The first time I wore a dress it felt right in a way that I didn’t expect it to.
I was a boy in girl’s clothing, vulnerable in my exposed femininity. I did such things under the guise of performing noise music with my friends several years ago. Amongst the secretion of bodily fluids, scrap metal, burnt candle wax and damaged microphones, the act of dressing up as a girl was to only be similarly interpreted as shock value.
It was only during these times that I was ever a “girl.”
Throughout life, it’s often easy to justify your actions in denial of what the heart has to say. After all, the act of “becoming” a girl was a performance in itself. It was art and this was only punk rock, or so I told myself then.
I often claimed my dressing up was a sort of rebellion; an expression of my feminine side that society did not allow me to explore. Ultimately, it seems I got away exploring such ambiguity under the safety net of what people thought was a performance. However, my doubt of who I truly was slowly began to lessen. I knew that all of this was something more real to me.
Eventually, those days soon passed and since then there haven’t been many situations where I could explore such an act under a public setting, but when alone I still do so, and those times alone have only grown more frequent, more intense, and with an appearance I deem only more convincing.
When you’re born into this world there are already certain labels that are attached to you. For me, it was being born as a “boy.” Yet despite that continual reinforcement, I have never quite felt like a boy. In fact, I’d like to say that I completely reject the notion of being male altogether. From that claim alone, I guess I am what society calls a “transgender.”
“Transgender” is truly an umbrella term. For some, it means merely accepting yourself as the gender opposite in which you’re born. For others, it may mean the change of appearance, whether that be by clothes, hormones or surgery.
The definition of transgender can go on forever, but what’s really most important is knowing who you are and what you want despite any labels.
I am not a boy. I am a girl.
I’m happy to say these words, because for the first time in my life I don’t have an excuse for myself. This time I am being completely honest.
Yet for the sake of clarification, I’d like to define who I see myself as personally; a transvestite: One who crossdresses to appear as the opposite gender.
Crossdressing does not define your sexuality, nor is it always fetishtic. It’s about feeling right in your body. During the times that I’m a boy, my perception of myself is low and my self-esteem wavers, but as a girl, I feel content with my body and myself.
Perhaps such self-directed words are difficult to say no matter what body you’re in. I think that’s why the struggle of a transgender is no different from the struggle of anyone else who is afraid to accept and love him or herself.
I am not happy because I’m accepting “becoming” transgender for the first time, I’m happy because I’m accepting who I really am for the first time.
Whether you are transgender or not, it doesn’t matter. You can still read the words to come. The only care I do have is that the words I do say come out right. That they remain simple, relatable, and most importantly, human. From that, perhaps anyone can share in what I have to say and can accept not only me, but also others in general.
Being transgender is only being human.
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