the older transsexuals were often unhappy – even more so than their younger counterparts. They too seemed to have doubts concerning their transition – especially those who were still pre-op or had families. However, no sooner than an older transsexual would show this unhappiness than a wealth of her chicks would come to her rescue and tell her how much of an inspiration she has been to them. They acted as a cheerleading squad and validated the older transsexual’s life promising, even as they had been promised, that life would be better for them if they didn’t give up. And so it went, round and round, everyone validating and being validated by one another. Now perhaps this is the normal way a support group works, but it seemed peculiar to me often because of the hostilities that always seemed to lie just below the surface.

This hostility took two avenues. The first was a definitive dislike and envy shown toward passable transsexuals (particularly if they were young) who left the community. The argument, as presented by the older transsexuals, was that those who left the community only used it to get what they wanted but now would do nothing to further the community that did so much for them. While I could see their argument, especially as they put it, it seemed to me more likely that the frustration was over the envy the older, less passable, transsexuals felt toward one of their chicks who they groomed to the beautiful women they became, only to be abandoned. Leaving the community seemed to be the ultimate betrayal.

The second avenue hostility was directed at was anything that made a member of the community feel less validated. People, transsexual or not, who didn’t use the right terminology (such as referring to a male to female transsexual as “she”) often met disdain. Also people who questioned the source of their transsexual feelings or that of the transsexual community as a whole were rarely tolerated. Worse yet were those who claimed that transsexual identity was a choice, and still worse yet were those of a religious persuasion who implied the same. Often transsexuals would bring to the attention of the community any paper, research, or finding that they felt invalidated them as transsexuals so that it could be universally denounced.

I saw this validation and even saw myself using it, but what was my alternative? I had already engaged in such a degree of self deception that seriously questioning my motives at that point seemed incredibly counter productive. I rationalized that I was just afraid of the unknown and that my doubts would be quelled through transition. I should have known that too was a lie.

At the beginning of my transition I often interacted exclusively with other transsexuals. My experiences however were rarely positive. After one support meeting I found myself going to a restaurant with about eight other transsexuals who had received special permission from the restaurant prior to going. Once we sat down, I couldn’t believe what I saw. Most of the older transsexuals were making fools of themselves. We had male waiters and the transsexuals I was with were making incredibly lewd (and loud) comments toward the waiters. They made both real and implied sexual advances toward which made the waiters visibly uncomfortable. When the waiters were not present, similar lewd comments were made about other patrons of the restaurant (usually male), and unfortunately, in a voice that most of the surrounding tables could hear. I sat there in complete misery and utterly humiliated. I was trapped. Excusing myself and leaving would unavoidably leave a negative impression with the others. For one thing, I was much younger, only 19 and my leaving them might be interpreted as snootiness, and would not be validating to them.

That night made me question myself all over again. Was I doing the right thing? I obviously had nothing in common with these people! If they were “real” transsexuals then what was I? I rationalized away my fears however telling myself that I might had just met a bad group and reminded myself of the horror stories of those who stopped transition. Still, the experience left its mark and would be repeated throughout my transition.

I continued to transition. I kept up the appearance that I was like any other “normal” transsexual with all the exact same motivations they had. I told my therapist the same and had no problems getting hormones or my papers.

In time I went full time. There was no more validating of a time that I was doing the right thing than when I went full time. Why this was the case can be easily seen in this, one of my first experiences with being full time.

I moved out of state to go full time, living with someone whom I had met online, another young male to female transsexual. She was already living full time, had room for me on her couch, and got me a job working with her. My first full day there I was introduced to the local GBLT youth community which my roommate and her lesbian girlfriend were apart of.

I met the leaders of the youth group and everyone was really nice. Because I was new, I was told that I had to be interviewed. The women’s leader came to interview me. She asked me a little about myself, where I was from, how I found out about them, etc. She then asked when I discovered that I was a lesbian. I looked at her confusedly. I told her that I was not a lesbian, but that I was transsexual. Her jaw nearly hit the floor. She called to the men’s leader to come over and told him, “[my name] here, is not a lesbian, she is actually transsexual.” He looked shocked as well and asked me how long I had been living as a girl. When I told him only 2 days, he hugged me and told me, “Honey, you were born for this!” They both continued to insist to one another that they thought I was a lesbian.

Were this the only experience I had like this, I might have thought they were lying to make me feel welcomed, but I found over and over again, that people perceived me as female. This was never more evident than when I had to show identification. In the first few months of being full time, all of my identification was still that of a male. Most of the time I was questioned it was for using my “husband’s” credit card. Embarrassingly I would explain to the store clerks that it was actually me which usually resulted in a great deal of confusion and more explaining. Still, awkward as these experiences were, they certainly validated that I at least passed and was being actively perceived as being a natural born female.

During this time, I felt alive like I never had before and hopeful about my future. The things I wanted in life seemed attainable as I became more and more the woman I’d always desired to be. Life did seem much more manageable and I blended in well as a girl. This, however, brought its own problems.

I was used to people perceiving me as a girl. Unfortunately this often led to discussions that would invoke stories about my past. For instance, talking to a coworker about a movie you saw with your parents might need a little tailoring to not give away that you were a boy when you saw that movie. This was a common occurrence for me: tweaking and tailoring past experiences to fit my new image so as not to give any hint to my transsexuality. Unfortuately, this tweaking, felt like dishonesty. Here I was again, having to lie. Here I was, living the life I always wanted, the role I always intended, and seemed to have precious little holding me back, yet I was still lying. The lies were eating me from the inside. I felt my relationships could hold no real value because they were based on some sort of lie. At first it was easy to ignore because so many other aspects of my life were finally fitting into place, it seemed a small price to pay.

I had a few close male to female transsexual friends. One in particular was not an active member of the community, and it was to her that I grew the closest. We would often go to gay bars to hang out and meet guys. Neither of us were particularly interested in having a long term relationship with a gay male, but considering our pre-operative status, there wasn’t much of an option for relationships with straight males. During that time I met one particular guy whom I really fell hard for. He and I got along well and ended up spending a lot of time together away from the bar. He would often invite me over for dinner, or a movie, or just to talk. He was in his thirties, attractive, very kind and mature. He had a beautiful penthouse downtown overlooking the skyline. It was always nice spending time with him, and he seemed to enjoy my company.

We had been spending time with one another for several months. I really wanted to move the relationship beyond the friendship stage, but was waiting for him to make the move. He seemed to pick up on it and one night, after I made dinner for him, he sat down with me to talk about it. He told me that he really liked me a lot, that I was smart, funny, and beautiful, but that ultimately he was not attracted to me. He said he tried to imagine the two of us working out, tried to imagine me as a male but couldn’t do it. He said, “You are just too much of a girl, and I want to be with a guy.” I told him I was willing to postpone elements of my transition, such as surgery, but he told me that no matter what I did, he would always see me as a girl.

I left that night in a fit of tears. I was crushed. I began to look at my future and see it rather bleakly. If a gay male couldn’t accept me (who was still pre-op), how could I hope to have a successful relationship with a straight male. I felt the rejection all over again. I started to feel that I would never achieve my dreams, that ultimately I would be alone and sad. I then thought of the older transsexuals I knew and started to see why they seemed so unhappy all of the time. I started to have fears, real fears, that I would end up like them.

Eventually I got over the loss of the potential relationship and we remained friends. I continued to go to the gay bars but was far less forward with the men there. I continued to go to the transsexual support meetings and watched the cycle of validation. I continued to lie to those in the community about “always knowing I was a girl” and continued to lie to people in my day to day life about my past as a male. I continued to strive for my goal but felt nagging doubt that I would find the long term happiness I sought as a female, and much of this doubt rested on the idea that I would never find a man who would accept me. Despite my success as a female, something had to give.

I started doing the unthinkable. I started actually “coming out” to people in my regular life telling them I was really transsexual and that I used to be a male. Despite the initial shock shown by those few I told, they were generally accepting – if for no other reason than they found it hard to think of me as anything but a girl. I found it strangely relieving for them to know the truth. I felt like I wasn’t lying anymore (at least to them) and it felt good. I got to live as a girl, be accepted as a girl, but to not have to lie anymore about always being a girl.

I told my support group about my action and it was met with confusion and antagonism. They seemed upset that I had outted myself as if it were a personal blow to them. I didn’t really understand it. Fortunately not everyone felt this way. But everyone did feel that I was making a mistake. Most often they cited gruesome horror stories of what happens to transsexual women when they are found out to have once been men. These, as frightening as they were, seemed like they couldn’t happen to me, and fortunately, they never did.

Coming out to a few others helped somewhat with the constant deception, but what I couldn’t get past through the next few months was negativity about my future. I thought about my straight male friends back home. I thought about how they would react if they found out their girlfriend used to be a man. None of them would react well – not to the extent of violence, but they would all feel hurt and deceived. And there was that word again – deceived. If I was to have any success with heterosexual men, it would require deception. I debated at first telling them up front thus giving them the utmost level of honesty, but I knew that would turn off potentially accepting males had they just gotten to know me first. A bigger fear though of telling men up front was that they would be okay with my past. I didn’t want to end up with a tranny chaser, or someone who pursued transsexual women (though I knew a few male to female transsexuals who did and they seemed remotely happy). So if I wasn’t willing to tell the men I dated up front, it meant I’d need to deceive them. The thought was terrifying. What if we really ended up liking one another? When would I tell him? The longer I waited the worse the reaction would be, but if I told too early, he might reject me. And if he did accept me, would he want children like I did? Should I tell me children about my past? Would my children accept me or would they reject me as their mother? Rejection. Lies. Rejection. Lies. No matter what I did, it always seemed to lead back to the same place. I began to lose hope that the future held the value I once hoped it would.

I began to wonder if I should continue transition. It was becoming increasingly stressful. I knew that if I continued, more of the changes to my body would be permanent (especially if I got SRS), and as much as I hated to admit it, living life as a lonely, rejected, male seemed preferable (if only slightly) to being a lonely, rejected, transsexual female. At least as a male I wouldn’t have to lie anymore, and I could go back to church (something that previously brought a lot of peace).

These doubts culminated into action. I began to openly question my transsexual status. Whereas before I had kept my story to the status quo, I began to challenge it. First I did so in private. I needed to determine if I was really a transsexual or not. If I was a transsexual, then I felt I should continue transition for fear of repeating the same mistakes so many older transsexual had. However, if I were not a real transsexual, then I should de-transition and wouldn’t be doomed to a miserable life as a male. I began to analyze my motivations in ways I had always been afraid too.

This analysis led to experimentation. I would occasionally go to the bars or out with friends dressed as a male (or as male as I could get). I wanted to see how terrible it was. It wasn’t really all that bad, but I knew I couldn’t base my potential future life as a male on a few trips to the mall or to a bar. I needed something more conclusive.

Up to that date I had been a virgin. I never had sexual encounters with anyone (heterosexual or homosexual). At the time I was living two other transsexuals who were also part of my support group. The older of the two had a daughter from a previous marriage who came to visit. She, a self proclaimed bi-sexual, found me interesting and attractive. We sat watching a movie one night, and she asked me if I still had my penis to which I affirmed. We started talking about sex and it was uncovered that I was a virgin. She propositioned me. Having never had sex before and in the midst of doubting my transsexuality, in addition to being a stupid kid, I decided to try it out. We had sex that night, with her on top doing everything. Afterwards, she left and went to bed on the couch. I lay there feeling guilty and filthy.

All hell broke loose the next morning. The older transsexual I was living with found out what we had done, and kicked her ex-daughter out and threatened us both with violence. I fled my home and moved in with my close transsexual friend whom I mentioned earlier. I felt more lost than ever and didn’t go to work for a week. Obviously the sex hadn’t solved anything – just made me feel terrible. I never wanted to do that again.

I still questioned everything though, whether transition was right for me. I was lost in a sea of confusion – I had so many evidences for my being transsexual but also had many that seemed to point to the fact that I was not – the greatest of those being that my experiences seemed to differ so much from the other transsexuals I knew. I mean, I wasn’t even doing my transition the “right” way.

Right around this time, the 9/11 attacks happened. This provoked a telephone call from my parents who decided to come and visit me. I was very happy to see them and the visit overall was emotional, but rewarding. I missed them tremendously having not seen them since I started full time.

Reflecting on their visit I began to wonder if I should go back to the life I once knew. I wondered how bad it would be to see my old friends again and my parents as well. I needed stability and support and wasn’t getting it any longer from the transsexual community. In fact, the more I interacted with them the more I was reminded of how different I was from them, the more I stopped participating in the cycle of validation, the more they began to doubt me. My other relationships I made while living full time were fulfilling, but ultimately still fragile enough I didn’t feel I could rely on them like I could that with my old friends.

I decided to go to home for a visit and did so in male clothing. My friends, when they saw me, were ecstatic. We spent a great deal of time talking and stayed up all night together. I felt accepted, which offered a bit of confusion. On the drive home the next day, I thought about the experience. My friends obviously knew I was living full time as a girl, but that didn’t seem to bother them. In fact, they treated me very well, even careful to use proper pronouns even though I was dressed as a male. They seemed to accept me, not as the male they once knew, nor as the female that I lived as now, but rather as a sort of hybrid between the two. This revelation had important implications.

I stated to realize that I could probably live life as male again, however, it couldn’t be as a standard male. Living as a male had only brought pain and sadness but that is because I adopted all of the social roles expected of a male. My friends, armed with the knowledge that I did not see myself as male and preferred the female role, treated me differently. I could be myself with them in a way I never could before. It seemed reasonable that if I came out to everyone I met, from here on out, that I wasn’t a typical male and stopped trying unsuccessfully to adopt that role, that I could remain a male (avoiding painful surgeries and the potential future social problems) and still be at least comfortable.

This thought continued to linger as the time went on. I continued to live my life as a female for a period after that, but I continued to think about this extraordinary idea. It still wasn’t enough though to provoke me to de-transition. I needed one more tipping point. I needed absolution that I would make it as a male were I to de-transition. I needed to know, not think, but know, that I wouldn’t be back trying to transition again if I de-transitioned. That knowledge could only come from one source. I went to God.

It could be explained that I was merely looking for a reason to de-transition, or it could be explained as a miraculous occurrence, but I got my answer from God, and it was that I would find life bearable if I de-transitioned. So with that final motivation, I took steps to do so.

It has been many years since then. I am a male, but not like I was before. I’m much more open about my situation, about my interests, and my preferences. I’ve never been able to stop analyzing the nuances of my condition. When asked now if I’m a real transsexual, I reply with a resounding yes. However I feel fortunate to understand my own condition enough to have learned to deal with it. I realize this cannot be said for all transsexuals, and as such I make no judgment nor decision with regard to their transition status, my path is my own. I still remain an active member of several online communities, but often my story is met with extreme skepticism usually because of its religious overtones (regardless of how minor a part they played), and on more than one occasion I have been publicly scorned and rejected. Fortunately I no longer need their validation.

I have written this to explain to both allies and enemies why it is that I made the decisions I did. I realize that my enemies will only use it to further invalidate my claims that I am a real transsexual, but it doesn’t matter. I hope someone will read this, someone who needs to know what I have written, someone who isn’t looking for validation but is trying to better understand their own situation and will look for parallels in our experiences (if any are to be found). I hope my experiences will better prepare them to make their own decisions.

Let me end by saying that transition was not a mistake for me and I do not regret it. It was a path on the road to the person I have become, and I am better for having experienced it.