Summary

The author, after years of identifying as a cishet woman, has come to realize they are trans and queer, and is now exploring their gender identity, particularly embracing their masculinity, free from societal expectations and the constraints of their past.

Abstract

The author shares their personal journey of self-discovery, transitioning from a forced performance of femininity to an authentic expression of their genderqueer and trans masc identity. They reflect on their past attempts to conform to feminine norms to avoid bullying and sexual harassment, and how these efforts never felt genuine. Despite societal and familial pressures, the author has begun to shed the mask of femininity and is learning to trust their own feelings and expressions, which includes making changes to their appearance without fear. The article serves as both a personal account and a message of solidarity to others who may be on similar paths of self-exploration.

Opinions

The author feels that their previous attempts at femininity were a chore and not reflective of their true self.
They believe that the compliments they received for appearing feminine were hollow and did not improve their self-confidence.
The author suggests that their discomfort with femininity was due to an internal struggle with their gender identity, which they are now addressing.
They express that embracing masculinity has been a liberating experience, despite still being in the process of unlearning years of conforming to feminine expectations.
The author criticizes the impact of being raised by a narcissist, which led to prioritizing others' feelings over their own, hindering self-expression.
They are proud to openly identify as genderqueer and trans masc, and are committed to continuing their journey of self-discovery without fear of judgment.
The author acknowledges that their journey is ongoing and that they expect to uncover more about their identity as they progress.

I Was Performing Femininity Like An Overworked Boss…

Now, I’m no longer desperately trying to tick a box that was never mine.

Adapted by the author from images by M Jurcevic, Pexels, and Tumisu from Pixabay

What you need to know before reading this article: For forty-something years, I identified as a cishet woman. Now, I know I’m not. I’m trans and queer. Wow, right? I’m choosing to share my journey, as it happens, to gain clarity for myself and maybe even help others. Come play.

Why didn’t femininity come naturally to me? Why did I always feel like I needed to work at it as if it were a chore? It’s interesting when I look back at photos of my younger days because I feel like I put in a lot of effort to fit in with feminine expectations, and yet, many of the photos I have suggest otherwise.

In my early high school years (I’m in Australia so we’re talking around age 12 to 15), I would get up ridiculously early for school every day to do my hair and make-up. I was quite convinced that I was nailing the feminine performance with makeup (not that I knew that’s what I was trying to do back then). I did know that I was never doing it for me, but rather, to appease the gaze of others — to somehow try to minimize the relentless bullying and sexual harassment that came with being a fat ‘girl.’ On the bus to and from school, every day for 90 minutes, I was subjected to it.

The pretty girls who wore makeup weren’t called ‘ugly’ for 45 minutes straight in each direction, or constantly asked, “how much?” with no idea what that meant until they accidentally asked, “how much you got?” and then finally, their friend told them what he was referring to. (Good information to have had a little earlier, Karen, but thanks.) How much worse would it have been if I didn’t try to look like the popular girls? Anyway, I digress in childhood trauma, clearly.

Image by Kristy Westaway at kristywestaway.com

Despite this memory of performance, I can’t find a single photo that looks like I was wearing any makeup at all. What is that about?

The photos from my teenage years reveal fashions that included a lot of black, oversized clothing, overalls, hoodies, bandanas, and nothing very feminine. Apparently, outside of school, I was willingly perpetuating a masculine appearance, but I feel like it was considered a rebellion, or the famous rainbow refusal: “it’s just a phase.”

To my year 12 formal, I wore pants with a belt, a long-sleeved shirt, a vest, and a fedora. My large group of friends were all in very pretty dresses. To our awards night, once more a pretty dress event, I wore a floor-length dark purple gothic dress (with bike pants underneath, thank you very much), black Doc Marten boots (borrowed from a friend because I didn’t own anything so cool), home-styled dreadlocks (yep, it’s true), and a bowler hat! Seriously? Anybody? How was this not obvious?

Also, during my teenage years, I seem to have had invisible boobs. I can’t tell if I was hunched and hiding, or if I just didn’t develop breasts until after I was 18. Logic suggests the former.

I don’t remember ever trying to dress masculine or being notably comfortable in masculine clothing; however, I do remember every time I ‘dressed-up,’ every time I went to the hairdresser (four times in my entire life), every time I went out of my way to look feminine, THAT was uncomfortable. It never felt natural — it was always so much work and effort. And for some reason, which I’m starting to understand now, the compliments I got when I was ‘dressed-up’ and feminine seemed hollow, and I never believed them anyway. I thought that was just a lack of self-confidence — that’s what everyone else told me it was, anyway.

I always knew something didn’t fit, but that’s normal, right? Doesn’t everyone feel like they aren’t quite here? Like, they are disassociated from their own existence? Normal, right? Everyone? RIGHT?

“I realize now that in chasing femininity, not once did I explore how I felt about masculinity.”

So, I did what any normal person would do and spent a crap ton of money on becoming a life coach because that’s a thing to do — pretend you can help others fix themselves when you can’t do it for yourself. Most of my hours of being coached were focused on masculinity as protection, hiding my natural femininity. I worked really long and hard and spent a lot of money to embrace femininity. Things moved, realizations were made, my mind opened, and I will always be grateful for that, but, I realize now that in chasing femininity, not once did I explore how I felt about masculinity. It’s almost like the ‘work’ I did just solidified the mask of femininity, instead of truly allowing my real energy to flow.

Embracing my natural masculinity (and I have to admit, I’m not fully there yet because it’s a lot of years of unlearning) has been freeing and I imagine will continue to be so. I still don’t know where I sit on the gender binary, but I feel like I was always trans masc., I just didn’t know it was a thing. I didn’t know I could be that; I didn’t know that was okay. Yeeting toxic relationships and removing the need to meet others’ expectations has allowed me to open myself up to self-expression and self-exploration. So, now I’m on the journey of relearning how to trust myself and how I feel.

I think that for a long time, I was still stuck relating my feelings to somebody else’s. Like, I had to be careful not to hurt someone because their feelings were more important than my own. That’s the kind of thing that comes from being raised by a narcissist, but in removing myself from that environment and allowing myself to question who I am, I’m finally finding myself, though I don’t know what that means just yet. I can proudly say I am genderqueer. I’m even comfortable saying I am trans masc.

There is that little voice in the back of my head, tapping on my skull, telling me there’s more, and I logically know where that goes… but I have a lot to unlearn.

For now, I’m proud to no longer fear cutting my hair, getting a piercing (and I did both of these in the past weeks), or how I appear to others because I’m no longer desperately trying to tick a box that was never mine.

Watch this space to follow my journey. I don’t know where it will take me, but I know I’m not alone, and you never need to be either.