<p>When I first saw gender-swapped pictures of myself, I cried. Maybe it was actually possible to like my body, my face.</p><p>What does it feel like to be transgender? It’s such a hard thing to pin down, almost like “How do you know that you are transgender?” Well, I didn’t, for almost forty years. I think it’s because I had no other experience to compare it to and I didn't have the words to explain my experience. </p><p>I now compare it to being inside an invisible itchy whole-body suit that is oversized and without a zipper. You fumble along as best you can, trying to be “normal” and “good” and “godly”, but your big hands and goofy feet make you mess up everything all the time. You bump your massive head against every doorframe, and it makes you so frustrated, because you must just not be trying hard enough. You know this thing is uncomfortable and hindering you, but you don’t know what it is and have no way to take it off.</p><p>I grew up in a very conservative Christian family and what my elders thought of the LGBTQ+ community was less than flattering. Everyone knew that I wasn’t the typical girly girl, and this led to a lot of people thinking I was “gay” (oh the horror!) in primary school already. The idea was so shameful that it was shut down immediately in my mind. I couldn’t even entertain the thought at that stage of my life, never mind thinking that I was transgender. I was simply a tomboy. That was it.</p><p>The thing is, I have always said that I should have been born a boy, which should be some indication of me not being fully comfortable with my gender assigned at birth from an early age. As soon as I could dress myself, the pink and the dresses my mom tried to put me in were out of the door. I preferred helicopters and action figures over barbie dolls and glitter. I imagined myself as a dread pirate and a knight in a castle, never the princess. I even involved my male cousin in my pirate adventures, and we flew on imaginary magic carpets and skateboarded down the very small incline in our yard. We played cricket with the neighbourhood boys, and I secretly taught my cousin some karate moves (sorry aunty).</p><p>I have a very distinct memory of when I was probably eleven or twelve. I had my hair cut short for the first time in my life and puberty hadn’t hit me yet. We’d also moved to a new place after my parents' divorce and the kids there didn’t know me yet. I was playing with some boys, and they just assumed I was a boy, (a fact which exhilarated me) and when they asked my name, I gave them a boy’s name. We had a great time until my mom called me, and they figured out I was a girl. I was saddened by the fact that I had to be a girl again.</p><p>When puberty hit, I had to learn how to be a woman, shaving body hair and dealing with periods and boobs. My mom had made it evident, even if she’d never said it out loud, that I was a woman now, there was nothing to be done about it, and I just had to accept it.</p><p>I had to unlearn things that were natural to me or learn to mask them. I always hugged people too hard or hurt them by accident because I was too strong. I had to stop doing things in certain ways because “girls don’t do that”. I had to change my walk to be more girly. I had to stop sitting in certain un-ladylike ways. I eventually had to stop playing cricket with the guys too.</p><p>I did not, however give up on Michael Jordan and the NY Knicks (basketball) and when the Harlem globetrotters came around to South Africa, I collected all the collectibles. As soon as I could get hold of it, I started playing NBA 2000 on the PC, creating my own teams etc. I was probably one of very few girls who had a favourite car (the Ferrari Testarossa).</p><p>I couldn’t imagine why anybody enjoyed wearing any kind of heeled shoe or dress (and I still can’t) when you could just be wearing jeans and a T-shirt with sneakers. And who would want boobs? I hated them from the start, and I hate them to this day. I hate purses, nail polish and makeup. I was never tempted by a bikini shop or glittery dress in a window.</p><p>I did a lot of self-censoring and self-shaming because of my religious ideas and because I took my Christianity very seriously from a young age. I tried my very best to be a godly woman and Christian soldiered on through my high school, university, missionary training, and even a few jobs. But besides doing my best at women’s Bible study, groups and even having female friends, it felt like there was some secret book they had that I hadn’t been privy to. I could never make sense of relationships between women (still can’t).</p><p>Looking back now, I can see that others perceived me as more masculine even at the time when I felt closest to God and my most feminine, than I saw myself. My mom’s alcoholic second husband was scared of me for some reason, for example. (That is a story for another time). I also believe they gave me a men's shawl at one of the villages we visited in India, so there may have been some confusion there already.</p><p>After my mom passed away in 2021, I moved to the Netherlands. By this time, I had gone through an extensive period of deconstructing my faith and coming out the other end a reluctant agnostic atheist.</p><p>It was here in the Netherlands that I promised myself that I would be true to being me, whatever that meant, I would wear what felt comfortable and do things that I wanted to do. I think it was that, combined with not being in survival mode anymore, that opened me up to new ways of thinking and new possibilities for examining myself.</p><p>When I finally reexamined how I felt and what felt right for me, I realised that I had a lot of gender envy and body dysphoria. I realised that I wanted the beard hair I had been taught to meticulously pull out. I realised that I didn’t mind body hair as much as I minded having boobs. I identified much more with the gender roles and interests typically viewed as male. I didn’t want to spend hours getting ready to go out, I wanted to take a quick bath and wash my hair quickly. I wanted to go swimming without a shirt and pee next to the road.</p><p>So, I started taking small steps towards confirming my gender identity. I grew out my body hair. I started using men’s body products. I shopped in the men’s section. Next, I asked a trusted friend if we could try out different pronouns and she helped me to choose a new name. I tried out the new name with her and a few close friends at first. Every little step felt good and affirming and exhilarating. Then, I decided to change my name and pronouns on Facebook, because it’s online and, I thought, fairly safe to do so. This had some unintended consequences as the people at work assumed that I was now out and changed my name at work, too. Even though it was much sooner than I had intended, it turned out to be a positive thing as it forced me to try out my new gender identity at work, which may not have happened for quite a bit longer. This too, felt right as I did.</p><p>I am now fully out as a trans man, and I have never felt that the world has more possibilities than I do now. I can finally embody the things I’ve always wanted to, without being ashamed of it. I still have quite a journey ahead of me as I’ve yet to go on hormones or have surgery to align my body to my mind, but I can honestly say that I’ve never felt better and more hopeful for my future. I feel free and happy. I hope that wherever your journey leads, that you can find happiness and freedom. If there’s one thing Jesus said that I still agree with it’s John 8:32, “the truth shall set you free”.</p>
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