The Little Prince and the Fox

Walking in downtown with one of my closest non-binary/trans-masculine friends last night we had one of our best queer-affirming moments. Not just gender-affirming, but more generally queer-affirming as in challenging the status quo of several normativities — gender, sexual orientation, type of relationship. 

This person is, like me, AFAB non-binary more masculine-presenting (for now). They have been on HRT for longer than myself and already had top-surgery. Our friendship is only platonic, there’s definitely no sexual attraction or interest between us, but we feel comfortable with each other so we tend to be touchy-feely with each other and have a very affectionate and camaraderie attitude between us even in public — to the point that more than once people on the street (usually men) have asked us, “Are you guys together?” — whatever do they care?!? 

As we came out of the chocolate shop last night, a very cis-heteronormative couple looked at us with puzzled expressions on their faces and then looked at each other as if hoping their partner might have figured it out and then looked at us again, trying to figure us out, as if trying to find the “box” in which to put us — and it was just hilarious! And so empowering and liberating! 

We were definitely very evidently queer: both of us presenting partly feminine and partly masculine, both in our clothing and in our bodies; both of us with non-binary voices that cannot be fully placed as masculine or feminine; and with this behavior or body-language between us that could be “just close friends” or a “couple” or whatever other type of close, comfortable and somewhat intimate relationship. 

There’s no box. Neither for our genders nor for our gender-expressions nor for our sexual orientations nor for our relationship styles — nothing fitting into the common normativities that we’re usually brought up with. 

And playing with all this — dressing in a feminine way, for instance, while exhibiting a strong masculine upper-body and a deep, almost male voice — feels so good, and even better when one can share it and play together with a friend and challenge people around us. Challenge society, challenge these fixed thoughts and pre-assigned boxes that are given to us and in which we try to stick everything and everyone and every body. 

Go ahead, try to find a box! There’s no box!

When I first started attending some online gender support groups for non-cis persons I was sometimes irritated by some trans-men and trans-women who claimed that being non-binary is often just a temporary phase towards “transitioning” fully to the other gender. This bothered me both from the point of view of principle because it seemed to reinforce a binary view of the world which I profoundly refuse to accept — and always have — and also from a personal viewpoint because it felt invalidating to my own experience. 

I still believe those claims to be wrong because they’re fundamentally a generalization, applying some personal experiences (which are completely valid as far as those persons are concerned) to the rest of people — which I find to be very tricky, often even dangerous and/or wrong. 

However, I do agree on one point, which is common to all non-binary/trans experiences I’ve been hearing and to many personal/human experiences overall: that all these experiences are processes that evolve and can change over time. 

My own gender experience has been evolving immensely over the past year and a half and in a particularly fast and liberated way over the past six months or so, gaining speed as I feel more and more myself, leading me to have feelings or viewpoints and to make decisions for myself that I would never have imagined possible only a year or six months ago. And recently my own gender perception has been changing even more rapidly as if under the push of a strong acceleration. 

When I hear stories of trans youth who are being supported in their gender identity, in the choice of their own pronouns and gender expression and even with name change already in their childhood or teenage years, I feel a surge of emotions: of course, I instantly feel happiness for them and the instinct to support and encourage them as well, even if from afar; I feel relief and optimism and gratitude for these corners of the world and this society that has evolved and improved and become more accepting and inclusive and open-minded, and maybe also wiser and kinder; but I also feel a profound, intense sadness to the point of often being moved to tears. Sadness for me: not for the adult me now who is enjoying their full gender identity and being able to express it and have it often accepted, recognized, respected and even loved; but for the child me who didn’t have that support or recognition or love. I end up crying for that little boy who suffered for decades. That little boy who wasn’t allowed to be. 

I’m AFAB. I have been using “they” pronouns for a year now and identify as non-binary/trans-masculine and mostly feel like I’m a boy, but I also feel profoundly involved in feministic themes and affected literally at a visceral level when it comes to abortion and reproductive rights. 

Recently, when I was in California to complete my move from there to here, I was able to have the two meetings I was hoping for the most, with the two young men to whom I really wanted to show my full non-binary/trans-masculine identity, to whom I wanted to say “I’m a boy!” 

After the meeting and “coming out” with the first one, for the next couple of days I could hardly stop thinking “I wish I were a boy” with a deep longing that was tearing me apart, almost physically making my chest ache. And I instinctively increased my dose of testosterone (still micro-dosing) because of this strong desire to speed up the process of masculinization of my body to align it with my own internal gender identity faster — the longing was almost unbearable. 

When I “came out” to the other one, he asked me if I was at this point using “he” pronouns instead of “they” pronouns. I replied that I’m still sing “they” pronouns, and that for the moment I think I might always use non-binary pronouns (despite using the masculine for myself in some languages/grammatical instances) because I was brought up and treated as a girl/woman for so long that I feel I cannot renounce that part of me. And when he said, “You look great and more like yourself than I’ve ever seen you”, I again felt a mix of strong and opposite emotions: happiness, on the one hand, because I do feel more like myself than I ever have and I finally love my body and identify with it more closely; but I also felt intense, almost sharp sadness and teared up, and I found myself saying, without even realizing it, instinctively: “I wish I had been born a boy. I wish I had been born male. No matter what I do, no matter how far I take this medical ‘transitioning’, I will never be like you because after all I was brought up like a girl, I was treated like a woman for so long: that conditioning is extremely deep and probably irreversible”. 

So many memories of my childhood and youth are coming back to me, almost like a flooding river, lately, about my transgender identity manifesting itself at the youngest age. I have only one sibling, a sister who’s a couple years younger than myself, and we were always treated like a “pair”, like we had to be the same or always together — the “two beautiful little girls”. I hated it. I felt suffocated, with no space to be me. But it went even further than that: I often found myself thinking, and sometimes even saying aloud, that I could be the son that my father had never had. And when as teenagers my sister sometimes said she wished she had an older brother, my spontaneous reply would be, “I’m your older brother!” 

How could it have been more explicit than that? How can I not grieve for that little boy, for that teenage boy who was not allowed to be? 

I might use “they” pronouns for the rest of my life and stay mostly with a non-binary gender identity. But I’m also starting to think, more and more often, that maybe if I hadn’t been socialized as a female, i.e. if I hadn’t been brought up as a girl and then treated as a woman for so many years, my gender identity would be quite different and much more masculine. If I had been supported in my transgender identity earlier on, I think I might have become a man. Still a non-gender-conforming man, and very probably a gay man, and definitely just as unconventional and non-conforming as I am now and always have been. But probably my gender identity would have been more pronouncedly masculine.

And maybe the reason I’m feeling, and seeing myself, as a boy (instead of a man) now, despite being fully adult in age, is that I wasn’t allowed to be a boy when I needed to be one, in my youth, and I need to make up for that time, for those experiences, for those feelings now. 

In four or five months I might actually have the upper-body that I have always wanted — more than that, the upper-body that I have always seen for myself and identified with. 

This morning, I met the surgeon who will most likely do the masculinizing mastectomy for me in the new year. 

I’m still trying to adjust to this… to the idea that I might actually NOT have to spend the rest of my life feeling dysphoric about my upper-body, that I might NOT actually have to put up with a torso I don’t identify with… It’s good news, it’s wonderful news, but it still takes some readjusting… Our brains are weird things, they can get used to so much, even so many toxic things, and then dislodging them from that can be hard, even when it’s good… 

I’m slowly, slowly, slowly becoming myself more wholly and this is wonderful but also very scary in some ways…  

[Trigger alert: explicit description of some symptoms of the menstrual period.]

We need a category for non-binary athletes to race in, if they wish to (of course, without forcing anyone to be outed). We need it now — we’ve been waiting too long already. 

Three days ago, the bleeding from my uterus was so abundant and uncomfortable that it felt like my whole belly was gushing out of my body. 

Yesterday & today I was running on the trails at a pace that hasn’t been so fast and almost effortless in a very ling time — maybe years.   

My recently heightened athletic performance is not new to me: I went through something similar three or four years ago, so even now it’s probably due simply to decreased stress and renewed energy, which could also explain why I’m looking so much younger (people keep telling me that I look like a person in their twenties). 

But some might think it’s due to HRT.

I refuse to compete in the “male” category for my next race. I’m not a male. I still have breasts; I have a uterus that every 3-4 weeks regularly makes itself uncomfortably noticed and I loose a lot of blood for several days; my fat distribution is still much closer to that of a “biological” female; and for at least 25 years (since my female puberty) my body has been conditioned as a female body. 

HRT doesn’t automatically make me a “male”, all of a sudden, after 25 years of having been a “biological” female adult, especially not with the micro-dosing that I am doing. HRT is tricky and hard on the body: taking testosterone doesn’t all of a sudden turn a female body into a male one. The “battle of the giants” between different hormones, and maybe even a mismatch between the additional hormones with the given organs/genes, is real and draining. 

I will probably never be able to compete fairly in a “male” category. But it might get to the point where it could be unfair for me to compete against other females, too. That point hasn’t been reached, yet, but it might come soon enough. 

Either way, a non-binary category is what is needed here, for fairness towards everyone & every body.

Yesterday I saw two friends, spending the whole afternoon and evening in my favorite town here in Colorado. 

Yesterday I found myself again — my innate energy, my liveliness, the reasons I decided to move here, the connections to people and places here. 

Part of it was certainly hormonal, the “battle of the giants” finally giving me a reprieve after two days of the worst clash I’ve experienced until now between PMS & HRT. 

But a great part was also due to the people and places I saw yesterday. 

All of it simply reminded me of why I decided to move here in the first place, why I feel so spontaneously at home, like I “fit”, that I really “belong” here more than anywhere else. 

One of the things that had really thrown me off on my return from California last week was the sudden, concrete, almost hard realization that I’m seriously here to stay now, at least for the next two years. That the six-month period of taking a break, thinking things over, recovering, working on my own self and my own textbook project, that whole parenthesis is over. Now real life here starts. Now I’m really staying, I’m really not going back. The “California door” is really shut, at least for a while, I’ve really turned my back on it for now and need to face this other way. This realization together with some forced solitude and the hormonal clashes was really tough and led me to see/feel the losses more than the gains or achievements or joys or simply even the freedom of my choices. 

All of these positive aspects came back to me clearly yesterday, as I hung out with two friends, separately. 

The first is a new climbing buddy who had to cancel our climbing plans for yesterday morning because of a sudden injury. But that didn’t mean we canceled seeing each other: we still hung out and since he needed full rest/recovery, we went swimming in the creek and just hung out with the explicit intention of getting to know each other better, to just spend time together as people to built a connection and friendship and trust — which are helpful when climbing together but also went beyond climbing, just as persons. This type of attitude was normal and natural for me in Europe but hard to come by where I was living in California, so finding it again here (I am finding it quite often and easily) is refreshing and heart-warming. 

The other is, at this point, one of my closest friends here, another non-binary/trans-masculine person with whom hanging out and talking is always a wonderful pleasure — fun and profound at the same time. 

Just being and talking with these two people yesterday, who in many ways are very different from each other, filled me with joy and good reminders of why I like it here, why I feel so easily at home here: because I keep meeting people who moved here to climb, to enjoy the mountains, to enjoy community, to start a new life, to give themselves a second (or third, or fourth) chance. Persons whose primary values are other people, community, enjoying the outdoors and connecting to nature, not making money or seeking mainly professional success. I don’t mean the latter are unnecessary or bad — it’s just that I found too much focus on the latter from people in the area where I was living in California to the detriment of sincere, spontaneous human relationships and true connections to nature. 

The conversations with my two friends yesterday were also good reminders of many lesson learned and, in particular, of how all those years with the “wrong” partner in Europe were not wasted on me: I really learned to instinctively stay away from relationships that could limit my authenticity, which includes exploring. I realized that despite some very deep crushes in the past years in California, I always subconsciously, instinctively stayed away or broke away from persons who are too “static”, too tied to one place to be compatible with me and my desire to roam. Despite resulting in some tough heart-breaks, it has served me well, after all, because here I am now: not completely settled, yet, and still anxious about my new job, but definitely happier than I’ve been in a long time, feeling more like myself than ever, and very visibly glowing from the inside out.

I was just texting one of my best friends here in Colorado about how lonely I’m feeling this weekend and they asked if it’s “people withdrawal”. 

Yes, I guess it is, at least partly — and such a great way of expressing it! 

Moving isn’t easy. It’s actually freaking hard. And what is hitting me now is the weight of the losses, of what has ended — those six years in California, with all their ups and downs, but also the bulk of my textbook project. 

For the past months, and especially over the past three weeks, I have been hyperstimulated, mostly in positive, fulfilling ways, by people and activities and things that needed to be done urgently. 

All of that is suddenly gone — or, at least, that’s how it feels to me today. I know it’s not really gone — I still have good friends both here and elsewhere, I still have important things to get done. But this weekend is a lonely, quiet one: one where I’m wishing I could have the company of close friends, even just to go and watch the meteor shower together tonight, instead of being on my own, contemplating all that I’ve left behind. 

There are some moments with friends, or words, that are like jewels or lightning bolts or double rainbows: they seem to reach me and touch me in a way that is more direct, more unfiltered, more powerful and profound than others, clear as crystals and warm like an embracing hug. 

I’ve felt several of these over the past couple weeks, the latest just this morning in a text message from one of my best friends from grad school with whom I video-chatted yesterday (we have known each other and been good friends for fifteen years): “… I also enjoyed seeing you and noticing the changes — you looked very young to me, like a 20-year-old boy”! 

In a video-chat last week I told one of my oldest and closest friends (we met twenty-five years ago, when we were teenagers): “Ich bin ein Knabe”, and she replied, “Ja, ich weiss, das warst du immer” [“I’m a boy”; “Yes, I know, you always were”].

At the end of a meeting with a good friend last week in the city from which I was moving out, as I thanked him for riding his bicycle all the way to my storage unit to hang out with me in a part of town that isn’t particularly pretty, “Thanks for riding all the way over here”, and he replied, “Of course — you came much further”! 

The photoshoot with my artist & swimmer friend ten days ago in one of our favorite parks: a photoshoot that we had been wanting to do for months, that was a celebration of our friendship, of our shared artistic and non-binary identities, of our mutual trust and understanding, and also a playful afternoon together on a sunny summer day. 

These moments, or words, will remain etched and treasured forever not only in my memory, but deep in my heart and soul.

Whether people can hear the difference, yet, or not — and although people still misgender me — my voice is now officially in the typical “male range”…! 

The speech therapist recorded my voice and did the pitch analysis this morning: my average pitch is 167 Hz, which is in the “typical male range”…!!!

This feels exhilarating and exciting and scary at the same time… 

Yesterday, I got back from nearly two weeks in California where I finalized my move out to Colorado. 

It was an intense trip with several extremely emotional moments and it’s still hard for me, at such a short distance from all those events, to parse out the different interactions, emotions, thoughts, feelings. 

A great part of what made my stay and meetings in California so emotional and also difficult was the sense of going back to an old part of my life, almost an old part or version of me, that in my own head & heart I had already left behind or outgrown several months ago. 

I minimized my meetings and interactions in California to those that were either unavoidable or necessary, like the practical things that needed to be done for my move; or those that felt either light-hearted and joyful or healing to me, or of particular importance to get some ultimate closure. Among the latter, of the three difficult or awkward meetings I had foreseen happening, only one took place: for one of those meetings, the other person never got back to me, and I decided to respect her silence; for another, I realized I wasn’t in the right spirit to have that particular meeting. But one of those interactions did eventually happen: the other person involved did get back to me and we both made time to meet up despite our packed schedules. 

This was my very final meeting with the “boulderer”, to get my ultimate closure in person. 

I wanted him to see me as I am now, wholly, almost one year since we last saw each other, and over three years after we first met. I wanted him to know that I am non-binary — more than that, I wanted him to know I am trans-masculine, that there is and always has been a boy in me, and that I have started the medical processes to affirm my gender. 

At first, I was thinking of simply saying to him, “I am trans”. But that’s not how it came out… It took me some time to formulate my first sentence, as I struggled to find the words, and finally said, “I identify as non-binary but more towards the male side of the spectrum and have finally decided to do something about it”. After his initial, “Fine, that’s great”, the deeper meaning of my somewhat vague sentence finally hit him, and he asked, almost exclaimed, “You mean do something about it medically?!?”. “Yes”, I simply replied.

“So you’re starting T?!?” 

“Yes, I already started HRT a few weeks ago and hopefully will get top-surgery this winter”. 

It’s always interesting and particularly meaningful to me to see the reactions of cis-males, probably because I yearn for their affirmation or approval. This case was even more loaded since we had a long history of a complicated and confusing relationship involving many different layers, including a strong sexual attraction that was still present even last week. 

Part of his reaction — his initial “It’s no big deal” response — was disappointing, although I know it came partly from his general tendency of downplaying things — which he admitted, and which in this case he might need to protect his own self from the emotional consequences of realizing what it means for him that I am non-binary/trans-masculine… that he actually felt (and still feels) attracted to a boy… 

Later in our meeting, though, there was a conversation that was worth the whole effort and risk of sharing with him. 

As I explained that I’m basically going through male puberty and that my voice has already started changing, he suddenly asked, “Has your voice cracked yet?!?” The spontaneous, joyful, almost gleeful curiosity and camaraderie with which he asked this question was one of the best moments I have had in sharing my medical masculinization procedures with any cis-gender person. 

It literally was one boy asking another boy — “Has your voice cracked yet?” 

So I told him how I am recording my voice as it lowers, and he exclaimed, “You’re such a little boy! You’re totally a boy!”. 

He had seen me. Finally, he saw me. 

There was another moment when he saw me. As we were talking about climbing and I was sharing about some recent experience of mine, he (who has been climbing for much longer than I and initially also gave me a lot of advice) said, “You really are a fully-fledged climber now!?!”

“Yes, I am”, I replied with tranquil confidence. 

I know I still have TONS to learn and improve in rock-climbing. I know that both as a climber and as a boy I still have a long way to go, that I’m still in fieri, a work in progress. But I also know that both the boy and the climber in me are strong and important parts of my identity, and parts of my identity that I really wanted him to see because we share those aspects. 

What he will make of this “new” — actually clearer, more open, more confident, whole and authentic — “version of me” is unknown to me. And it’s really not my problem.

What matters to me is that I was able — i.e. I found the courage and had the opportunity — to show him all this, and that he saw it. 

What matters to me is that the last, final image he got of me is more aligned to who I really am. 

Feelings from this morning:

• R.E.M. song “The Ascent of Man” (from the album “Around the Sun”) ringing in my head and the verses “I looked for you, it’s my last grand stand” particularly resonating with me;
• Identifying so strongly and happily as a boy, and feeling so wholly myself as a boy – one of my best friends here in California, whom I hadn’t seen in six months, yesterday said to me, “You look so strong”, and I instinctively replied, “Well, I’m turning into a boy” and then, after a moment’s thought, “I’m actually really turning into a boy”! Starting to share my non-binary/trans gender identity and the medical procedures that I have already started (HRT) and plan on doing (masculinizing top-surgery) with more and more trusted people, and talking about it more openly, is helping me to feel more deeply and wholly my boyish part and to express my non-binary/trans-masculine gender identity with more confidence. Which feels good because it’s more authentically me.