Something I realized last night while talking to a friend is that so much of my experience and transition history as well as present day choices revolve around the ever-slim space I’ve carved out over years where I can be butch and masculine without immediately being misgendered and seen as a man.
I’m not a man. I’m masculine, I’m butch.
Being seen as a man can be uncomfortable for me, less than it used to be but if I’m completely honest it’s still not something I enjoy. But being masculine is the only way I’ve ever felt remotely comfortable and JOYFUL about who I am and how I present.
And henceforth I exist in these margins where by transitioning via estrogen hormone replacement therapy I’ve carved out a tiny space between these dysphoria inducing cells.
If I could press a button and never be seen as a man again I’d be so much more masculine and butch and dyke shaped.
As is most days i’m glad to have boobs but that’s exclusively because they most consistently make people think i’m not a man. If that wasn’t required then I’d be much happier with a flat chest, I feel. I love the look and some days I feel genuinely dysphoric about all that bouncing tissue.
If not shaving didn’t make people think I’m a guy instantly I’d love to be a dyke that rocks a beard.
I’m butch, I’m butch, I’m butch, I’m butch.
I’ve always been this way and any femininization I’ve gained is solely to gain more wiggle room between the way I feel most comfortable and being misgendered.
My transition is towards masculinity. I am transmasculine.
