Monday, August 18. I’d been waiting for this day for all of my life, even though I didn’t know it.
When I made my entrance into this world, the doctor jokingly said to my parents, “There’s the lad! Oh wait… it’s a girl.”
Little could he know how right he was the first time.
So I grew up a girl, albeit never a very girly one. But back when I was little, no such thing as transgender existed. Or so it seemed. Homosexuality didn’t exist either. Not until I was – dunno – ten, twelve perhaps and one of our relatives turned out to be gay. The poor guy went straight to hell, of course – no pun intended.
Sensing that being anything but a normal, heterosexual young lady was going to get me into more trouble than I could even begin to imagine, I chose to comply. A woman was born. A heterosexual woman. But not a very happy one. It was just a role I played.
And I played my role well. Until I could not stand it any longer. I couldn’t stand the thought of having to live this lie for the rest of my life. I never had any romantic feelings for my husband, but instead yearned for the love of a woman. So I came out as a lesbian.
At that point I didn’t realise I was still running away from myself. Still hiding. Until it finally dawned on me: I’m not even a woman. I may have been born a girl, but that is not my true gender. On the inside, I’m a man. Not a gay woman, but a heterosexual guy. And if I am serious about being me, I’d better do everything within my means to become the man I’ve always been.
So last Monday I had my first appointment at the gender clinic. Just a first screening, and yes, I was nervous. Too many “what ifs” were going through my mind.
- What if I was just imagining things?
- What if I was right, but they didn’t believe me?
- What if they said I was too old?
- What if the hormones mess me up?
- What if I don’t want surgery?
- What if I do?
Of course, I shouldn’t have been nervous. The psychologist I saw never assumed I was not transgender and didn’t seem bothered by my age at all. Some people just take longer to figure out who they are and come to terms with their identity. They get people older than me. Decades older than me, even.
No more stress about that now. I’m on their waiting list. It’s still going to be at least another year until I can get started on testosterone, but a new era has begun.
My name is Liam, and I’m a Transman.