The Little Prince and the Fox

Despite my recent concerns and waking up feeling really worried and lonely yesterday, at the end I had an absolutely wonderful weekend. 

The first aspect that made it so wonderful was that I spent both days, almost wholly, in company of very good friends: a relaxing afternoon & evening going for a walk, enjoying downtown, and then chilling and chatting at my place (my housemate was away) with one of my non-binary friends on Saturday; another fun and physically strenuous (in the good, satisfying sense) adventure with one of my best climbing buddies all day today. 

This it itself would be enough to make it a lovely weekend for me. 

But there’s more. It’s not that I “just” saw and hung out with good friends and did relaxing and fun things — I’m not saying that this wouldn’t be good enough, I’m just saying that there was even more! 

Both of these friends are extremely affirming of my non-binary/trans-masculine identity, each in their own way, and both in ways that are extremely important and nurturing for me. 

Both of these people made time for me, to spend basically a whole day with me, both of them making it clear that they enjoy spending time with me as much as I do with them. 

Both of them made space for my needs, the practical/logistic ones as well as the emotional ones. I’m still afraid every time I state my needs, I’m afraid it will make people — even friends — turn away from me, so it always requires a big effort or a lot of courage for me to ask for what I need. With both of these friends this weekend I did so, worried that it might make them change their mind about making plans with me, but fortunately it didn’t. And their availability, their forthcoming generosity made me feel so heard and so held...!

For example, my non-binary friend confirmed their availability to be with me around my top-surgery and helped me brainstorm ways to coordinate with other friends and/or acquaintances in the local trans/non-binary community who could offer support. 

My climbing buddy, instead, took me ice-climbing: I had never done it before but expressed some interest when he told me about his many fun adventures ice-climbing; so he lent me not only ice-climbing gear but also extra clothes to keep me warm; he came to pick me up and drove us to a beautiful National Park. And when I said, “I might not be able to climb anything on ice”, he replied, “Oh no, I’m pretty sure you’ll love it and be great at it” — and indeed, I loved it! 

In addition, with both of these friends through in-person interactions (which are so vital for me), I had the opportunity to reconnect to, and express, some of the most important parts of my identity: my non-binary/trans-masculine identity with both of them; the roles of power, my dress-style preferences and the “hippie me” with my non-binary friend; the strong, adventurous athlete with my climbing buddy. 

Finally — last but not least — the activities and time spent with my two friends this weekend gave me proof of the recovery and good health of my respiratory system. While there undoubtedly is some real asthma (I’ve also received confirmation from several medical doctors that many people have been left with asthma after their COVID infections, i.e. it is a REAL permanent “side effect”), a lot of the chest tightness and/or shortness of breath that I often experience is due to a specific type of anxiety due to loneliness: in fact, as soon as my non-binary friend came over yesterday and we started on our walk and I was able to talk with them & listen to them, the chest tightness that I woke up with in the morning was gone; and with my buddy today, apart from climbing ice for over three hours at an altitude of 10,000 feet, we hiked in & out for a total of at least 6.5 miles with over 1,000 feet elevation gain, a lot of it in fresh snow or ice and carrying a 20-pound backpack of gear, at below-freezing temperatures, and I hardly had any shortness of breath. 

More proofs and good reminders that I don’t need a pill to keep me off anxiety or depression: I need human interaction, preferably in person and as much as possible with good, sincere friends; I need to be physically healthy so I can be physically active (& thus express the athletic, adventurous part of my identity); and I need my non-binary/trans-masculine identity to be seen, appreciated, affirmed in words and actions. 

I guess like most of us, I need to be seen, heard, and held. And I need to feel and see that I’m not always doing it all on my own.

Once again this morning I was awake at 5 o’clock and couldn’t fall back asleep — same as yesterday. What is worrying me now, and thus disrupting my early-morning sleep, is my upcoming masculinizing mastectomy. 

On the one hand, I can hardly wait to do it and can’t wait to go bare-chested at the swimming-pool and climbing outdoors as soon as I’ve healed and it’s warm enough. 

On the other hand, though, I’m also starting to get really worried for many different reasons. 

First of all, I’ve never had surgery in my life so I simply don’t know what to expect and I’m terrified of the risks/side effects. I’m also very concerned about the recovery, the forced inactivity, and what all that might entail for my (mental) health. 

Moreover, with this particularly bad flu season and COVID rampaging again and all the other illnesses going around, I’m extremely worried and afraid — reasonably — of getting sick again, which would not allow me to have my surgery at all. 

But what has been keeping me awake the past couple nights is another concern: it’s the worry of not having the support that I thought I would have for my surgery. I’m afraid that the friends on whom I was counting for practical, logistic, and emotional support might not be available or as fully available as they were a few months ago. 

When I first made the decision and started all the legal/practical procedures to get my top-surgery done, I had a solid support network of three local friends and one or two very close friends who could have come in from California: i.e. a total of five people on whom I could have counted to actually be with me, at my place, at the hospital, before, during and after surgery. On top of all my “remote” friends, of course, who are there for “online” emotional support. 

Apart from one exception, all my “remote” friends are still there and I know they will be available on the phone, via email or to video chat. But for my local friends and the two who could have flown in from California the situation has changed and for different reasons none of them will be able to actually come and stay with me before, during, or after my surgery. And I haven’t found anyone who will be able to do so. I don’t even know who will drive me home from the hospital after the surgery — which is something I absolutely have to figure out because I won’t be allowed to drive myself home after the general anesthesia. 

There’s two aspects of all this that is keeping me awake in the wee hours. 

One is practical: who will drive me to and back from the hospital on the day of the surgery? Who will help me with the practical things like food and lifting things around the house in the first, hardest days of recovery (when my housemate will be away on vacation)? Who will stay for the night after the surgery to make sure I’m okay?    

The other is emotional: how can I have failed to have a support network around me? How can I have failed at this once again? How can that support network that appeared to be present a few months ago have disappeared now? What did I do wrong? What do I do wrong, time and again, when it comes to close relationships? Or maybe it’s simply one question — the same old problem of mine: I do have plenty of wonderful, loving, supportive friends; but each and all of them have other more important things and/or persons in their life, other things and/or persons that they have to prioritize ahead of me: they have their own families, jobs from which they cannot take time off (or from which they understandably don’t want to take time off for my surgery), or their own issues and struggles. For each and all of them there is something/someone else before me. Understandably so because that’s how they have built their lives, based on their choices, and how I’ve built my life based on my own choices. 

But this lack of support for my surgery now brings back the question to me: have I been making the “wrong choices”? Where do I keep failing at close relationships?  

(And of course I have similar worries for the upcoming holidays, too, in particular for New Year’s which means so much to me, but those worries are “just” emotional, not practical.)

Tonight I took myself out on a date. 

Just a few days ago, I discovered that one of the cafes in town has live music on Thursday nights. So this evening, despite the freezing temperatures, I decided to take myself out and go check it out. I was anxious and doubtful because I’m still feeling very uncomfortable and fearful of being indoors with many people (especially since nobody except for me wears a mask), but I decided to give it a try anyway, telling myself that if it was too crowded I could just leave. 

Fortunately for me, the cafe was almost empty, both downstairs where the food & drinks are served and upstairs where the jazz quartet was playing. So I was able to indulge myself with a hot chocolate and a piece of cake and live jazz. 

It felt so good! 

As I melted into the little couch in the corner farthest away from the musicians and the half-dozen other people present, I finally felt myself relaxing and coming alive again like I hadn’t done in ages. I soaked it all in: the music, the hippie/queer/cozy/inclusive atmosphere, my hot chocolate and cake — all of the warmth from the music, from the food, from the other people. 

And then, the music became irresistible for me to listen to while sitting down. I had to get up and dance, even if just quietly in the corner. And that, too, felt so good! The extra anonymity given to me both from being knew & unknown in town and from the N-95 mask covering almost my whole face was a huge liberation. I could feel my eyes smiling, reflecting the smile on my lips under my mask, while I could also feel my whole body soften, loosen up, let go of accumulated tension, and come alive. 

When the musicians took a break and I felt I had had enough “social risk” for the time being, I decided to take myself for a walk in the pretty downtown. So pretty with all the holiday lights — and even prettier in the freezing (literally!) cold weather. So cold but so dry and as such not unbearable, on the contrary, enjoyable and enlivening. It reminded me of all those winter evenings I spent — and enjoyed — walking around in different towns in Europe, often in the mountains and/or cold regions. Towns or cities with a proper winter, with really cold but dry cold weather, and snow, for weeks, for months. How I used to enjoy it (if I could then get a real, hot summer, too)! 

I suffered so much cold when I was living in coastal California: cold because even if the temperatures are in the low 50s (Fahrenheit) it’s f***ick damp. It’s wet. And it’s often cloudy/foggy. And it’s precisely that terrible, thick moisture that gets into your whole body and makes you cold in a way that no moving around, no activity, no hot food can really keep you warm enough. It just seeps into you. 

But dry cold is completely different and I had forgotten how much I can enjoy it. I was reminded of it tonight: after the music and small social interactions enlivening me and bringing back a relaxed smile to my face, the dry, crisp cold woke me up fully and broadened the smile on my face even more.  

I guess that taking myself out on dates like this more often could be good for me..!?

How can it be that people still keep misgendering me so much, so often??? 

It’s gotten worse lately — or, at least, that’s how it feels to me. Probably it feels worse to me, on the one hand, because I’m feeling more and more masculine, more and more like a boy and therefore having people refer to me as “she” or “her” is more alienating than before, more alienating than ever; on the other hand, because having been sick and now trying not to get sick again has reduced my social life almost exclusively to interactions with strangers instead of with my friends & buddies who were so affirming of my boyish identity, not only using my chosen name & correct pronouns but also actually treating me like a boy. 

But how can it be that I still come across to strangers as a female or woman without a shadow of a doubt (on their part)??? 

My voice is deeper than months ago. When my speech therapist measured its pitch a few months ago, my voice was already in the non-binary range and even into the higher part of the male range, technically. 

I have always had a naturally angular, quite masculine face with a strong, squarish jaw. And although I don’t have proper facial hair, yet, the hairs above my upper lip have thickened to the point of being a fair, teenager-like, little mustache. 

My hairstyle is a particular undercut that is most often seen on (male) climbers and/or queer persons and/or boys/young men; and often in public places I wear a beanie anyway. 

Realizing, also thanks to suggestions from other non-binary/trans-masculine friends, that sometimes my clothing could give me away as a “female”, I finally went to get some men’s clothes yesterday and wore them today: very masculine (albeit not too baggy) clothes that over my binding bra completely hide any residuals of evident feminine body parts on me. 

And yet, despite all this, at the library this evening one employee referred to me as “she” when talking to her colleague about me — despite my men’s clothes, despite no “feminine body curves” showing, despite my big shoulders and narrow hips, despite my mask and beanie…

Is it the mask I wear — does it cover the most “masculine” parts or attributes of my face (square jaw, little mustache)? 

Or is it my voice, or the intonation of my sentences or the wording I use, that still give me away as a “non-male”? 

Is it the lack of an Adam’s apple? 

What is it? What the heck is it that still makes people automatically and undoubtedly take me as a female/woman and thus misgender me? 

It’s driving me nuts. I hate it. It frustrates me, makes me angry, infuriates me. But also, more and more, it makes me feel alienated and depressed. Alienated from the world that apparently sees me in a completely different way form how I see myself, a world at odds with me. And depressed because I feel unseen and misunderstood, over and over and over again. 

Now I really, fully understand why so many trans and non-binary people get so deeply, acutely depressed even to the point of not wanting to leave their house or be seen in public… 

Oh, the memories brought back by this song [“Hot & Heavy” by Lucy Dacus]… 

Being back here makes me hot in the face

Hot blood in my pulsing veins

Heavy memories weighing on my brain

Hot and heavy in the basement of your parents’ place

You used to be so sweet

Now you’re a firecracker on a crowded street

Couldn’t look away even if I wanted

Try to walk away but I come back to the start

Led me to the floor even though I’m not a dancer

Ask me all the questions that your parents wouldn’t answer

How could I deny it, diamond in the rough

You let me in your world until you had enough

You knew that I wanted you to bend the rules

How did I believe I had a hold on you?

You were always stronger than people suspected

Underestimated and overprotected

When I went away it was the only option

Couldn’t trust myself to proceed with caution

The most that I could give to you is nothing at all

The best that I could offer was to miss your calls

Being back here makes me hot in the face

Hot blood in my pulsing veins

Heavy memories weighing on my brain

Hot and heavy in the basement of your parents’ place

You used to be so sweet

Now you’re a firecracker on a crowded street

Couldn’t look away even if I wanted

Try to walk away but I come back to the start

And it happens over and over, and over and over again

Over and over, and over and over again

I wish I was over it, over it, over it, over it

A hidden gem, my own goldmine

You had the wide and wild eyes

You were a secret to yourself

You couldn’t keep from anyone else

Now you’re the biggest brightest flame

You are a fire that can’t be tamed

You’re better than ever, but I knew you when

It’s bittersweet to see you again

[Trigger warning: trauma (re)surfacing]

I’m feeling very lonely and scared. Terrified, actually. Terrified by what might be surfacing to my conscious mind, terrified of what I actually feel pushing, pressing onto my conscious brain. I can feel it pushing almost physically. It’s there, something terrible and dark, something pushing to come up from some unfathomable, terrifying depths. I’m getting inklings of it at night, inklings from my dreams, but also clues from daytime triggers, like the instinctive and partly new responses I’m having to (unwanted) attention, to behaviors that indicate that some person is seeing me as an attractive woman. 

One the one hand, I crave human connection, in-person interactions, and even intimacy — and the increased risks related to COVID and other seasonal illnesses are terribly frustrating to me, an extremely irritating obstacle for me. On the other hand, though, on top of the reasonable fear of getting sick (again), which holds me back from many social interactions, there’s also a deeper, maybe darker fear I feel towards closeness and/or intimacy — which maybe explains why despite apparently (i.e. according to so many people) being and having always been attractive and “hot” and fun and funny and interesting and smart, I have so often failed at healthy and/or long-term committed intimate relationships. 

As the bodywork practitioner Licia Sky said, “Just as you can thirst for water, you can thirst for touch” , I often feel, and often have felt, a “hunger” for human touch, i.e. a super intense and sometimes almost unbearable craving for human touch and closeness and intimacy. And yet, I often also feel a strong, instinctive, gut-level rejection for attention and/or closeness when it comes from certain persons or certain types of people or certain patterns of interactions. I particularly feel this strong rejection or repulsion when the attention I’m getting is “attention towards an attractive woman”, i.e. when the person(s) giving me that attention see me as an attractive woman/girl/female: this feels painful, irritating, frustrating, and even threatening to me. 

Is this “only” due to my gender-dysphoria and/or being a non-binary/trans-masculine person, or is there, instead, something deeper/darker going on?

If only people would learn to do their own small share in collective responsibility and just wear a mask…!!! (And if only the CDC were more responsible…!!!)

https://www.npr.org/2022/12/07/1141372567/cdc-director-rochelle-walensky-advises-on-the-tripledemic

[Trigger warnings: explicit language about genitalia, sexual intercourse, and gynecological visit/examination.]

I’m a boy. A boy with female genitals but a boy nonetheless. 

Today I had a weird but probably the best ever gynecological medical experience. It was my first gynecological visit in a couple years and the first one since starting my “trans-journey” explicitly. 

Fortunately, gynecological visits have never been too triggering or upsetting for me. I’ve always taken them in a very practical, matter-of-fact way, as any other type of medical examination. After having my first sexual intercourse involving penetration at 18, I went to have my first gynecological visit simply because I knew it would be wise for me to do so, to get “things checked”. When it became clear that my first relationship with a boyfriend was “serious” (exclusive, committed, monogamous), I went to my doctor (who also happened to be my gynecologist at the time) and got on “the pill”. I’ve always taken this kind of thing in a very practical way, also partly because I enjoy sex very much but am extremely careful about doing things safely. 

Today’s visit was with a new doctor, through my new health insurance, and the first gynecological visit since getting on testosterone, since deciding to get a masculinizing mastectomy, since changing my legal name and pronouns to align with my non-binary/trans-masculine gender identity… And one of the things I intended to discuss with this new doctor today was the option — pros and cons — of doing a gender-affirming hysterectomy. 

I didn’t really know what to expect and since I had to go to the “OB/GYN clinic” which includes lots of different “women’s health services” I was expecting to be addressed as “M’am” more than once. But actually, not only was I never addressed as “M’am” there, I also had one of the best, most gender-affirming, satisfactory, and gentle medical experiences in a long while. Everyone interacting with me addressed me by my chosen first name and referred to me either with the “they” pronouns of my choice or neutrally as “the patient”. When the new gynecologist walked into the examination room, she introduced herself and then asked me immediately, “What are your preferred name and pronouns?”. I was so (pleasantly) surprised that before replying I exclaimed, “WOW, thanks for asking!”. The doctor then proceeded to ask me how I’ve been feeling on HRT and whether the bleeding that I’m still getting with my monthly period is gender-dysphoric for me; moreover, before starting the actual physical examination, she asked me if any anatomical terms are triggering for me or whether I’d want her to avoid using any particular term. No doctor, and in particular no gynecologist, has ever asked me such a question — but now I truly believe every doctor, particularly doctors examining genitalia and other possibly gender-dysphoric body parts, should ask every patient. During the physical examination itself, the doctor was gentle and warned me in advance of each step. Then, we talked at length about the practical aspects of a gender-affirming hysterectomy. Finally, as the visit was coming to an end, I sighed and said, “This feels so weird. This has been one of the best visits I’ve ever had with a doctor but it also feels weird to have my female body-parts checked and discussed when I feel like a boy…”. The doctor responded in a kind, understanding way and added, “Next time we see each other, we can have the visit in the endocrinology clinic so you don’t have to come to the women’s clinic, if that feels more comfortable for you” — WOW! Of course, I promptly accepted her offer — and I might actually be seeing her again next summer to set a date for the gender-affirming hysterectomy (if everything goes well before then)… 

For the first time in a long while, today I felt truly seen and heard by a medical professional, and receiving all that gender-affirmation both on the emotional and on the practical/medical level felt really good!

Last night I had a very vivid dream: a stranger (getting on a bus or into an elevator with me) asked me kindly, “Are you male or female? I cannot tell from your voice…”. Their question elated me: it felt like the best thing possible I could get from a stranger, i.e. their not knowing whether I’m male or female — or other…! I also realize the importance of the detail of the stranger in the dream not being able to gender me specifically because of my voice: in fact, I am struggling a bit lately with the disappointment or impatience of my voice not dropping lower (or faster). 

Being sickly for so long is very hard for me not only because it’s concerning and boring, but also because it undermines the most important parts of my identity. Being ill & sickly for so long and thus unable to do almost any of my usual activities is alienating for me. It robs me of my “scientist” identity because I’m too fatigued (& getting splitting headaches) to do any work that requires concentration. It robs me of my “mentor/advisor” identity because I’m too ill or tired to supervise my mentee regularly or to go on campus and interact with the students. It robs me of my “athlete” identity because, of course, I cannot exercise — I can hardly go for walks still… In particularly, it robs me of my “climber” identity because I cannot climb, or even hang out with my climbing buddies — and I really miss them. And these losses now are also combined with the loss of my “non-binary/trans-masculine/boy” identity because not being able to see my male climbing buddies and the students on campus effectively robs me of pleasant, affirming male company. For over three weeks now I’ve been interacting (in person) almost exclusively with strangers and my housemate, all of whom see me as a woman, so I’m being constantly misgendered and it feels awful: it’s painful, frustrating, alienating. Moreover, there are the practical aspects that enhance the feeling of being robbed of my “non-binary/trans-masculine/boy” identity because of my illness: I cannot exercise, so I cannot enhance the physical, visual aspect of my masculinity through muscles and physical strength; I cannot go get a haircut, to look more masculine in that sense either; I cannot go get the boyish/manly clothes that I need (I need a new wardrobe for the winter!!!). So I effectively look less masculine even to myself in the mirror and this hurts immensely. 

I need to get back that boy, that athlete, that scientist in me ASAP. I need it for my emotional and mental health (on top of physical health).

On the other hand, though, there is a little silver lining to all this forced idleness: I have rediscovered the little artist in me. My “artist” identity has had the opportunity to come up to the surface to breathe and express itself again. And this feels good. 

I have started sketching again, including drawing my own second tattoo and the fourth tattoo for my oldest friend (a surprising request that warmed my heart like few other things ever). And yesterday, thanks to another dear friend (who is a real artist!), for the first time ever I submitted three poems of mine to a poetry contest! I didn’t do it for the competition or prize, nor even with the hope of any of my poems being published. And yet it was one of the most relieving and empowering, liberating and exhilarating feelings of my life. A huge affirmation: I am an artist (albeit one with hardly any talent and very moody creativity)!!! But it’s not just that. It goes further, deeper. It’s connected to the act of publicly sharing those poems, those very intimate poems of mine, with other people: with total strangers but also people who have something in common with me since they also, supposedly, write poems themselves and might use this means to express their own feelings, emotions, troubles, fears, joys. Moreover, these three poems of mine are related to, and were inspired by, a very complicated (and in many ways painful) relationship, a situation that I’m still struggling to let go or make sense of. And recently I have had the feeling that if I had the chance of sharing some written form of art more broadly, to tell my story about all that, it would bring me more — and maybe ultimate — healing and peace.

So submitting these poems feels like the closest I can get, at least for now, to that “public yet anonymous act of healing disclosure”. I am not saying “This is how I felt” just to myself or my therapist or my closest friends — which is good in itself but somehow doesn’t feel enough to me. I have gone one step further, taking my courage and vulnerability to stand up and say “This is how I felt” to a whole community of strangers who will read those poems.