I am a transsexual

I am a transsexual. It’s kind of an outdated word, and really only a word that should be used by a transsexual person, but it is what I am now. A transsexual is a person who undergoes a physical transition and now receives medical recognition of a change in sex. I also receive legal recognition of my change in sex. Very soon, I will have my sex assigned at birth amended.

Aug. 6th - I made it through surgery!

There is no way I could have imagined this as possible in my teens and early twenties. I was not equipped with the language, let alone representation of my experience with an upbringing in rural, white America. There were only 60something out gay people in my town. In my twenties, I saw trans people as part of another people and culture, as something foreign to me, though came to understand that queer people in these cultures often have a very special role in their communities and families as extra caretakers, providers, and wise people on spiritual paths.

In my brother’s attic while out West, just before I truly learned what it means to be transgender, I learned one great spiritual truth about God and some great spiritual truths about myself while meditating: I am bold, like many truth seekers that have come before me. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. God is a Creator and laughs that we have named Her. There is power in naming, and God is limitless. These truths have guided my journey.

Rumi once said that masculinity does not necessarily come from maleness. Similarly, I would argue, femininity or feminine energy does not necessarily come from being female. These exist outside the binary construction of the sexes.

For me, like many (trans) men, physically transitioning has opened more options for fluidity in gender expression without the automatic assumption that I am female because I am wearing a kilt or eyeliner.

A couple of years ago I asked my mom for some eye makeup because when I was socialized as female I learned the art of eye makeup very well, and I wanted to figure out how to incorporate it into my style. She seemed very pleased. We also shopped in the men’s section during that visit. It was a time of exploration of gender expression for me. I did not continue with the eye makeup beyond briefly putting it on, and I wonder if I was held back by constantly being bullied by people I dated telling me what men do and do not do—despite seeing other trans people wear eye makeup, despite knowing boys can wear eye makeup, too.

Bell hooks discusses in The Will to Change how men and young boys are often socialized out of their alternate masculinities by their sexist peers. I hope this does not continue to be the case. Likewise, I do not want to be forced into femininity.

My friend Colorful is good at encouraging me to be exactly the type of man I am when I talk about bulking up: the sensitive, skinny writer type. Recovering from chest reconstruction with her and her spouse was absolutely wonderful as I felt constantly encouraged in my manhood.

Colorful came with me to the surgery itself. During my first days of recovery, she sat at my bedside and read to me essays from Manning Up: Transsexual Men on Finding Brotherhood, Family and Themselves until I was well enough to read on my own. She cooked deliciously healthy meals for me, emptied my drains, and changed my wraps. Her partner often accompanied me outside for my cigar breaks. Still, they kept me company when I was well enough to pour a glass of water from a Brita pitcher and were quick to leap from working if any action caused pangs in my chest. By the time the estimated two weeks of recovery time for my no-nipple surgery was up, I had finished reading the Afrofuturistic graphic novel The Eightfold Path by Steven Barnes and Dr. Charles Johnson, finished prepping to start working the fall semester, and we were planning another thru-hike.

One of the first times I got to see what my chest looked like

I actually had a surprisingly large amount of support during recovery. Everyone I asked to do something did, even my parents. Initially, my parents had been resistant to help because they are still struggling with the change, but my mom made two large batch meals for my recovery from surgery. I felt really cared for.

My mom's homemade chicken noodle soup

Reconnecting with my parents just before surgery was hard because I have been hurt by them repetitively questioning my sanity and spirituality, deadnaming, and misgendering me, but I wanted to give them a chance to see me just in case anything went wrong. I hoped they would want to do so as well. Because Odd Mart invited me to join the Lynn Lake Street Muralists this year and stencil up a line from my collection, I asked my mom if I could come practice on a canvas with her. We had a blast.

Practicing my spray paint in my mom's yard

Currently, on my path for gender liberation and euphoria, I am reading Janelle Monáe's The Memory Librarian and other stories and using beard oil and a beard roller to try to grow my beard in. I spend about an hour shirtless every morning with my coffee, and in a couple of weeks, I will no longer have to wrap. Can’t wait for this new chapter!