The Little Prince and the Fox

[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.

I’m back in the area of coastal California where I spent six years of my life before moving to Colorado recently.

I’m here to logistically finalize my move to Colorado but I’m also saying Hi/Goodbye to some friends here who are among my best friends overall.

Many of these friends are much older than myself, actually my parents’ age or almost. And seeing them again is confirming a realization that I had recently, namely how the years I spent in this region of California, almost fleeing Europe, have been a wonderful (and much needed and healing) “reparenting” for me.   

When I told my nuclear family, in December 2015, that in three weeks I’d be moving to California, my father’s response was, literally, “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you just settle down?” I’ll probably never forget his response, that “What’s wrong with you?” – the culminating example of how he had always responded to me when he wasn’t totally absent from my life.

Yesterday, I went sailing with a program for which I’ve been volunteering for the past six years here and in which there are four persons who are friends but also, effectively, “surrogate fathers” for me. Two of them in particular have been very important and dear father-figures to me, the father that I always wish I had had.

One of them picked me up to drive to the sailing program yesterday morning and the moment he saw me (still unawares of my latest move and plans) he said, “Your eyes – they’re so bright and sparkling – and you look so happy”. So then I told him about the recent decisions and changes and move and future plans, and his response was “We’ll miss you, I’ll always be happy to go sailing with you whenever you’re back here, and if you ever need help in returning to this area, I’ll give you all the support I can. But I can see you’re happy and I’m happy for you — keep following your path!” [This person has a picture of me sailing on his boat as his computer’s screensaver.]

The other one who’s particularly important to me said something along similar lines – “You’re inspiring and I love your journey: you’re following a wonderful path!”

And they all embraced the news of my gender identity & new pronouns, asking me to correct them if they mis-gender me involuntarily, while also acknowledging that they’ve always seen and supported the boy in me and me just as I am.

I realize (& have felt this for a while) that moving away from California to Colorado now is also, in some ways, part of my growing up and becoming my adult self more fully. I needed those years in California with so many friends who were older than myself and more like parent/mentor figures because I truly needed the reparenting: I needed support to heal those old wounds from my childhood, in particular those connected to a father who basically swayed between being absent and (not constructively) hyper-critical.

This realization has brought additional peace and joy to me and gratitude for the years spent here and towards all these lovely persons.

“Leaving New York” by R.E.M.

F…, it hurts.

Today is one of those days where having a “to-do” list, things that need to be done and cannot be postponed, will be a life-line.

For the past week or so, anxiety and grief have been coming and going in a two-day cycle: one day is good, I feel excited and energetic, empowered and liberated and optimistic; the next, grief is back together with an anxiety that grasps my body, tightening my chest and knotting my stomach. Today is one of these latter days. I wish I could sit and cry, to let it all out, but the tears don’t come.

I recognize this rhythm, these cyclic feelings: I felt the same two-day alternating cycle when I moved from Europe to California six and a half years ago. It was much harder then and the “bad” days felt worse, but it was the same two-day alternating rhythm. Realizing this helped me this morning. It even made me smile as I thought, “Well, this is me, this is how I function”. This is how my body functions. Despite the extremely intense pain, both emotional and physical, this morning there is also relief in recognizing a pattern. It helps remind me that it’s manageable, that I handled it before, even when it was worse, and therefore I can handle it again. And it shall pass, too.

(I’m also relieved, and thankful, to see that despite the pain and grief and anxiety, my mental state is stable, i.e. I can focus well on work, on the practical things to be done, and even on risky activities/hobbies. The mental fatigue that was almost paralyzing some of my thoughts or actions a few weeks ago is gone now.)

Still, there is very intense pain and grief in this moment, right now. This needs to be recognized and acknowledged and held, no matter how hard it may be. So I’ll sit with it and let it be while also doing the things that need to be done today.