Dysphoria

It’s been 10 years since I graduated high school. I can’t help but sit here and think about how different my life would be if I had known that I wasn’t an awkward ugly duckling who was going to turn into a swan. I was a man trapped in a woman’s body.

I always see dysphoria described as this constant, nagging hatred towards one’s body— a struggle people often describe as a lifelong feeling. But for me, I really had no idea I was experiencing dysphoria until my mid-twenties.

Looking back now, I find it so silly. I wish someone had told me, “Hey you aren’t crazy, all these feelings you’re having, this constant questioning— other people feel this way too. You aren’t alone.”

I spent so much time insisting that I didn’t have dysphoria, that I wasn’t transgender, that one day I was going to meet someone and things were just going to line up. I’d feel at home in my body. Sex would seem fun. My family and I would start to smooth things out, and I would be so happy that I waited for things to get better.

That never happened.

In 2014 I began to see this girl, and she was going to spend the night. I hadn’t had many sexual experiences, which I chalked up to me being nervous and slightly awkward. But I remember that night as a crucial turning point in my understanding of myself. Suddenly, I knew that it wasn’t me being awkward, it wasn’t me being nervous, but it was in fact dysphoria causing me to feel this way.

We were making out and she tried to move things a step further. I completely disassociated and got very quiet. At that moment, I was so afraid because whenever she touched me, there was only one thought running through my mind: I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why I didn’t have a penis when I so desperately felt like I should. I knew this was dysphoria, but I still didn’t want to accept it.

I tried to live as a lesbian, but it didn’t feel right. I was always dating or pursuing straight women, but something about me felt different. These relationships would always end in heartbreak for one reason or another.

I tried to live as gender fluid because I knew that my family wouldn’t be accepting of me as trans, and I was afraid of their rejection. I thought that I could have the best of both worlds and that as long as my friends and significant other saw me as masculine, and my family saw me as female, I could appease everybody and still live my life. But it wasn’t enough. I always felt something was missing, and the more that people began to gender me as male, the more right it felt.

It took three more years until I garnered the strength to take hold of my life and accept the inevitable. I moved to California and began working for a prominent TV company. One day while discussing an episode with some of my female producers, everyone went around commenting on how they could relate to the production’s female star and the hardships she was going through as a woman. When it was my turn to speak, a horrifying realization overcame me. I could in no meaningful way relate to this woman’s experience. While I had lived some of the implications of being deemed a woman by society, I was not having the same emotional reaction as my female coworkers. I did not feel the connection, the bond. I simply couldn’t relate.

So on this day, at the age of 26, with the knowledge that I could support myself and that I had insurance from my job, I made the decision to transition from female to male. This decision saved my life.

I remember waking up the day after my first testosterone shot. Already, I felt different. A feeling of peace washed over me, and the racing thoughts were gone. Within the following weeks, my anxiety began to fade. I was no longer waking up with panic attacks. I was able to sit down and watch movies again. The constant need to see some form of masculinity within myself stopped. I no longer spent every waking second of my life trying to sort through my racing thoughts.

While I’m still very early on in my journey, being only one year and five months on testosterone, I am more and more certain every day that this was what I needed to do. Not everyone needs hormones or surgery to feel complete, but I am so grateful I had the opportunity to take charge of my life in the way that was best for me. I can now see a future for myself. In 2014, I really didn’t see one. I want to encourage anyone feeling lost or alone that it’s never too late to create the life you always wanted. To come out and be yourself— not what society wants you to be.

You can find happiness. You don’t have to be consumed with anxiety or feelings of isolation. You can have a sex life, you can have a successful job, you can have a family, you can find love. It’s okay to experiment with your gender. You don’t have to go on hormones overnight or get a major surgery. Gender and sexuality are a huge part of who we are, and sometimes we have to do a little experimentation in order to figure out what truly fits.

Although life is still challenging and anything but perfect, I never dreamed that I would one day be able to wake up and start my day without being crippled by the anxieties caused by my dysphoria. Now, I can breathe, and that in itself is so much to be grateful for.