The Little Prince and the Fox

I’m upset. And scared. 

I have two close friends who are around the same age, in their early-mid forties, both single mothers of two girls and both have the tendency of getting in relationships with violent (and usually much older) men. 

With one of these friends of mine I haven’t been able to talk, not even on the phone, for months because of her violent husband who’s jealous and scared of me, irrationally considering me one of the main causes of their dysfunctional relationship. He’s an extremely violent man, verbally, psychologically and even physically, and has been violent towards me several times. He sent me such insulting, violent messages in February that I thought about looking into issuing a restraining order against him. 

And this morning something similar happened with my other friend’s partner who started texting me out of the blue last weekend — this is that cousin with whom, albeit being close friends, we had a fall out last August-September, probably partly due to her (then new) partner. So his text out of the blue last weekend was a shock, especially since my cousin gave him my number without my permission. His first text message was friendly but still an unwanted surprise to me so I forwarded it to my cousin instead of replying to him. My cousin and I agreed to leave each other some more space for another month or so before being in touch again — all via peaceful text messages. But this morning I received a very insulting and extremely violent (verbally & psychologically) text message from her partner. I was so shocked and upset that I instinctively deleted it, but maybe I should have kept it as evidence…? 

Is this harassment? 

I know exactly what’s going on here, I see a pattern common to both scenarios: these are violent men who are not used to, and cannot accept, women (or persons they see as “women” — they both stubbornly misgender me) standing up to them. In that way I am a threat to them, even if I don’t actively do anything against them but just am myself and model something different from their ideal “acquiescent woman” both to their partners (my friends) and their daughters. 

Although I can understand this rationally, it still is extremely upsetting, and frightening. I am feeling attacked now, like I did the other times with my other friend’s husband.

This is an attack, isn’t it?

“Ain’t no angel, oh gonna greet me

I’ve been so far gone living in a fever dream

I wanna stand on the mountain

I wanna know how it feels

I wanna see what the world looks like

When everybody here can feel just what I say

And I’ll do it my own way

Yes, I know, well I know, there’s a price I have to pay

Cause I do it my own way

And I do not know what I need to say

Cause I’m on my own

The rules have changed since I learned to play

So I burn in vain

It is harder now than it ever was

But I’m strong enough so I’m standing up

There are things in me my words cannot betray

So I do what I do, what I do, what I do

And I do it my own way

If I could see in the future

If I could look from the clouds

If I could learn what I don’t have now and could not live without

I’d gladly stay

And I’d do it my own way

Yes, I know, well I know, there’s a price I have to pay

And I do it my own way

…”

I’ve been having a very tough week. 

Moments of hope and happiness and excitement and gender euphoria; and also plain joy from being with and talking to so many good friends, as well as satisfaction from the work on my textbook. 

But then the deep pits of hopelessness and despair — not a general “depression” but specifically induced by gender dysphoria, a sense of alienation (and deep concern for what is going on in the world around me, on top of it all). 

These opposing emotional states have been keeping my mood in sway for over a week and given me plenty of sleepless nights. 

And I just cannot make up my mind re. HRT at the moment. 

Today, however, on my early morning run (which I had to do on music to get self motivated — very unusual for me), I had a moment of perfect, blissful “recognition” , almost piercing recognition or insight or clarity, something that felt like enlightenment, like one of those rare moments when you feel that you KNOW, but not rationally, rather with your body and your soul. 

It happened with a song: “Ain’t not angel” by Ron Pope. 

I’ve always liked both the melody/tune/rhythm and the lyrics of this song, but this morning it was the singer’s voice that spurred a feeling of “recognition” in me. Since pondering about getting on HRT, I have been paying more attention to singers’ voices and noticing how many of them could be male or female, indifferently. And when I heard this song this morning, this singer’s voice, I thought to myself, “That’s a voice I could identify with. If I were a guy with a voice like that, I would feel okay and myself with it” — and I didn’t mean a musical voice, I meant the pitch. I identified with that voice, with that guy: I saw myself in that guy’s voice; I saw myself as a guy I would identify with, in that voice.

I really want to write this here to help me keep record of my ups and downs re. HRT. Because I keep changing my mind about it. 

I know I’m non-binary. I’m not a man and I do always want to honor that part in me that is a female, a little girl, a woman: after all, I was brought up as a girl and a woman; I feel topics like abortion rights viscerally (and in fact went to the pro-abortion rights manifestation on Saturday); I even enjoy wearing “girly clothes” like leggings or skimpy summer dresses sometimes. 

I also know that I feel mostly like a boy, though, I am mostly a boy. But to what extent to I take that? How can I align my outside look to my inside feeling? 

And how important is it to me that the outside world see me the way I feel about myself?

“… 

I do not know what I need to say

Cause I’m on my own

The rules have changed since I learned to play

So I burn in vain

It is harder now than it ever was

But I’m strong enough so I’m standing up

There are things in me my words cannot betray

So I do what I do, what I do, what I do

And I do it my own way

… ”

The intake call with the physician’s assistant for top surgery went so well this morning that I was overwhelmed and at a certain point just couldn’t stop the tears rushing out of me during the half-hour phone call. 

The realization of this being actually DOABLE, of even having options on the type of surgery or some details. Learning more about the recovery and discovering that it wouldn’t be as bad or as long as I had thought. Being told that I could choose whether I would rather aim more for “nipple sensation preservation” or “masculinization of my chest” — that drew tears from my eyes as I was flooded by disbelief and joy and excitement at the idea, almost the visible image in my mind’s eye, of having a boy’s chest, at last. 

I’ll probably be waiting six or seven months before getting this surgery done, mainly for professional reasons, but if I could, I’d get it done now and getting all this information from specialists and actually taking the steps towards making this happen (as the video call with the surgeon that I’ll have soon, too) feels wonderfully good, albeit still unreal… 

But it’s starting to feel more and more real — to the extent that I’m beginning to think about some of my close friends whom I haven’t seen or heard from in months, who don’t know about these latest developments and decisions in my personal life… who might see a very different “me”, a person who possibly will look very different in a few months’ time… And if I do get on HRT, I might even end up sounding different…

Part of me is still in disbelief, while part of me is starting to soak in these new possibilities, the new images of me more aligned on the outside to how I feel on the inside… 

Tomorrow, after weeks of waiting, I’ll finally talk to the endocrinologist about HRT… so tomorrow I might already make a decision on that front, too… and even if not, I’ll anyway have more information to go on and make my decision when I’m ready… I’m so excited!

For now, for tonight, I’m going to revel in the new image of me with a boy’s chest at last… 

Today and tomorrow I have some very important things coming up for me, both because of deadlines for my textbook and because of gender-affirming medical appointments: intake call on top surgery today and endocrinologist visit to discuss HRT tomorrow! 

But also, or already, yesterday evening something really important happened for me: I came out more fully, actually discussing my recent thoughts and feelings on gender-affirming medical procedures with a very heteronormative couple — and it felt really good! 

They’re not just any random pair of strangers, of course. He’s one of my new but already closest climbing buddies here in Colorado — he’s the guy to whom a couple months ago I said, “I feel like I’m a boy in a girl’s body and I’m a boy who likes boys”, and his spontaneous, supportive reply was, “There’s nothing wrong with that!” 

He & I are very similar in many ways. We hit it off as buddies or fraternal friends with instinctive camaraderie right from the first time we met (he actually gave me a ride, as a stranger, when my car engine got overheated in February and I was stuck in the canyon!). 

He moved here, like myself and many other people to whom I’m connecting here, mainly for the climbing and outdoorsy lifestyle; and now his girlfriend has joined him here. They are very open-minded, progressive, and kind but also, by their own admission, quite “heteronormative”. 

Yesterday evening I was over at their new place for dinner and we were catching up on a lot and I was feeling safe and comfortable about all my gender thoughts; so I didn’t refrain from letting the topic slip into the conversation if/when appropriate, just as I did when climbing with the four guys last weekend. [This courage and feeling comfortable/confident talking about “queerness” more openly is something very new and even a little scary to me.]

At one point last night, I mentioned that in a week I’ll be getting my first tattoo — so they asked about that and when I said it will be on my left shoulder-blade, my climbing buddy said half joking, “Oh, so from now on you’ll be climbing with a bare back to show your tattoo?!?” To which I replied: “Of course, and I might even do something that allows me to climb bare-chested…” — but then I let the conversation move on to another topic. 

Later yesterday evening, we were talking about skiing — another activity that this climbing buddy and I share, and he asked me whether I’d be getting the “Epic Pass” to ski regularly next winter. At that point, after a moment’s hesitation, I took the plunge. I started by instinctively replying very vaguely (albeit honestly), “Yes, if I can I’d like to get it…” But then holding the truth back felt uncomfortable or wrong, I felt like I wanted him to know why I might not be able to get the “Epic Pass” to go skiing regularly next winter, so I took a breath and said it: “I might be getting surgery sometime between the end of next fall and the beginning of winter, and if I do, it will require a few months recovery so I don’t know if I’ll be able to ski much next season”. I didn’t mention “top surgery” explicitly but they both got it immediately and their reaction was wonderful: they didn’t push or pry but were genuinely interested in my feelings and process; they asked me how long the recovery would take, asked me whether I will be getting on hormones first, shared some info they had from another friend of theirs who’s trans-masculine and been on testosterone for a while, and made sure I’m getting all the support I need and talking to people who have already done this and/or are in the process of doing it. There was genuine interest and care on their part and not a trace of judgement or prejudice. And then even a very funny moment when talking about HRT my climbing buddy suddenly said, “Oh man, you’ll get so strong and climb so much better than me!” — that was hilarious but also flattering in some way. And it also gave me food for thought as I realized that being an even stronger athlete, and in particular even stronger climber, is one big motivation for my desire to get on “T” (= testosterone). 

Sharing my feelings, my thought process, my plans and doubts with this “non-queer” pair was liberating, comforting, affirming, fun, and also very instructive for me. Instructive because, as I also told them last night, I haven’t made up my mind at all, yet; I’m still debating whether I want to do anything medical and if so, what and when and how or to what extent. And telling them openly that I’m still in the initial phase of gathering information, talking to specialists and people in the community, thinking about it but also still full of questions and doubts myself, and explaining or describing some of those doubts explicitly to them, helped me understand my own feelings and desires and doubts or fears better. 

So for me that was quite a new and powerful way of coming out last night! 

“Give Thanks”, says one of the many framed decorations hanging on the walls of the lovely house that I’ve moved into for the summer. 

Yes, I’ll give thanks for all the wonderful blessings I have in this moment. 

Although I hardly ever write about world events in this blog and I often shy away from the news, I am painfully aware of what is going on — it’s just too painful and upsetting for me to dwell on it. 

As Putin’s attack on Ukraine plunges parts of Europe back into horrors that we hadn’t seen since WWII (or maybe the war in ex-Yugoslavia) and here in the U.S. women’s rights, reproductive rights, and the rights of trans/queer people are threatened and actually stolen not only in some backward-looking States but even at the Supreme Court level, horror and pain and fear engulf me. I won’t let them overwhelm me, though — I’d rather give thanks for what I do have in this little slice of paradise and do my small share to improve things where/how I can. 

So, thanks for having not only a roof over my head but for actually living in a beautiful place with lovely people. 

Thanks for being able to live in a region where my reproductive rights as well as my rights as a trans person are not only respected but even fostered. 

Thanks for having been able to navigate the rough waters of the past few months or years — for all the support that I received through most of it. 

Thanks for the centered groundedness I have found.

Thanks to my friends — old and new, nearby and far away — for being there, for accepting me just as I am, for putting up with my “tantrums”, for sharing joys and fun as well as difficult moments. 

And thanks also for this gorgeous springtime!

Yesterday I had a wonderful day, a day full of euphoria, including gender euphoria (which is real, along with gender dysphoria!). 

I went climbing outdoors with four guys (i.e. cis-gender males) — two new acquaintances and two of whom I had climbed with once a couple months ago. And spending the day with them brought back fun, comfortable feelings that were familiar to me from my past as well as new ones.

I value individual friendships very much and love spending time one-on-one with my friends. And when it comes to one-on-one friendships, I connect to persons of all genders/sexes, races, ages. But when it comes to “buddies”, to making friends in a group, to doing activities in a group, I have always gravitated towards groups of boys, felt spontaneously comfortable with men and alienated within groups of women. Whether it was the little groups of friends I hung out with in highschool or the engineers I met on my daily commute on the train in college or my physics companions in grad school or sailing friends or climbing buddies, it’s always been groups of boys/men with whom I’ve shared a passion or interest and with whom I’ve felt comfortable in a spontaneous, instinctive way. And not because I felt “special” or was treated differently, but precisely because I felt and acted and was treated just like them. 

And yesterday was the same — I was fully in “boy” or “bro” mode and it was just so spontaneous for me, and quite spontaneous for them with/towards me. Not wholly for them, I think — and maybe even for me there is more awareness now of the small differences that are there and we have all been conditioned to notice. Like breasts. 

It was very warm yesterday, especially when we got to the crag while it was still exposed in the sunshine. So everyone took their shirt off: and here they are, all four of them, heavenly bare-chested, while I have to keep my sports-bra on. I cannot go bare-chested (yet…!?) and I was painfully aware of that yesterday, which also made me much more self-conscious about being in my bra in a group of guys (who seemed mostly heterosexual) — something that had never happened to me in the past. In the past I felt “neutral” even being topless in a group of guy friends! 

I realize that it’s mostly due to something that has shifted in me. Coming into myself (& out) as non-binary trans has also shifted my own perception of myself and made the female parts of my body less acceptable to me. On top of that, the recent (for me) discoveries of the medical changes I could actually make to my body to align it more to my gender identity are leading to a different way of not only how I perceive myself within the world but also how I look at males. I’ve always liked athletic male bodies, especially of the climber or swimmer type. But yesterday I observed my climbing buddies more with curiosity, almost scientific curiosity, thinking to myself: “Would I look like him if I got on testosterone and did top surgery?”. Now I find myself looking at guys at the climbing gym and wondering whether I would turn out looking like that and asking myself whether I would really like that for myself, or not. Questions that I had never asked myself explicitly (but that might have always been there in my subconscious…). 

With these new questions and even interesting perspective come fear and pain, too, though. The fear of being “too late”. My whole life I have yearned and strived for a (young) male athlete’s body. Now I actually have the tools available to transform my body medically, if I choose to. But I’m not a kid anymore: if I decide to undergo HRT & surgery to get more male phenotypes in my early forties, what type of male body will I get? Will I get a “middle aged man’s body” and just miss the (young) male athlete’s body by a few years? Will I have spent my entire life chasing something that I’ll never be able to have, first because of circumstances and then because of “biological clock”?

My sister fell into the water again last night, and I rescued her. 

This has been happening very often, almost every night for a while now.

Is this why I wake up feeling so exhausted every morning?

I’m feeling so sad and uncomfortable in my own skin today that I’m struggling to work. 

Work has often been a lifeline for me. I think one of the many reasons I’ve always been drawn to the hard sciences, especially to maths and physics, since the youngest age, is that it has always felt like a lifeline to me: 2+2 is equal to 4 no matter what my mood is like or what is happening in the world, and focusing on maths & physics has often allowed me to get completely absorbed in the topic forgetting my own woes.

My scientific work has definitely been helping me in these past days, too — to the extent that I’ve started writing my textbook immediately after breakfast in the past few mornings, skipping journaling and/or blogging. 

Even today my work is helping me stay afloat but I can definitely feel the effort I have to make to focus on it and how slowly it was progressing this morning. 

The main reason is that gender dysphoria is biting again. 

I have recently noticed that my small breasts have gotten bigger — being relatively small, any change is very visible, at least to me. And this has just thrown me for a loop. For an awful loop. Here I am, strongly considering top surgery to get rid of my breasts ASAP, held back only by the fear of the long months of recovery (which would entail a temporary loss of my athlete identity, a whole other can of worms to worry about), and my breasts decide to get bigger… what the heck?! 

I have also gotten weaker, lost muscular strength, overall, and the two effects might be related, as in a general loss of muscle mass (turning into fat) due to my reduced level of exercise. 

I know that from the outside this can sound like a “first world problem” or even a “non-issue”, but for me it’s a big deal because it undermines both my gender identity and one of the most important aspects of my personal identity (i.e. me as an athlete). 

I had nightmares about it last night and today I’m at the point where I’d like to hide and not show myself in public with this body… 

I’m not going to hide, I am going to take myself to the gym to exercise this afternoon, but it’s going to take all the psychological energy I have today.

Yesterday I had a wonderful day with friends. 

A lunchtime hike with one friends; sipping chocolate and a walk in town with another friend; and finally dinner and some more walking with another friend. 

They’re all persons from different paths of life, in many ways: people from different parts of the country, of different ages, with different backgrounds and different careers. And yet, we all share some fundamental similarities which bring us very close: we’ve all chosen to move here and stay here because of what this place offers us from the viewpoints of geography/landscapes/outdoors and social aspects. And we’re all of us starting one or more new phases in our life now. 

The joyful theme of starting a new phase with the mixture of excitement, fear, loss, enthusiasm, relief, and happiness was in the air between us and around us all day yesterday.

One of my friends said to me, explicitly: “I’m so glad you decided to turn a page and give Colorado a chance!” — So am I!

And another friend said to me, “I feel like I’ve turned a leaf” — and so do I!

In this moment, I feel like I’ve turned a leaf and underneath it I’ve uncovered, or discovered, “home”. 

I still miss and will always treasure all my friends in California and in other parts of the country and the world. I will always treasure and hopefully be able to bring with me the “pieces of home” that I was fortunate to find along the way. But in this moment, the several leaves I’m turning now feel like they need to be turned. 

These last pages of a particular chapter need to be turned even as I write them.