So, what does gender dysphoria feel like? Is it a comparison to an ideal of what your body should be like or is it you literally feel like you should be in a different body? And would the details matter like eye color, shape, nose shape, etc? Or is it a more broad based discomfort and the details don’t matter so much? Now this might be like asking to explain the color orange to a blind person. I don’t know.
I read an article a few weeks ago by a trans woman detailing her subjective experience of dysphoria, and it pretty closely matched my own. Of course, now that someone asks me this question, I can’t find it.
I’m having a very difficult time putting down my thoughts in words. I’ll think about it as I go to sleep and respond tomorrow.
Sorry, didn’t mean to stir the pot! You of course can only answer for yourself. I concur with TroutMan that you make this thread eminently worth reading. Thanks again for your openness!
Gender dysphoria is an everpresent, unslakable sadness. It’s not like I want to literally be in a different body. Rather, it’s when I look at the mirror, all of the secondary sex characteristics that signal “male” to my brain – the facial hair, the jawline, the broad shoulders, etc – distress me. At best, that distress manifests as mild melancholia. At worst, I’ll stare in the mirror for an hour in horror. When I was younger, I did a lot of psychedelic drugs, and in that state, I had to cover every mirror with butcher paper. If I caught a glimpse of myself, I would fall apart. I desperately want to look in the mirror and see a woman staring back at me.
For example, I have breasts now. I started growing them about two weeks into hormone therapy. They aren’t particularly notable (except that they’re on a trans woman), but I’m very comforted by how they occupy a space on my chest that always felt empty. I know that doesn’t make sense. It’s not like I look at my right hand everyday and think to myself, “Well, thank God that’s there! What a relief!” Then again, I’ve always had a right hand.
Something like eye-color doesn’t matter. It’s not a gendered thing.
That’s the bodily aspect (or rather my personal experience of it), which is what cis people seem the most interested in. I guess that’s understandable. As strange as all of this seems to you, living this existence is even stranger. There’s a societal aspect as well, and I’m not sure I can explain it as well. I’ll think about it some more and come back to this.
I, too think you are very brave to subject yourself to all these questions. I was looking at your photo and I noticed your Adams apple. Are you considering surgery for that? I don’t find it the least bit unattractive. But I know Trans peeps often have them shaved or cut off somehow. And, has your voice changed on estrogen therapy?
Just want to pop in and say that, regardless of subject matter, this is exactly what an Ask The thread should look like.
Thanks for sharing, Ronald.
mmm
Are you anticipating having a satisfying sex life at some point in the future or are you resigned to sacrificing that for your other goals?
I would have thought L.A. would be one of the more trans friendly places in the country. I’ve been to Los Angeles once, in my teens a really long time ago.
Well, I’m still thinking about the societal stuff, but let me knock these easy questions out of the way.
I don’t notice my Adam’s apple, although I’m aware it’s very prominent. It doesn’t bother me. I’ll probably get it reduced anyway because it’s a relatively minor surgery that can be combined with the more major ones, it’s fairly low risk, and it’s inexpensive. The procedure is informally called a “tracheal shave” and cutting away excess cartilage with a scalpel. Interestingly, it seems to be one of the surgeries often covered by insurance, even though there are many others that are far more “feminizing”.
Once your vocal folds thicken due to the influence of testosterone, there’s no going back. The lowering of the voice is irreversible. Contrast this with trans men who take testosterone; they often have pronounced vocal changes. My voice started to drop when I was in the 9th grade. I remember this distinctly because I lost the ability to convincingly imitate my then-girlfriend on the phone.
Speech therapy is common if you can afford it. When I was insured under Kaiser, I took a few sessions because they were $15 each. They focus primarily on raising your pitch, expanding the range at which you speak (men tend to talk in a more monotonous band of frequencies), and learning how to resonate in the mouth and nose rather than the chest. I have an app that does spectral analysis on your voice and matches you to similar sounding celebrities. My male voice counterpart is Bruce Willis. My female is Cate Blanchett. I’m not complaining.
In conjunction with therapy, some trans women get voice-altering surgery. The technique I’m familiar with involves suturing a portion of the vocal folds together so they vibrate at a higher frequency, although I believe you can also reduce the thickness of them, perhaps by shaving them down. I remember reading about these procedures in high school, listening to the (advertised!) results, and being absolutely horrified. I believe you also can lose quite a bit of dynamic range. I’m sure techniques have changed since then, but I will not let anyone mess with my voice.
I don’t know what to expect regarding my future sex life. I knew my libido would drop. I didn’t expect it to vanish altogether. It’s honestly rather pleasant to have it gone. The world seems hypersexualized to the point where I feel a minor culture shock when I’m out and about in LA.
LA is one of the more trans-friendly places in the country. If only one-out-of-hundred people have an incandescent hatred of you, that’s still a hell of a lot of people.
Wow. So interesting. You seem to have a balanced way of thinking about all this. I wish you happiness.
ETA, I thought your description of how your breasts feel on your chest was so sweet.
Raygun for POTUS
Ick, no.
Well, you are a voice of reason. How about an advisory role?
You hinted (in the story about your gay friend wanting in before you transitioned) that you might be in a monogamous relationship. Is that true?
Just wondering what’ll happen to the wife’s sex life now that you’ve lost your drive.
I’m assuming you’ll drive you lesbian savvy wife crazy with your new look.
Yes, that’s true.
We’ll figure it out. I don’t imagine this problem is unique to trans women.
Trust me, there’s a lot about the whole situation that’s driving her crazy.
What do you wish your trans-positive cis friends had known before you came out? Are there things they didn’t say that you wish they had, or things they said that you wish they hadn’t?
How do you see yourself when you dream?
I shared a dormitory with a trans girl who, I believe, transitioned right as she entered as a freshman. I wasn’t aware she was trans until the day she dropped out. Apparently, this was known to many, but not me. I wish people could’ve been open about their transness then. (For context, the South Park episode in which they air footage of a vaginoplasty operation, and call Mr Garrison “a man with a mutilated penis” came out that year.) There were at least three other people in my dorm who went on to transition in their 30s. I think we all thought we were alone – at least I did. I wish we all could’ve spoken to one another then. This is largely why I don’t make any effort to hide what I’m doing.
I took a walk through the dorm a few months ago to see how things had changed: a huge trans-pride flag in the courtyard, and one of the bedrooms has a “Ask me about trans stuff” sign on the door. If I had known how rapidly things would change over the past fifteen years…
I do remember pretty much every gendered comment that’s been made to me in my life in vivid detail, which is remarkable because I remember very little else.
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9th grade, early morning at the school bus ramp, wearing a black pixie skirt, “Ugh, how come your legs look so much better than mine? That’s not fair”
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Second time meeting my wife’s friend J. I’m at his apartment, standing in the kitchen plating out some pasta. “Oh, I know why you married him! Look at that jawline!”
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8th grade, second floor of my mother’s house. I’m listening to Plaid’s album “Not For Threes”. She’s refinishing the mantlepiece and talking with my stepfather, and she thinks it’s a hoot that the Lady Chablis’s autobiography is titled “Hiding My Candy”.
I’m sure I have hundreds of these. Individually, each one is nothing, but in aggregate, it’s heavy. For all intents and purposes, the majority of these comments range from neutral observations to compliments. That’s what’s maddening about this whole situation. I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind over a bunch of nothing.
I see myself as I currently am. I usually dream in the first person. I also don’t think my dreams are as narratively cohesive as most other peoples. They’re usually just a montage of surreal images and feelings.
I assume you’re curious if I see myself as an idealized version of me, or maybe as a cis woman. Nope. It’s just me.