Sometimes we wait so long that we’re no longer waiting, and sometimes we wait so long that we’re dead.
— mattilda bernstein sycamore
I figured out I wanted to transition when I talked to a nonbinary trans guy who shared with me that he wanted to have a masculine “base” on which to experiment with femininity and gender non-conformity, instead of the female-labeled “base” he currently had. And that he was building that base, in part, by taking testosterone as part of medical transition. That really clicked with me, as up until that point I’d only ever heard of trans men who wanted to be really masc, and I knew that wasn’t me.
Basically, when I heard a trans guy narrative that matched my inner desires and reality, I then knew I was trans, and had to transition and chase this opportunity to really express my inner self. I’d wanted to do it for a long time, but my attempts to do it as a woman were frustratingly incomplete. It’s like I realized there was nothing wrong with the self-portrait I was trying to paint, I just was painting it on the totally wrong kind of canvas.
This is scary as shit. I feel appropriative, as though I don’t have the right to call myself “transgender” because my story doesn’t match the ones I’d always heard. Who the hell am I to think this could happen to my life? It’s like being struck by lightning, and left in sad, excited awe.