The Little Prince and the Fox

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.

Today, I’m starting to write a new chapter of my textbook, the most “special” chapter of my textbook, both because it’s the one that will most differentiate this book from others in its discipline and also because it draws directly on my own field of expertise and scientific research, which I love so much. So I’m excited and also a little scared.

But I’m also grieving something, maybe more than one thing… It’s still unclear to me what exactly I’m grieving but I’ve definitely been experiencing some deep grief in the past couple days.  

I think part of it is “physical grieving”, i.e. grief for the physical body that I’ll never be able to have, no matter how much I yearn for it, and grief for the physical body I might choose to renounce if I do decide to pursue gender affirming surgery and/or HRT. 

I believe I’m experiencing this very particular (and new to me) type of grief now because of the session I had with the specialist from the Gender Affirming Clinic on Thursday. He really talked me through all the possible results and effects, and side effects, both of HRT and of gender affirming surgery. It was a wonderful, extremely helpful, supportive, affirming, and informative conversation, but it also really brought home to me what I might lose for ever, what I’ll never have for sure — no matter how hard I try — and what changes would be a mysterious unknown that I’d have to discover and explore — and eventually accept and come to terms  with — along the way. 

I’ve always been drawn to masculine body-types, both as the body I’d like to have and in the bodies I’m usually attracted to physically/sexually. It’s a relatively broad spectrum that goes from androgynous (lean and linear and gently masculine but also possibly including some subtle feminine traits) to slightly more masculine in a young-boy-athlete sort of way (like the Ancient Greek kuros) to the athletic masculine type with a lean and muscular swimmer’s or climber’s body. This latter type of body I’ll never have: no matter how much HRT I do, and even if I do all the gender-affirming surgery possible, I will never be six feet tall with such a wide shoulder & arm span, with such a broad, strong chest. And if I do modify my body by making it look more masculine, I might also never attract (physically/sexually) that type of male to me anymore. On the other hand, if I do decide to pursue this route, I might also lose some aspects of my femininity that I do enjoy. And no matter what, there would be aspects I lose, whether I like them or not.

But that’s all in the future and still only a hypothesis.

For now, in this moment, it’s the loss of the “6-foot athletic guy” that I’m feeling: both specifically relative to myself, as I’ll never be “that guy”, and also in regards to a particular “6-foot athletic guy” that I liked and who now belongs to my past (and whom the incidents of this week have brought back to my mind & yearning). 

Yesterday I had the intake interview, which is actually a very long and comprehensive session, with the psi-specialist at the “gender affirming clinic” through my medical insurance.

It lasted almost an hour and a half and was, of course, very intense but overall also extremely helpful, supportive, informative, and comforting.

Among other important aspects, I received some fundamental affirmations. One was of my gender dysphoria. But the one that was even more important and enlightening yesterday was about a more general issue: trauma. 

Recently, some very deep and old trauma from my childhood and/or youth has been resurfacing and seeping through layers of cobwebs or veils or walls that I don’t feel ready, yet, to wholly dismantle. But enough has made its way through to lead me to renew my request of total silence from my parents. I tried to explain this to my sister, with whom I would, instead, like to keep (and even deepen) an open dialogue. But from my sister I was met with an icy shower: “I’m not here to judge anyone, but you’re selfish, self-centered, and immature”, she replied. 

Conflict, lack of understanding, and even hard judgement are not new with my sister. But I was hoping that my opening up with her would help her to soften up towards me — or, at least, stop judging me, start to try and listen, if not talk, to me. This incident on Tuesday upset me, but then I was able to let it go, temporarily. 

During the psi-meeting yesterday, the specialist asked me about my PTSD. I had a hard time answering, partly because I didn’t want to start delving into deep/old stuff, and partly because having removed myself geographically from some of the most recents triggers has eliminated most of the symptoms for me, fortunately. So my answer was slow and vague, or uncertain. But the specialist’s reaction was lovely and while maybe being simple and obvious, to me it was relieving, enlightening, and wonderfully affirming. He said: “For all trauma, regardless of the details, the cause and the feelings of it — which on the other hand can also be the tool of healing and overcoming it — have to do with loss/lack of safety and loss/lack of control”. 

In a moment, I saw it all. I saw why my old job was giving me PTSD. I saw that yes, I did endure years, decades of trickling trauma with some explosive episodes while growing up in my nuclear family as a child and teenager and young adult — until finally leaving my parents’. That yes, it was exactly a lack of safety and a lack of control that I felt, constantly, pervasively and with frequent but unpredictable explosions, while growing up. And that I then felt something similar in my latest job — that’s why it was giving me PTSD! 

To see it all and to feel myself heard, acknowledged, to hear it affirmed: yes, that was trauma — that feels so good. It doesn’t undo the bad but it brings (me) some relief. And also some sense of empowerment. 

In past therapies, I’ve been told and taught to see my parents’ hurtful behavior with me as “mistakes”, as in “they didn’t mean it, they were doing their best, and they loved you and love you regardless of their mistakes, which all parents make” blahblahblah. I guess that’s an important step — I think it was an important step or phase in my own therapeutic work. But it’s not sufficient. That doesn’t redeem my parents. That’s not enough. If you do something wrong and/or hurtful even with the best intentions, it’s not enough to say, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, it was a mistake, we all make mistakes, I was doing the best I could, I didn’t know better, and I love you anyway”. That’s a starter, for sure, but it’s not enough. If you’ve done something harmful, after acknowledging it and apologizing, then you have to ask the person who was harmed how you can make it up to them or how they want to move on and relate to you moving forward, especially when there’s a power unbalance like parent-child (or teacher-student/mentor-mentee/employer-employee) dynamics. When my sister writes to me “You’re asking a lot of them” (referring to the silence I’m requesting from my parents), doesn’t she realize how much they asked of me, for year and years, when I was a child, i.e. when I didn’t have the tools to handle what was shoved onto me??? 

Trauma doesn’t go away with pretty words or by sweeping it under the rug. Trauma gets healed by regaining a sense of safety and control. And if silence with my parents now is the only way I can feel — or regain, at least for now — a sense of safety and control that was taken away from me for so long and in such vulnerable years, then so be it. 

Gentleness with myself is a skill I’m still learning. And will need to practice a lot today. 

Last week was rough — one of the roughest weeks I’d had in a long time. My female hormones before and during my period hit me harder than ever, probably intensified by my (hopefully temporary) hypothyroidism, and triggering my gender dysphoria and body-image issues and ensuing eating disorders like I hadn’t felt in decades. On top of that, the practical issues of having to deal with less personal/quiet space in the house where I’m living and actually a feeling of being in a hostile environment… Suddenly, I was told, sort of politely but very effectively, that I had to leave ASAP and no later than this Thursday, April 28th, which is 2-3 weeks earlier than planned… It was a blow. Emotionally, but also financially and from the viewpoint of logistics. And all of this while having tight deadlines for the textbook I’m writing, for which another chapter was due yesterday. 

My bloody female hormones have finally given me a break since this past weekend and being able to exercise and see some trusted friends outdoors here has also helped. And yesterday I managed to submit the chapter that was due — a huge push, a huge effort, but also a huge accomplishment. 

Today I’m really tired. I really feel the need to be gentle with myself, careful with this little being that can push so hard but has also been through so much, especially in the past months. 

The other evening I was talking to one of my closest friends, whom I met less than a year ago, in May/June 2021. And they were reminding me of how much I’ve been through, how many changes, how many “shit shows” or “perfect storms”, how many trauma triggers, how much self-discovery and growth, how many leaps of faith — all of it only since knowing each other, in less than a year… It’s true. I often forget how much I’ve been through, on top of COVID and everything else that’s going on in the world. Lots of what I’ve been through has been good or, at least, it has brought wonderful changes my way, but it’s all been a lot, like one Copernican revolution after another. 

So today I’ll try and extend some gentleness toward myself, be kind and gentle with myself before my next big step — moving to another town in just a couple days…

The other reason for my suffering, today and in the past few days, is that I’m scared. 

Now that I’ve finally committed, I’m scared. 

I’ve signed the postdoc offer and gotten most of the paperwork for that done. I’m gradually turning down other professional opportunities, which effectively means eliminating other options, closing other doors, at least for now. I’ll be moving to my new temporary home within a month. 

I love it here. This is the first place on Earth that I’ve chosen completely by myself, with nobody else’s influence but just because I like it and feel comfortable here and resonate with the people and places here. Indeed, I have several new friends and acquaintances and opportunities to hang out with people here — people who also contact me and seek me out without it always having to be me to make the first step. 

And yet, I’m scared. Maybe because I love it so much here, or because it is the first place I’ve chosen completely by myself, for me, independently of anyone else, including my special trans friend and dear climbing/adventure buddy from California. 

Maybe I’m so scared because I’m putting so much pressure on myself about this “second chance” I’m giving myself with academic research. Or scared of maintaining a healthy balance between the deep feelings & special relationship with my trans climbing friend in California and my new life here: because I care about them so much and feel so well with them — and now I know it’s mutual — but I also want to continue building my own life here, finding my way again in a new place, making new friends, pursuing a career… 

I guess I’m afraid of not managing it all… 

I’m having one of those days when all I’d really want to do is curl up in a blanket and relax and be held. 

But I cannot do that because I have work to do, deadlines to meet, and no one here to hold me. 

I’m having one of those days where sadness and loneliness and tiredness seem to be infinite, all-encompassing. 

There are some objective reasons for some of my feelings: the first day of my period (damn those female hormones!); a slight sore-throat that hopefully isn’t the beginning of some illness; the buzzing hyperactivity we’ve had in the house for almost a week now, since the return of my host family, as they prepare the house to be sold and I thus have less space to relax and be comfortable here. 

But objectively there’s nothing really wrong: my plans for the next few months are pretty clear, I have a place to live and even a good job confirmed for the next couple years; I’m relatively healthy; I’m in pleasant company here most of the time; I have several new friends and acquaintances from my two main communities here, climbers and trans/non-binary persons, and I’m hanging out with these people very often, on average every-other day, which is far more than I ever had or did in California. 

And yet, my gender dysphoria has been through the roof these past few days and today it’s almost unbearable. In this moment it’s caused by my period and by my slightly less athletic/more feminine body due to the decrease in exercise lately because of injuries; but I can hardly keep it under control, hardly focus on what I need to get done for work. Old feelings from when I was much younger are resurfacing, when I didn’t want to look at my body, I didn’t want anybody to see it, I wanted to hide it, almost obliterate it, and I struggled with eating disorders gnawing at me every meal of the day. These feelings are horrible and it’s scary that they’re resurfacing like this — the other side of the coin of coming into & out with my trans non-binary gender identity, I guess. 

I wish someone close could hold me and tell me I’ll be fine, that they see the boy in me despite the female aspects of my body, that I’m loved truly as I am, that I’ll get my textbook done on time and I’ll do well on my postdoc. That the decisions I have made and am making recently are okay. That I’ll be fine. 

Tell me I’ll be fine.

After nearly two weeks of not writing, I’m back, and would have so much to say that I hardly know where to start. 

Today, I had to swim 2 miles to be able to get some of my grumpiness (& loneliness) off. I basically drugged myself into a good mood by getting endorphins flowing in my body. 

I think this is PMS (pre-/peri-menstrual-syndrome). I’ve had it my whole life, except for when I was on oral contraceptives. And I really cannot complain because apart from this grumpiness for a few days before my period, I really have never had any other physical or psychological issues from this feminine phenomenon. Until now. Now it’s become unbearable to me: why should I put myself through this for several days every month? Why put up with this? Every f***ick month for more than half my life and for no reason at all, since I don’t want to get pregnant, ever, and have never wanted to — on the contrary, I have always dreaded and felt alienated by the mere thought of a pregnancy in my body. 

This isn’t just the usual bracing myself to put up with a few days of “bad mood” —which in any case, is no fun every month for decades. Now this is yet another trigger for my gender dysphoria. And as such it is terribly painful and frustrating and upsetting. 

Once we learn things, we cannot unlearn them. Once you see the truth, you cannot “unsee” it. And this is the painful aspect of having come into myself — and still being in the process of growing into myself — as a non-binary trans person. It’s the two sides of the same coin: one side is the liberation, the joy, the beauty, the relief; the other side is the pain, the anger, the frustration, and even alienation. Although the alienation was always there, even before coming into myself and out to the world as non-binary trans. And the alienation will probably always be there, at least to a certain extent, because unfortunately we live in a terribly binary, discriminating, non-inclusive world. All the automatic “Ladies & gentlemen”, “Sir’s” & “M’am’s”, “men and women”, “sick or healthy”, “good and bad”, “us and them”, etc. 

To feel vaguely comfortable at the gym or pool, I now use the “all gender” restrooms, which are those usually available for several purposes, mainly baby-changing station and bathroom for disabled persons. These spaces are invariably uncomfortable and very lacking compared to the binary gendered changing rooms with plenty of showers, bathrooms stalls, hand and/or hair-dryers, lockers, long mirrors, and benches. The “all gender” restrooms have small dingy showers (no idea how a disabled person, say in a wheelchair, could wash in there!), no or very few lockers, often no bench to sit on (once again, how can that be practical for a disabled person, among others!?!), never a hair-dryer (don’t we trans people have hair?!?) and only a short mirror over the sink. Restrooms built like this are perfunctory. Rather than feeling grateful that most gyms have one (never more than one!) room like this, I’m actually starting to feel affronted and frustrated by the glaring discrimination or “non-inclusivity” that shows through such a space. If someone is not cis-gender or if someone is disabled or just has a small child to take care of, they are automatically relegated to a small, uncomfortable space. 

And I’ve stopped keeping quiet about it. I’ve started pointing it out and putting in formal complaints, in polite but firm ways, in every gym where I’m going and have to use such a space. 

Just like starting to speak up when I hear comments that are biased by unfounded binary beliefs. The other day, as I walked into the reception of the physical therapist’s office, I couldn’t help but overhear the receptionist say to a previous customer that her “son is just naturally different from her daughters, that males and females are just wired differently”. I was so upset that I stepped back and went to the (fortunately “all gender”!) bathroom, to take a deep breath and ponder whether I could let go of that comment or not. And then I decided I couldn’t. Not just for me, but for the future society we’re trying to build. We cannot let these toxic, unfounded, scientifically incorrect beliefs be perpetuated because they hurt everyone: cis-gender and abled and privileged people as much as under-represented groups. So as soon as I felt calm enough, I went back out and very politely addressed the receptionist, starting by apologizing for overhearing the conversation with the other customer and asking if she minded me making a comment. Thankfully she was friendly and willing to listen so I was able to tell her that, actually, it is scientifically proven that “males and females” are not “wired” in certain ways that make them intrinsically different on a psychological level; that there are “intersex” persons for whom the “male/female” labels are simply wrong or insufficient, as well as non-binary/trans persons, like myself, for whom such labels feel wrong and/or uncomfortable; and I offered to give her some references of books to back up my comments — which she thankfully accepted. This receptionist is a young, nice, open-minded person who will hopefully read some of the references or, at least, maybe try and raise her children in a less binary and biased way now. But often speaking up openly like that is difficult, impossible, useless, or even dangerous.

I felt that with all I said to her that afternoon I was already pushing the boundaries but I also felt it was a duty I had: to not put up with it, to try and spread some seeds, not just for me, but for the people growing up in this world.