A little bit of confusion seems to exist around what gender identity disorder (GID) is. As label-avoidant as I am, this is one that seems to be here to stay.
Recently, a few people have (accidentally?) made clear how they feel about it—or at least, what they think it is—which has been an interesting experience.
One person (who’s known about me identifying as at least gender dysphoric since I was 8 years old1 or so) said, “but so what does [your wife] think about all this?”, and it turned out that the assumption was that, seeing as I married a girl, and am now a father, it means that I must have acceded to the role as a husband2 and father by taking on my biologically conferred masculinity with open arms and .. I don’t know, doing something very manly with it. Crushing it under my bicep? Or something.
Another was encouraging of my writing web log3 posts on the topic if it helped me fix the problem sooner; this again seemed an interesting way to view the “issue”.
I guess my point in writing this now is to say that I don’t think this is something that necessarily will have a close. I wrote a letter to my mother to tell her about my feelings in ’05 or ’06:
I am a girl.
Here is the severity of what I feel: just writing that gives me an inner release, something that I could never have felt before. Just seeing that which I have written, right there, displaying it so plainly for anyone to see; it gives me a feeling of inner peace. Here’s Chloe4 on my lap; I’ll whisper it into her ear: Chloe, I’m a girl like you.
I feel gender dysphoria: like the (physical) sex assigned to me does not correspond to my (mental) gender. I can’t think of how many times people have told me that I’m effeminate, but that’s exactly the way that I feel on the inside, if not much, much stronger. It makes me feel uncomfortable to have this mismatch, and it’s been getting much, much worse.
That bit above about seven years wasn’t exactly true; a white lie. The first time I thought about girls in this way; not the way that pubescent boys think about them, or the ways that most typical teenagers, either; the way that I wanted to actually be one, and mingle with them, and be accepted as a peer, was ten years ago; 1996, prep. I can recall not much from my early days of school; but the strong feeling that something wasn’t right is something I can.
In 1999, in grade four, all of seven years ago, I distinctly remember thinking to myself; I wish I was a girl … The way I want to act around other people is the opposite of how I’m supposed to, and (almost) every day feels jarring as a result.
Yay, teenaged me! This was right in the middle of a long-ish letter I wrote to my mother (after a lot of text trying to outline that I was being serious), and I suppose that was a turning point: for the first time I actually discussed gender issues with.. anyone, really, and happily, it was with someone who would take the time to understand me and help me with it.
Twice, I nearly went down the road of actually transitioning physically. To date, I’m still not sure if I regret not following through. Had I done so, I’m sure I’d probably have the same lack of certainty about what I’d done. Damned if I do; damned if I don’t. All I can do is cater one way, or cater another. More ambiguity? Maybe.
So. More of that.