Transgender: The Eternal Cycle of Pretending

How good of an impression can you do of yourself?

Go on and try. See how good of a you, you can do. Think you can make it convincing? You probably think I’m talking crazy, right? You think there’s no such thing as doing an impression of yourself. After all, if you’re doing anything, it’s as yourself, right? Well, I can do one, and after years of practice I’d say I’m getting pretty good at it. As a transgender woman, I do an impression of myself every time I interact with someone. It’s an exhausting and mentally taxing thing to maintain, but for transgender women it can be a necessity.

This probably sound counter-intuitive to the pro-trans arguments you’ve heard before. But Faith, I thought the whole point of coming out as transgender is to not be pretending to be someone else? Well, that’s not what I said. I spent years pretending to be some guy named Joe. What no one wants to talk about is how coming out of the closet doesn’t mean you stop pretending, just that the way you have to pretend changes.

Let me explain. If I’ve ever talked to you on the street or on the phone, you heard me doing an impression of my own voice. See, unless I’m home alone or it’s just me and my partner, I don’t talk without first tightening my throat and putting extra air behind the words to raise the pitch of my voice. I’ve gotten really good at it over the years, to the point where it doesn’t take nearly as much physical and mental effort as it used to. But it’s still a conscious step I have to take between thought and speech. Here’s the point I’m trying to make with that: the voice I’m producing when I take those steps is my voice (or at least as close to it as I’m capable of). The much deeper, baritone-range voice that naturally comes out of my throat isn’t my voice. I don’t identify with it. It sounds foreign to me. That’s what dysphoria is all about: what you see in the mirror or hear when you speak doesn’t match your identity.

What’s the point I’m making in all this? Well, just imagine going through your entire day every day consciously doing a voice that doesn’t naturally come out of your throat. That can seriously mess you up, and it’s something I always think about when some troll on the internet posts juvenile, anti-trans statements like “you can’t change biology”, or “you’ll always physically be a man.” Their 4th grade understanding of biology and psychology aside, they’re somewhat right. Nothing is ever going to change my chromosomes. If I want to keep producing a voice that matches my identity I’ll have to consciously make the effort each time.

The entirety of the transgender experience is about pretending; you’re either pretending to be something you’re not on the inside or trying to look like something you are on the outside. Take makeup for example. Ask just about any trans woman and she’ll tell you that makeup is more than just a fun accent to your look, its a camouflage necessary for survival. This can be especially true if you’ve not been able to get your facial hair removed. I still remember how freeing it was to reach a point where I felt comfortable going out without makeup again. When I first transitioned, I did full-face makeup no matter where I was going or what I was doing (and let me tell you, that gets expensive!). It took a lot of time and energy, but I didn’t have a choice. Makeup is something our society codes as feminine, so having it all over your face gives you one more layer of protection between you and some transphobe being able to tell you’re not cisgender.

It’s not just makeup either. I know a lot of cis women who like to wear jeans and a hoodie when they run errands or are just hanging out with friends. Sounds simple, right? Not when you’re transgender. Androgyny can be terrifying when you’re trans (unless you don’t identify as a binary gender in which case it’s awesome). It means pulling back from the extremes of gender expression and making yourself more susceptible to being misgendered. Even if I just wear jeans and a t-shirt when going out, I make sure the shirt is tight enough to show what little breast growth I’ve managed thanks to the hormones I take. Boobies mean female. Boobies mean I get called ma’am by strangers and can safely use the bathroom. Boobies mean no one thinks I’m a man.

These are all just aesthetic choices made before I leave the house, but they all mean something much deeper when you’re transgender. I love girls clothes and makeup, but it takes some of the fun away when they move from indulged interest to survival necessity. What about days I would just like to wear a hoodie and no makeup? If I’m getting dressed up when I don’t feel like it, aren’t I still, in some way, living as someone I’m not? And remember, this is just talking about how other people see me; we haven’t scratched how it affects me personally. I still have some of my old boys clothes buried deep in my closet (which makes for an apt metaphor: i.e. it’s HIS turn to hide back there). The very thought of ever putting them on terrifies me. It’s not that I think it will take my identity away, but that it will keep me from seeing myself as a woman in the mirror. Androgynous clothing messes with my dysphoria enough, so putting on on actual “boy” clothes would be almost catastrophic for my mental state. I’ve worked very hard on my appearance, and each time I look in the mirror I see more of Faith and less of Joe. Between hormones, laser hair removal, diet, and exercise, I’ve spent months crafting my body to as close a representation of my inner self as I can. But the confidence I’ve built as a result is fragile, and I worry that wearing or doing anything masculine will destroy it.

Here’s the point I’m making in all of that: I don’t hate boy’s clothes. In fact, now that I’m not forced to wear them all the time, I’ve grown a new appreciation for some of them. There are times I think it would be fun to put on a shirt and tie again. Does that make me not transgender? No. Does that make me less of a woman? Hell no. There are plenty of cisgender women out there who like to wear boy clothes sometimes, be they formal or casual. It doesn’t take away from their identity and it doesn’t take away from mine. My problem is this: if I put on a suit and look in the mirror, will I see a woman wearing it or a man? That’s what scares me. That’s what keeps those clothes at the back of the closet. That’s what makes me keep “pretending”.

I don’t have a general poignant statement to make in all of this. Sometimes this blog is just a space for me to get my feelings out of my own head. If you’re trans and know what these feelings are like, it can be nice to hear someone else speak to the same experiences. If you’re cis, I hope this gives you at least a little insight into what it’s like to have dysphoria. Strictly speaking, pretending never goes away when you’re transgender, just the manner in which you pretend changes. I’d much rather change my outside to match my inside than go on acting like I’m really the boy the world always saw me as, but that doesn’t make it easy. That doesn’t take away the constant effort it takes to maintain that image.

So, if you open your mouth to speak and hear your own voice come out, congratulations. Cherish the synchronization between mind and body you’ve been blessed with. When you look in the mirror and see yourself, enjoy it. If you’ve never once had to wonder if the stranger you’re talking to is seeing you for you and not the person you’re trying to convince them you’re not, I envy you.

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The Girl Without a Past

First and foremost, this blog is about whatever I want it to be on any given day. My head is usually a turbulent sea of overthinking and this offers a nice release valve to let some of those thoughts escape. But one of the main reasons I wanted this space was to document all the little thoughts, feelings, and moments of transition that you don’t necessarily learn from broader reading on the subject. Sure, you can easily get information about how hormones will affect your body or get testimonials on coming out to loved ones, but life is just full of smaller yet more powerful moments that completely catch you off guard and toy with your emotions like nothing else.

Case in point, today’s topic. This is one of those little things that maybe no one else thinks is worthy of an entire blog post, but life is all about the little things. When you’re transgender, there are some experiences that are just unique to your situation. Cis people just don’t think about them. Hell, trans probably didn’t think about them until they experienced them (I know I didn’t!). If nothing else, I hope this serves as some sort of validation to the little things other transgender people might be thinking but don’t know how to express and hopefully give cisgender people a glimpse into our reality.

Before you come out as transgender, the world can be a depressing place. I’d liken it to standing in a glass box and watching the world go on around you while you’re closed off, but it’s actually worse than that. When you’re having to present as an inauthentic gender, it’s more like wearing a Halloween costume every day and having the world interact with it as if it were really you. It’s physically and mentally draining to literally perform every day of your life, and when you’re in that space transition can seem like it will be the magic moment when all of those burdens are lifted away.

‘If I could just transition, everything would be fine’: I know I’ve thought that many times over the years. And, yes, while transitioning is a wonderful thing and I personally think it was the best decision I ever made, it isn’t the magic cure-all I was blind enough to think it was. Unlike the old saying, the grass actually is greener on the other side, but that doesn’t mean it’s free of weeds and the occasional thorn. There are realities to the post-coming out experience that you just never think about until you’re living that life.

Case in point, dealing with the past. I don’t mean that in the broader sense it probably sounds like. Sure, the past is obviously going to affect you in many ways. After all, you have a whole world you have to reintroduce yourself to. I never realized just how many official documents and accounts had my male name on it until I got it legally changed and had to go correcting all of them (still not even close to done on that, by the way). No matter how much you try to distance yourself from the old you, they still cause various hiccups in your life from time to time.

That’s not what I’m talking about here. I’m looking smaller in this post, at the little details of life never enter your mind until you’re in the moment. At least for me, envy has always been a big part of the transgender experience. Even before body dysphoria kicked in in my early 20’s and cemented the fact I’m trans, I grew up being envious of girls. The lives they lived just always seemed more interesting, more fun, to me. When I dreamed of transition, I imagined finally getting to be a part of that world. I imagined going out with female friends to go shopping or out to lunch. We’d swap stories and help each other pick out cute outfits. Everything would be great. Years later, I’m finally getting my wish. I live to shop and love just spending a day out with my female friends. I’m one of those old farts that still prefers buying things in a store rather than online because the act of shopping is fun for me. We’ll buy, we’ll eat, we’ll gossip; everything is perfect.

Well, not exactly. See, I’m in my early 30’s. I started transition about 3 years ago. That means that, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, Faith has only existed since 2015. Until then she was locked away in the depressed mind of some guy named Joe. He’s the one with a past. He’s the one who went to high school, went to prom, went on dates, partied like only a teenager can, and basically did all of those things you can only do when you’re single and don’t have to worry about adult responsibilities. When I’d go out with friends and we’d be sitting around talking, inevitably people would want to tell stories from their past. After all, back then was when you did all of the fun stuff, right?

These are the moments when my fun new normal crashes down and my mind fills with flashing billboards saying, “YOU ARE TRANS!”, “YOU ARE THE DIFFERENT ONE HERE!”. I want to participate in this. I want to tell stories and join in the fun. But Faith doesn’t have a past: Joe does. Joe’s stories don’t match Faith’s new reality. This puts me up against an uncomfortable choice: I can either participate by telling Joe’s stories and let the dissonance take everyone out of the moment, or I can just keep silent and not participate in the conversation.

I read a great article a few weeks ago (tried without success to find it again so I could link it) written by a trans woman feeling a similar way. She talked about experiencing a new kind of dysphoria: not one of an inharmonious body, but of an inharmonious life. She was herself now, yes, but she was a woman picking up a life where a man left off. It really struck something with me. When we come out to our friends and family, one thing often stressed that we’re still the same people, but that’s not entirely true. Joe was a quiet, introverted man who poured himself into his retail job to climb the corporate ladder. He did that to try and push me down. I, on the other-hand, am an outspoken social butterfly who wants to work in counseling or some other office job. Joe’s past clashes with my future, but I have to take over the life he left me.

So what to do then? Do I tell Joe’s stories or just pretend I came into the world as a 31 year old? It can be depressing. Transgender people have enough happening our lives to constantly remind us we’re not like most of the people around us. We get practically no representation in media, and when we do it’s rarely positive. Clothes aren’t always made with us our bodies in mind. We have to see doctors our cis counterparts don’t (I’m dreading the fact that regular prostate exams are in my not-too-distant future). The world constantly reminds us that it was crafted without taking our existence into consideration, and we somehow have to find a way to fit in.

This is usually the part where the great solution comes in, but I don’t have one. Not all problems have a fix. Sometimes just talking about them, admitting to them, is all the therapy you’re ever going to get. I will never have the experience of growing up socialized as a woman. My prom stories will always involve wearing a tuxedo. I will never escape that I’ve been a best man but not a maid of honor. That’s my reality. The only thing you can do is embrace how your experience makes you unique. I’m a woman whose wife had to show her how to put on makeup; that’s pretty unique. I’m a mom who will be able to teach her son how to shave when he’s old enough; that’s pretty unique. It’s not a story that matches everyone else, but that can be okay too.

There is comfort in mundanity, in the simple knowledge that experiences are widely held and therefore generally understood. No two people have the same life experiences, but we find connections in what we have in common. Being trans in a cis world means it’s harder to find such connections. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.

So what do I do when people are bringing up the past? Well, I usually tell one of Joe’s stories. Does it “other” me? Yep. Does it make me feel different? You bet. It hurts a little, and it probably always will. But it also serves to remind those I’m talking to that there’s no wrong way to be a person. My male past doesn’t diminish my feminine present. What I’ve gone through doesn’t define where I’m going. Everyone has things in their past they wish they could change, but those experiences do shape you, and you wouldn’t be you without them. That knowledge doesn’t make the hurt go away, but it does let you find power in it. The world needs more variety anyway. We need more stories that challenge what is widely accepted as “normal”. When you dare to face your past, you can offer that challenge.

What Coloring My Hair Did For Dysphoria

Like many transgender people, I experience something called body dysphoria. That can seem like a weird term to anyone whose either not experienced it or not heard of it. Basically, body dysphoria means the person I see in the mirror doesn’t match the image of myself in my head. Think of it like Neo from The Matrix when his appearance changes once he’s in the computer simulation to the way he sees himself. (By the way, that movie was written by two male siblings who later both came out as transgender women so…yea…it’s basically one long metaphor for the trans experience told through the lens a sci-fi shoot’em up.)

Body dysphoira is something you’d assume goes away when you transition, but it doesn’t. Through hormone therapies and various medical procedures, a transgender person’s body can go through an amazing metamorphosis. Estrogen thins body hair, enlarges breasts, and softens skin. Testosterone produces facial hair and deepens the voice. I’ve been on HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) for just over a year now and I can tell you that the difference a year makes is astounding. Actually, let me show you…

Me before HRT.

Me after 1 year of HRT.

Pretty drastic, hu? It still blows me away sometimes when I look at the pictures side by side. However, there are a lot of times when I look in the mirror and see…well…this guy…

Believe it or not, that was ME! That was me prior to coming out as transgender. It looks nothing like me now, and yet I still see that face sometimes when I look in the mirror. How is that possible? Well, dysphoria plays a role. See, prior to starting transition I’d been watching that man’s face stare back at me in the mirror my entire life. I didn’t like it, but it was what I was used to. It was the face of a man, no denying it. Seeing a face like that and knowing it was mine was a big source of anxiety and depression for me. I didn’t want to look like that.

See, the problem with HRT is that it’s a very slow process. These aren’t magic pills (or injections depending on what your doctor prescribes). It takes a long time to see change and, when you do, they’re very subtle. I didn’t look back at any old pictures until I’d been on HRT for about 6 months and even then I was shocked by the contrast. Like anything that changes slowly, you don’t notice the change unless you compare it back to the original image.

That’s all well and good, but I can’t just keep holding up a picture of that guy next to me every time I look in the mirror. If you don’t experience gender dysphoria you have no idea what kind of emotional havoc it can cause. What you see in the mirror can be distorted by your mood that day. Some days I think I look very womanly, even without makeup. Other days I can be dolled up like a damn princess and still see that guy looking back at me. It’s a frustrating thing to go through, especially when you’ve got friends and family trying to encourage you by telling you how good you look. It’s great that they see it, but what matters is if you do.

Well, I think I found a little trick to help. My birthday was a few days ago and I decided I wanted to do something I’d never done before: color my hair. I did it for a couple of reasons: first to just do something fun and new and second to cover up the ever-increasing number of gray hairs I was seeing.

…getting old sucks…

I wen’t with a bright red and instantly fell in love with the new look. It was hot!

Changing anything drastically has a tendency freshen things up. It can alter your mood, outlook, thinking…anything! However, I soon noticed a positive aspect of the change I wasn’t expecting: it helped my dysphoria. The more I thought about it the more sense it made. Unlike the effects of HRT, coloring your hair is an instant and dramatic change. Depending on how drastically different your chosen color is from your natural one, it can make you look like a completely different person, and that was the key. By skewing my reflection so much so fast, I was able to look at myself like a brand new human being. This new person in the mirror, I’d never met her before. I’d never grown up as her. She’d never had to live as a boy. She wasn’t familiar, and because of that, I didn’t notice her masculine features as much.

I’m not saying it went away entirely. My eyes still focus sometimes on my wide jaw or boxy chin. But the difference in hair color makes them less noticeable. If you’re reading this and thinking this is a sure-fire cure for body dysphoria, please adjust your expectations. Still, I wanted to share this experience in case anyone out there like me is looking for a way to really shake up the person they see in the mirror. If you’re like me and struggling to focus on the minuscule changes HRT is bringing you, go grab a box of hair dye and turn your brunette blond, or your blond red, or whatever. Give your hormones an unfamiliar canvas to work their magic on. Like me, you might be surprised by the results.