I apologize, it really wasn’t directed at you. It was just musing which came from discussions with my friends last night.
Cool.
I was just catching up on my last several weeks of Science magazine issues and read a bitthat was pertinent to an earlier portion of this thread.
Gave me a smile.
The serious bit is that mammalian (and perhaps moreso human) sex determination and differentiation is complex and still an understanding in progress. Not just having or not having a Y … or a penis. I do not personally yet grok gender identity as a biologic and apparently quite immutable construct but it clearly is such a thing and what factors impact its differentiation and how those factors may diverge from other factors such as the presence of ovaries or testes or external phenotypic features are going to be a work in progress likely for quite a while yet.
It might not be possible for me to really understand gender identity as someone whose gender identity and external biological sex are congruent and who is comfortable with the roles open to my gender. I am positive that my imagination of the difficulty that having incongruence between gender identity and external biological sex fails me. I have a hard enough time tolerating some of the failrly mild crap of this thread; how those who are transgendered put up with the shit they have to live with constantly I don’t even have a guess for.
As you surmise, it’s difficult to explain.
There are two components - the self and the social component. My experience follows, but note it’s not necessarily representative of anyone else. However, a large number of close friends have described their issues with similar themes.
The personal part of the dysphoria really is hard to describe. You see yourself in the mirror, but what you see looks wrong. Imagine you, DSeid, as a presumably buff male put on a girl’s dress and heels, and looked at yourself in the mirror, without makeup, without shaving - imagine that first shock of “Ugh! WTF am I thinking?” That’s how we feel when we dress for work in the morning. Every single morning. I mitigated this somewhat by dressing as androgynously as possible - black slim suits, Armani, etc. But still, if I walked by a mirror or had to stand in front of one, it was jarring.
When you’re naked, or have to use the toilet, you get a feeling ranging from unhappiness to disgust at your genitals and lack of breasts. You don’t want to touch anything or see it, so you stay covered as much as possible. I never had facial hair due to my natural hormones, but those who do say the beard shadow makes them burst into tears in the morning. We hate how our skin feels - rough, dry. Men’s clothes are also rougher in texture for the most part.
You do things like try to tuck your male parts away so when you stand in front of the mirror, you only see a smooth V. There’s a scene at the start of Different for Girls which every transwoman on the planet can identify with. Some transwomen deliberately will not lose weight, because they feel their “man boobs” are the only breasts they will have, and they are terrified of losing them. You try every stunt or trick you can to appear or be female without jeopardizing your job. Picking the most androgynous clothes possible.(me) Sneaking ear piercings with tiny studs and flesh-colored concealer.(me) Using a lot of moisturizer and lotion to try to get the smooth skin of young women.(me) Wearing your favorite pendent necklace under a work shirt, taking comfort that your piece of female jewelry is there.(me) Starting to pick up and practice female comportment and poise.(definitely me) Dressing with lingerie underneath your male clothes. (not me; one of the few major deviations between me and others is I only dressed exceedingly rarely) Each tiny little thing you can do makes you feel better for a little while, and then it fades.
You just feel ugly - wrong - awkward - rough and abrasive physically. Almost like you’re going to work in drag.
The hormone and other changes can’t come fast enough. For some people, the more changes you have the better you feel, for most, I think, they only see the changes as steps towards full conversion. I was one of the first people - I’m reasonably happy with how I look and the status of my body, and this grew as time went on.
SRS is mandatory for most transwomen who are heterosexual or bisexual. For those who are lesbian or asexual, it’s less important, but still there - we want to be complete. Some t-girls I know look like perfect models of media femininity - slim hourglass figure, perfect makeup and long natural hair, real breasts, high voice from practice, perfect poise - everything about them screams “real, hot girl.” And yet a couple are still close to despair because they can’t afford SRS - to be whole. The fact that they will never bear children is not as big of an issue, because it’s not possible. Whereas SRS is very possible. Few transwomen I meet are in despair over not getting an ovary and uterus, but not because they don’t want them, just because they know they may as well wish for wings.
The social part is really hard. Every time someone calls you “sir”, “Mr.”, or your male name, it feels like a splash of cold water. I would flinch sometimes visibly, involuntarily, and have to make some excuse to cover it (“sorry, had something in my eye.” or “thought I was about to sneeze.”) Every male gesture to you, even the friendly ones, hurts - the glad-handing, the slap on the back, the fist bump. Male voices sound loud, braying sometimes, and you wish everyone would talk softer. Heterosexual transwomen tell me that they would get too easily distracted by attractive men, to the point where they’d get teased over being “gay” because they would stand too close to them, or stare at them.
Women treat you as a man, which hurts. You see women standing together - they’re animated, they gesture more, the touch each other lightly sometimes to emphasize a point, their faces are more expressive. Add a man to the mix, or a stealth transwoman, and everything is toned down a notch - more serious, less demonstrative, their faces are not so bright and interested. You feel like you just did a buzzkill of sort. You also see pretty outfits every day in the office - shoes, slacks, skirts - or the way women can style their hair. You catch yourself staring at another lady, daydreaming not of her, but of you with that French braid in your hair.
Both the personal and social dysphoria hurts. It’s one reason our suicide rates are so high. Been there, attempted that. And for me, transition worked. If my overall level of gender dysphoria was 100% last July 2012, it’s now 10% or less.
It used to be every morning I would fear the mirror as I tied my tie. I would look at myself, sigh, and say “you’re fucking ugly, you’re a fucking freak, let’s get this day over with. Maybe if you’re lucky, you will have a car accident and get killed.” Note as well, I would refer to myself as “you” - the second person. Because I didn’t see myself as “me” in the mirror.
This morning was a typical morning for me: “OMG I rock! I look hot! Look at this outfit! I need to take a picture of myself and post it to Facebook! Look at that smile! What an awesome day! Girls can do anything!”
The real difference between then and now…is so positive, it can’t be put into words, so I’ll stop now. But one reason I get so angry with those who wish to deny us transition is that they are preventing us from having a good life. If transition had been impossible by law or otherwise, I would be dead now. Instead, I’m a gloriously happy and productive member of society.
Thank you for that.
Bottom line, I’m for whatever makes a person with a problem more functional and happy as a human being. Even if what is necessary to achieve is something that I can’t comprehend, or squicks me out, or somehow feels wrong to me, if it’s necessary for that particular person then it should be done.
Of course, the more radical and extreme the “thing” the more careful we should be to be certain it really is the answer. Personally, I’m satisfied with the current gatekeeping on SRS - as if my opinion actually mattered, which it doesn’t, since it doesn’t apply to me.
So, congratulations, Una, on achieving a better life. I can only hope that in the future we identify people needing SRS sooner in life to spare them unnecessary suffering. Unless we come up with something even better.