I honestly didn’t think this day would ever come: the day I would think of myself as a “man”. I still am, and feel, trans and nonbinary and gender-nonconforming. I always will be all that. But today I can pair those adjectives, or labels, together with the word “man” to describe myself: no longer just a “boy”, not only a “guy”, somehow a “man”. My own version of “man”: a trans, nonbinary, gender-nonconforming man.
This feeling is bringing tears to my eyes — ironic, since “men” are not supposed, or allowed, to cry. I guess that’s one aspect of it being my own version of “man”, a nonbinary, gender-nonconforming man.
I wonder from where this shift has come…
I think it’s partly internal and partly external.
The internal part is that I’ve grown. I’ve grown immensely. I’m solid (despite my feelings of falling apart, which are also real). I’m mature, I’m an adult. Part of me is still a boy — and hopefully always will be — but I’m an adult now: the boy has, mostly, grown up. And I haven’t grown up into a “human”: somehow, I have grown up more specifically into a “man”. My own version of “man”, with a nonbinary body and a nonbinary, gender-nonconforming history.
Part of it is also external, though. The world perceives me as a “man”. Probably as a gay man more often than not. Sometimes as a transman. But I am walking in the world feeling perceived as an “adult human male” and feeling the weight, the pressure, of that along with the affirming beauty of it.
At the outdoor swimming-pool on Sunday one of the young male life-guards said to me, “I like your tattoos, man”. Yesterday morning, climbing with a cis-man coach, after I shared my frustration about being two-thirds through my life already, he replied to me, “You’re not even half-way through your life, man!” Then, yesterday afternoon, while doing physical therapy for my right shoulder with my cis-male trainer, we were talking about having to be careful to not comment on people’s form at the gym, especially with persons who appear/present female, because of being afraid of coming across as “creepy guys” or “patronizing guys”. Both the climbing coach and the PT/trainer are nice guys, people I can definitely add to my list of “good men”. All of these three interactions were very validating to me and I really like how I feel around my climbing coach and my PT/trainer, I like the “guy-vibes” that are almost buddy-like between us.
This is the beautiful part, for me, of being (perceived as) a man.
But there are also burdens. Burdens that sometimes feel huge, really heavy. Burdens due to the patriarchal conditioning/brainwashing we all get, due to the polluted waters of patriarchy in which we all live.
One of them is the risk (or reality) of being perceived as a “creepy guy”. At the outdoor swimming-pool this past weekend a young woman probably in her late twenties asked to share the lane with me. Once I was done with my workout, I stopped at the top of the lane and she starting chatting me up. We talked for about five minutes, she even asked me my name and whether I lived locally. It was all very pleasant and friendly — something I would have taken as totally “normal”, almost expected, when I presented female. What was shocking to me the other day was that all this was happening despite my masculine look. I kept thinking to myself, “Oh my gosh, I don’t look like a creepy guy!” and it felt so incredible but at the same time so fragile. Walking around the world looking like a guy I’m almost constantly concerned about coming across as “creepy”: with people presenting female, for fear of scaring them; with people presenting male, for fear of homophobia.
The other burden is the weight of hiding our deeper emotions. It’s less extreme than it used to be for men of older generations but it’s still there, it’s still real. Even when we do talk about emotions — and believe me, I do it a lot with my cis-men friends — we do it in a seemingly light, sometimes almost forcedly light-hearted, way. And always while doing something else (usually exercising, sometimes driving or having beers).
Part of the solidity that I feel has grown and taken roots in myself over this summer comes from the outside. Part of it is certainly my own inner growth and maturity; but part of it is a solidity that comes from the sense of “having to look solid” to the outer world. And this is something I share with all men in our society: something we learned from patriarchal upbringing. I’m sure that to a certain extent my doubts about “looking enough like a man” are shared with all men in the fear of needing to look “tough enough” in the outer world.
I know this tendency (I have been close to men my entire life) and I’m recognizing it even closer up now. And I’m feeling the weight of it. But I’m not going to succumb to it. I’m not going to embrace aspects of “masculinity” that are unhealthy and/or expected by an unhealthy system such as patriarchy. I’m going to continue being a “boy who can cry” and live as a nonbinary, gender-nonconforming man. I’m going to continue being brave by showing my vulnerabilities and expressing my emotions — like I did yesterday, both with the climbing coach and the PT/trainer when we were talking about accepting our aging bodies and I told them honestly that while I understand what they mean and appreciate their advice, I carry an additional burden of grief coming from the fact that I wasn’t allowed to live as my true self until my mid-thirties or early forties, a type of grief that they probably don’t experience. Saying that felt very vulnerable and I almost teared up while sharing with them, but it is my truth and I’m going to speak it. I’m going to continue voicing all my emotions, including my most tender ones, even while presenting male.
Living authentically as the nonbinary, gender-nonconforming man that I am is going to be my contribution to fighting patriarchy and redefining “masculinity” in a healthier, more wholesome way, hopefully increasing the beauties and reducing the burdens (for all).
The Little Prince and the Fox 