“My” body and gender
I have been meaning to write this post for quite a while, and since then the pressure of school and life has made it nearly impossible to even attempt to write or think about this. In a strange coincidence (or perhaps not), a good friend attempted to understand my position as a person considering transitioning. He is a cis, heterosexual man, who could not fathom questioning his own gender. This isn’t a criticism on him, because, let’s face it Tumblr. There are people who are comfortable with their assigned gender (I, here, am referencing the disturbing “down with cis” movement). Because this conversation came from a place of love, genuine curiosity and knowledge instinct (the want for knowledge), I answered truthfully, without the censorship that I so often impose onto myself and my speech.
I explained my dissociative behaviour; the third-person self-talk, the inability to see my body as my self. I described the difference between dysphoria and dysmorphia, and that I don’t know which is dictating my feelings towards my gender and how I wish to present.
In all of this, I came to the astonishing conclusion that I resent my gender. That I am not sure how to define male, but associate and identify with it easier because I know I hate being a female.
bell hooks, an incredible academic feminist, said that creating a relationship between militarism and the patriarchy makes male synonymous with aggression and violence, and makes the women who advocate against it synonymous to weakness and nurturing. That implying that men relish in violence perpetuates the stereotypes that some live their lives in, despite feminist outcry. She also states in Talking Back, that it is crucial to criticise social standards as a whole, confronting our [referencing feminists] own ideologies and understandings of all genders in order not to distort the constructs of reality.
In spite of all of this, I realized in my conversation that my life experiences and my feelings towards those experiences have sadly reinforced constructs on femininity, and has given me a sour outlook on females as a whole. “Were I a man, would I have been abused, or constantly put in the position of being abused?” “Were I a man, would I be able to face confrontation or be capable of speaking up when I am faced with injustice or unhealthy relationship dynamics?” All of these questions lead to “were it not for my female body, I would not be weak”.
This does not take away from the joy I feel when I am gendered as a male, when my preferred name is called out, when I put on my binder in the morning. Nor does it invalidate the feeling that I have, that I have always had that I am in the wrong body, and this is not me. This does, however, call into question my reasoning behind it and whether I truly am a man, or just a person who wants to disappear and be reborn as a man who has never been abused, never been scared that the gun pointed at him may be loaded, never held from the collar at the edge of a building, never said “no” and ignored, never strangled, never smothered, never disrespected, never had things thrown in his face, never had someone threaten they will crash the car while driving 160km/h, never sexually abused as a child by a neighbour, or never had that abuse as a child make family question his sexuality. This man has never been blamed for the abuse he never encountered because he is “too timid” and “too passive” in the face of these acts of violence that never occurred.
If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that I am not okay. Tomorrow marks a new milestone- my last day as a student. Tomorrow proves that I am not doomed to be stuck in the same place. Maybe tomorrow, I will have answers. But for tonight... I am here. And in pain.
Am I not obliged to do all that I can to keep myself from disappearing completely?