I don’t want to be transgender

I don’t want to be transgender.

Don’t get me wrong, I like who I am.  In fact, I have a good sense of personal value and worth – I am pleased by my abilities and derive great satisfaction from my personal growth and development.  I am able to succeed in my endeavors, and I value the blessings, opportunities, and support I’ve had to allow this.

I am happy with my likes and content with just about everything in my life right now.  I even like much about my body – it’s healthy, strong, and it allows me to do many valuable, creative things.  I receive particular satisfaction from creating complex works of art with my hands, and I’m very grateful for this ability.  I have nice hair and eyes that are the blue of summer mornings.  I’m even okay with my many moles and various visible scars.

In fact, there’s little I’d change if given the chance.  If I was to come across a magic lamp, I’d use a wish for my body’s gender and then really have to think about what to use the last two wishes for.  Sure, I’d love some more money and the freedom to travel and see Europe, but I’m content without those things.

But I’m utterly and totally discontent with the incongruence of my body’s gender and what I feel.  Still, after 30 years, when I glance into a mirror I’m jarred and subsequently disappointed when I see a guy there.  I hate to see myself in photos and videos.  I hate to be reminded of what everyone else sees.

It would be easy to say that I’m being crazy.  Why can’t I just learn to be okay with who I am and what body I have?  Andromeda finds me attractive and I’ve never noticed anyone recoiling in fear when they see me.  I must not be that bad.  Am I incapable of accepting the lot that I’ve been given?

I don’t feel that I’m being irrational.  I don’t feel like I’m being too self-focused.  Like I’ve already discussed, there is much about my body I enjoy.  But I don’t know how to feel the same peace I do with my body’s moles and scars as I do with my body’s undesired gender.

I don’t want to pretend to be female through surgical or non-surgical means.  Sure, having a body that more closely resembled what I desire would be nice, but it’s not what I want.  I don’t want to be a male-to-female transsexual.  I don’t want to have to ‘pass’ or ‘pretend.’

And it’s not that I have some irrational hatred of men or devalue the male body, either.  My body’s masculinity is functional, elegantly designed, and I can appreciate its value and important purpose.  I also really value my five tremendously-important children that are a direct result of my body having these characteristics.  But, even in spite of all that, I still don’t want to be masculine.  To not want something is not to say that what isn’t desired is devalued or unimportant.

This is why the prayer I’ve offered up in secret my whole life has always had the important caveat – I want to wake up female, but I want it to be unremarkable and insignificant to anyone else.

I don’t want people to notice a change, I want to wake up female and have it be like that’s how it’s always been.  I don’t want a celebration thrown because now I can be content with my body’s gender.  I don’t want to be the poster child for the sad plight of gender dysphoria.  I don’t want to be in the transgender club or an advocate of transgender awareness.  I don’t want to be seen as a weirdo or freak.  I want to be female.  I don’t want to ever have been male.  I don’t want to be transgender.

Alas.

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