I stood, watching my reflection in the
bathroom mirror. For the first time, my own eyes
were staring back at me, my own lips were parted
in a smile, my true self was the image before
me.
I was ten years old and in the fourth grade
when I decided to get my hair cut short for the
first time. I had no idea that scissors were all
I needed in order to see myself more clearly.
Until then, a little girl was the reflection I
had come to accept but I could never recognize
her as myself. Sure she was tough and prided
herself on the tomboy label she had earned, but
she had a face I did not see as my own. In my
head, I saw myself as a boy with short blond
hair - the same boy who was now standing in
front of me in the mirror.
I was able to hold onto this true reflection
until fifth grade when I noticed my friends
begin to change. They had all worn their tomboy
label almost as proudly as I wore mine, but now
they were desperately trying to shed it. It
became clear to me that middle school was going
to be the feminine test for anyone with a female
body, and all of my friends were cramming for
it. I began to change myself too, but I was
inevitably less successful for I did not just
look like and act like a boy, I felt like a boy.
Nevertheless, I made my attempt at
assimilation.
Replace GI Joe with a baby doll. Throw away
the Matchbox Cars and Micro Machines and buy a
sewing kit and jewelry. No more rough games on
the playground. No more tackling or climbing
trees. Forget that boy you had been. Long hair,
pretty dresses, mom's make-up, painted nails,
pastel colors, math classes, and private art
classes. Don't think about the boy you want to
be. All the while, at least pretend to be
happy.
It didn't take long for my sadness and
frustration to show. If I didn't find myself
crying during class, I would cry myself to sleep
and walk to school with red swollen eyes. My
parents and my teacher decided that I needed a
psychotherapist. I didn't have the courage or
the words to verbalize my feelings so I blamed
the tears on something that was expected and
understood. I told my therapist that my parents'
divorce, which had occurred six years prior and
which I didn't really care about any more, was
the culprit.
My therapist blamed the tears on stress due
to all of my extracurricular activities and made
me quit almost all of them. Both of us were
wrong. I stopped crying and buried my true
emotions so that I wouldn't have to explain
anymore.
Middle school was a time for questioning and
introspective thought. I realized that my
attempts at feminizing myself were a complete
failure. Make-up only made me look like a clown,
and a football player would look better in a
dress than I did. Nothing about being
stereotypically feminine fit me, yet I could not
escape my female body. I also became aware of my
attraction to women. All of this, I decided,
must make me a lesbian.
During the summer before high school, I came
out with my new label. Although the word,
lesbian, was not exactly fitting, it was the
only language I had to describe myself. It also
allowed me to explore and express my masculinity
more freely, which was becoming increasingly
important to me, In an attempt to see my true
reflection in the mirror again, I cut my hair
short. I could see myself more clearly, but
unfortunately, puberty had gotten in the way
this time. No longer did I have the flat boyish
chest of youth. My breasts were all too
revealing of my female body. Lack of language
left me without a complete description of my
situation, so I decided to accept this dyke in
the mirror as myself. I found comfort in being
at least a bit closer to seeing myself that I
had been for several years.
Three years ago, I met the first person who
resembled me more closely than the mirror ever
had. Aaron was also the first person to give me
the language to describe myself. Transgendered,
Transexual, Gender Bender, Female to Male (FTM),
and Gender Queer are all words I began to using
to describe myself. Although it took two more
years for me to make the final decision to go
through the process of transition, he was the
spark that helped me decide.
Last year, I went to a conference at which I
made the final decision. It was the National
Youth Advocacy Coalition's (NYAC) Annual
National Conference in Washington, D.C. I went
there as simply another queer youth activist. I
expected only to participate in workshops and
maybe meet a few people. I had no idea that the
amazing people I met would so powerfully further
my self recognition.
There was a group of about fifteen guys with
whom I found the same connection I had found
with Aaron. Each and every one of them was
questioning their gender in one way or another.
Never had I met so many people who were my age
and internally dealing with the same thing. At
the NYAC Conference, I was finally able to say
with confidence that I was ready to begin a
physical transition.
During that weekend, I asked my new friends
to help me come up with a name for myself. My
birth name, Serenity, although it is a beautiful
name, was just not a good fit for me, it never
had been. Shae, on the other hand, was perfect.
I went home with a sense of renewal. The naming
process was the first step in my transition. I
bought a book of unusual and popular baby names
and I used that for my research. I was looking
for a name that would mean something to me, that
I could take pride in, and that I could own.
Ethan, meaning strength, became my middle name
because that is a quality I believe I must
strive for in order to follow the path I've
chosen. Brennan, meaning tears, not only reminds
me of my childhood sadness, but also of the
things I have lost or given up in order to live
as the person I want to be.
Over the past year, hormones and surgery have
helped me to shape my reflection. My weekly dose
of self-injected testosterone has given me a
deeper voice, side burns, and muscle. My chest
reconstruction surgery has given me the
confidence to be myself in all areas of life and
made me much more comfortable with my body.
Today I stand, watching my reflection in the
bathroom mirror. My own eyes are staring back at
me, my own lips are parted in a smile, my true
self is now, and always will be, the image
before me.
— Shae
Brennan, USA
Used with permission.
