I’m quickly approaching 30 and finally feeling comfortable with my gender identity and sexuality. Gender and sexuality are two completely different things, but for me, they’ve always been intertwined in a way that made coming to terms with my own identity complicated and somewhat messy. Being a gay trans man is complicated and an underrepresented identity. So, here I am going to talk about my experience with coming to terms with my identity as a gay trans man.
I was assigned female at birth, but it was clear very early on that I wasn’t going to be ‘traditionally girly’. I opted out of dance lessons in favour of soccer and almost always refused to wear dresses. I ran around topless and wanted to do everything the boys did. I was a ‘tomboy’ and this was accepted by those around me.
The first time I kissed a boy I was around five or six years old. He was my best friend, but he definitely didn’t want me to kiss him. To be completely honest I don’t actually remember the kiss or how it went down, all I remember is him telling some of our friends and being mortified. I had a crush on that boy all the way through elementary school. (Yes, until I was like 14 years old)
First Puberty
Entering high school I was five feet tall, hovering right around a hundred pounds and flat in every direction. You guessed it, I was a late bloomer and hadn’t started puberty yet. Getting dressed for school in the morning was a battle, every time. No matter how many times I changed, nothing looked good on me – nothing fit my body the way it was ‘supposed to’. And it definitely wasn’t cute to be a tomboy anymore.
Most days, I’d try on at least three or four different outfits, and every time I’d angrily pull each item off and toss it to the floor in a rage. I hated the way I looked and would end up sitting on the floor crying or screaming into my closet multiple times a week. My mother attempted to console me but she didn’t understand, she’d maxed out at five-foot-three and was also very slight. But she had all the confidence of a fiery redhead.
Looking back now, I wonder if I was experiencing dysphoria? – it seems likely but my anxiety has impacted my memory in such a way that I can’t be sure.
When I got my first boyfriend, at fifteen, I figured things would change. I had proven myself as a woman. Yes, I’d gone through puberty by that point but my body hadn’t filled out the way it was ‘supposed to’. I’d grown to a giant five-foot-six but the ass of my jeans still sagged and I never got more than an A cup.
My boyfriend was a basketball player and eventually became captain of the team – which was a really big deal at my high school. But rather than things getting better they just changed and I was faced with two new problems.
One, the other girls I went to school with, ones I used to think were my friends suddenly stopped speaking to me. They were jealous of my relationship and didn’t understand why he would want to be with a ‘girl like me’. Yes, I do know for a fact they were jealous as they wrote nasty notes about me in Sharpie on the bathroom stalls.
Two, I now had to please a boyfriend who was a mindless teenager and had unrealistic female expectations. It’s not like I didn’t try being more girly – I tried to fit in; I straightened my hair, wore short skirts and tried to learn how to do makeup. I wasn’t very good at it, though, and I most definitely did not enjoy it.
University
The entire time I knew being gay was a thing, of course. A boy in my high school outed and subsequently bullied so badly he ended up switching schools. But I’d only vaguely heard of the idea of being trans but I couldn’t be that I was attracted to boys.
When I got to university, I met the first girl who openly identified as bisexual. Her name was Amy. I never realized I could be bisexual because it wasn’t something anyone talked about. If there was any hint that you might be queer, you were made fun of. Cue flashback of girls whispering, laughing and joking that so-and-so was a lesbian because she happened to look at you while you were changing after PE. So, it was easy to assume every girl I went to high school with looked at girls the way I did.
Boy was I wrong. The first time I heard Amy talk about a girl she was attracted to I was shocked but also comforted in a way that I didn’t expect. Though when I talked this way around the girls I went to high school with I was met with raised eyebrows.
Amy also ended up being the first girl I kissed about a year and a half after we met.
Coming Out (The first time)
Once I realized there was the option to be queer, I embraced it and went, full queer. The best thing about being a queer girl was I could dress tomboy and it was acceptable again. I pulled out the high top sneakers, snapbacks and skinny jeans and absolutely loved it.
The only problem, I was still more often attracted to guys than girls. This fact made me question my queerness regularly. I had so much self-doubt that I often felt I needed to prove myself or justify my queerness. (Know, this is not a thing anyone has to do no matter where in the LGBTQ+ alphabet you identify).
At one point I tried to prove myself by learning more about astrology. For some reason, astrology seems to be something the queers in my life were invested in. So, in order to say that I was truly queer and fit in, I learned that my sun sign is Leo, my rising sign is Virgo and my moon sign is Scorpio. Though, I couldn’t tell you a whole lot of what that actually means.
Gender (Coming out the second time)
As I dove further into the queer community, I was introduced to so many different ways of existing. I am so thankful to the amazing queers who lived as their authentic selves and by doing so gave me permission to explore and experiment with my own identity.
Gender does not exist along a spectrum from male to female and gender roles and stereotypes are useless (and often harmful) in the world we are currently living in. Gender is much messier than this.
The first step I took in my gender journey was to experiment with pronouns. At first, I used they/them pronouns because I was uncertain about my feelings in regards to gender. I didn’t exactly feel like a girl but I wasn’t quite confident I was meant to be a boy. I would have known earlier than my 20s, right? (There is no prerequisite on the age that a person knows they’re trans and there is no age limit on deciding to transition.)
Second Puberty
To be completely honest, I was terrified to start testosterone. I was intrigued but terrified. I did a bunch of research and talked to a number of people at various stages in their transition. The hardest part was knowing that some of the changes were permanent.
The best advice I was given, from an amazing nonbinary human, was “your body is going to change as you approach thirty anyway… so why not?” This changed everything.
They were right, and suddenly I was so excited to start testosterone. It has changed my life. Not only am I more comfortable in my own body but also more confident in my sexual attraction. I now use he/him or they/them pronouns and have embraced my gay. (Yes, I am still, at times, attracted to women as well as folks who identify outside of the gender binary but tend to lean towards more masculine-of-center folks).
So, what’s the moral of the story?
Gender and sexuality are two different things.
Both gender and sexuality are messy and very personal subjects.
There is no wrong or right way to experience, or express, gender. Be true to yourself and explore.
You never need to justify or prove your identity to anyone, you have a right to exist exactly as you are. And you belong in this community.
We don’t often hear about gay trans men but we are here and we do exist.