When I say that my time in law school
has been more transformative than I ever could
have imagined, I'm talking literally, as in
female to male.
I feel a bit awkward sharing my personal life
in a public forum, but I think it's for the
best. It's true that on some days I find my
transness utterly inconsequential and completely
normal, but those are the good days. I'm telling
you because of the bad days.
Only 16% of people are aware of knowing a
transgender person (2002 Human Rights
Campaign poll). The rest may very well know
a transgender person who is stealth, that is,
one who does not go around telling everyone that
they used to be a different sex (since that
often has the unfortunate effect of then being
seen as less than the man or woman they are).
With a personal knowledge figure that low, there
is a lot of room for misunderstanding and fear.
So I want to tell you a little bit about my
story because I know that that is the only way I
can make the world a safer place for myself and
all transgender people.
In junior high, my mom actually asked me
several times if I thought I was a man trapped
in a woman's body. It happens, you know, she
admonished. I laughed it off--no mom, don't be
silly, girls can wear guy's clothes. In reality,
however, I was ashamed to shop in the men's
department, just more ashamed to do so in the
women's. I wonder what would have happened had
she phrased it differently - do you wish you
were born a man? Do you wish you didn't have
breasts? Would you like to be a man? Any of
those might have allowed me to consider the
question, but a man trapped in a woman's
body?
That was too frightening. If that were the
case, wouldn't you just be stuck there
forever?
The sad irony is that trapped is exactly how
I felt, only I had no idea why.
I only knew that I wanted to get out of my
body, so suicidal thoughts were a standard part
of my life. They weren't really suicidal,
however, because didn't want to actually cease
existing. Dying was the only thing I could think
of that would release me from my body, but that
was a gamble, of course, since there might not
be an afterlife. I would often imagine slicing
my neck open so that my spirit could escape. And
I thought this was normal.
I figured all humans didn't like being in
bodies and that everyone wanted out. I never
sought professional help all those years because
I strongly felt that the problem wasn't in my
brain, that it was my whole body, and drugs or
talk therapy wouldn't help.
Last May things intensified and I experienced
an episode of what's called depersonalization.
It's a little hard to describe, but mine was
like watching myself in a nightmare that I
couldn't control. Part of my brain become an
outside observer so I actually got to watch
myself curled up on the futon in agony. Let me
tell you, being outside of my body is perhaps
the one thing that's scarier than being in it,
so I'm not looking to repeat that any time
soon.
I was in deep denial for so long in part
because I learned early on the perils of gender
transgression. When I was very young I angrily
(and nudely) showed my older brother that I had
a penis now too (I'd partially inserted
something down there). He screamed bloody murder
for our mom with really an urgency and panic
that I've not heard since. The object that I'd
inserted remained on my dresser for years,
reminding me every time I saw it of the
"shameful" thing I'd done. Girls aren't supposed
to want penises let alone have them.
I know you are thinking, well, that explains
it, clearly you were jealous of your brother and
that is why you want to be a man. If only that
were true!
Believe, me I wish I could go to therapy,
hash it out with my parents, and solve my
problems by realizing it's OK to be a woman. But
I can't since I'm not. Just like it is now
widely recognized that you can't make someone
not be gay through "therapy," transsexuals
cannot be "cured" through therapy either. We
just come that way. The only recognized
treatment for people like me is to live in the
preferred gender, with most folks seeking
medical transition of some sort through hormones
and/or surgery.
I tried for 27 years to live as a woman. I
didn't know I even had a choice, so I certainly
tried to make the best of it. I knew I liked
women since I was at least 14 but didn't get
around to officially dating one until my first
year of law school. I'd had a very nebulous
relationship with a female friend of mine, but
it always made me feel like a man, which freaked
me out, so it never went anywhere. So I dated
men. Why not?
I liked being around them, they were my
friends and I was a woman, therefore it made
sense to date them. Only not. My one
relationship became long distance and I went to
visit him. He wanted to make out. I really
couldn't fathom this and I just wanted to play
cards with him and his roommate. Then there was
my last boyfriend, a real sensitive new age type
who played that to the hilt in the bedroom.
Nonetheless, I'd invariably end up quietly
sobbing after sex and wondering what was wrong
with me.
I figured I must be a lesbian. I met a woman
and we fell in love. We even got engaged. Yes, I
was a little desperate to prove that I was, in
fact, a woman who loved women. The cracks
started appearing a few months in, however. She
definitely knew before I did, but she let me
figure things out own my own. Eventually I
decided to get honest and actually face the
question of whether or not I was transgender. It
was, in part, my own irrational hostility toward
trans people that inspired me to examine where
that stemmed from.
Turns out I was jealous that they were bold
enough to be who they really were while I was
consciously making sure I stayed with in the
bounds of the female box.
During this time I also met a man who, after
I'd known him for a while, mentioned he had
transitioned from female to male. I had had no
clue that he was once female so that was the
first time I knew that a person born in a female
body could actually come to have a male
body.
Since I've slowly been coming to accept the
fact that I am trans, things are falling into
place pretty quickly. I now have a new language
to explain the myriad of anomalies that were
building up under the old "I'm bi, I must be a
lesbian, I have no idea what's wrong with me"
theory. For example, it explains why when I was
8 at my guinea pigs' funeral I had a huge lump
in my throat but I just kept telling myself that
"boys don't cry."
It's why that one day that I played with my
brother's trucks in the garden I was so afraid
my mother would look out the window and see how
happy I was and know that I was really a
boy.
It's why for over a year after starting my
period I would hide all of my used pads in my
closet because I couldn't stand the thought of
my family knowing. (It's not as gross as it
sounds, honest.)
It's why my sex life was rotten, rotten,
rotten until I allowed myself to experience my
body the way it is in my head and not allow
partners to do things that are inconsistent with
that.
Where do I go from here? I'm slowly realizing
that it probably won't be possible for me to
concentrate on studying for the bar this summer
because although psychologists say people like
me are "preoccupied" with gender issues,
"obsessed" is more like it. What I really hope
to do is more research on medical transition,
specifically chest surgery, which I hope to have
done this summer, and testosterone, which I hope
to start taking soon as well. Then, like
everyone else who is graduating, I can finally
get on with the business of starting my
life.
I asked my parents if they were planning on
sending out graduation announcements. Imagining
what they might read, I got them to laugh: I
graduated from Harvard Law School, and oh, by
the way, I'm a man.
John Smith thanks
The Record for allowing him to share his
story without forever compromising his future
privacy to anyone with an internet
connection.
