This story is how I came to be the person I am today. It starts just before I was born. My mother, already a mother of two, is expecting another baby. All of her check ups go well, I’m doing fine, growing inside the womb as any average baby should. Then, it’s time for the gender reveal. The doctor informs my mother that she is going to have a baby boy. Now this is 1987 and the technology is not as it is today. Parents can now get 3D sonograms, but not back in 1987. Still, my mother’s doctor told her I was a boy. She bet this man that I was a girl. If I was a girl she’d take me home and if I was a not I had to go live with him and his wife. A joke of course but a story my mother loved to tell me when I was growing up. A story I loved to hear and one that still means so much to me today. Why? Well I was due on December 5th but didn’t make my arrival until the 12th and when the doctor smacked my butt he told my mother, “It’s a girl!” Wait, what? How could this be? You said a man child was to be born. Again, this is 1987 and this type of error was common. Oops!
So being declared a girl, I’m given a feminine name, dressed up pretty like girls are and everything else that comes with being a girl, except I wasn’t a girl. I was born the boy the doctor said I was. Machine error or not, I was that boy. I knew this early on. My first crush was in kindergarten on a girl that wasn’t even in my class, I just happen to see her on picture day. Around this time, I noticed that boys and girls were different. I knew I was a boy I just figured I hadn’t completely developed yet. I remember one time I took two of my girl cousins behind the townhouse we lived in and showed them my clit. I told then that it would soon grow into a penis like all the other boys. That never happened and it became increasingly clear that my family and everyone else were treating me like a girl. Even being told that I was a girl. This was very confusing. So I accepted that I was a girl while believing each night that I could somehow wake up a boy. Believing in the same way kids at that age believe in Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. But that never happened. I began to grow older and develop as girls do. I got breasts, hated it! My hips widened, hated it! Got my period, hated that the most! Everything biological was showing examples of me being a girl but I knew different. I questioned it but didn’t know what to do about it.
Still, I was attracted to women which made me begin to identify as a masculine lesbian. This still wasn’t enough for me. I grew up during the beginning of the social media age. We had chat rooms, chat lines, Myspace and Blackplanet. I would go on these sites and have two profiles. One as myself for me to contact all my friends and one for me to pose as a boy. On that profile I would talk to girls as the boy that I wanted to be. That’s right, I’m one of the original catfish. Sometimes the conversations would take place offline over the phone. I disguised my voice as best I could. This gave me such a sense of joy an excitement but eventually it left me depressed because I wasn’t that boy I portrayed myself as, at least not physically. This depression continued and it only got worse. I went off to college and I’ve always wanted to pledge a fraternity, the Ques to be exact. How could I possible do that being the girl everyone perceived me as?
It wasn’t until I had moved to Houston in 2009 that I began to think I was transgender. I began to research the topic. Since I was a film student I began working on a script about a transgender guy trying to reconnect with his mother(still working on it by the way). I used this as a front to contact several transmen and ask them about their experiences without sharing my own curiosity about transitioning. Even then I didn’t do it. I didn’t know who to talk to or where to go. The depression became more severe and I really began to question myself as to if I was transgender. It was in 2012 when I began to bind my breasts with sports bras and a girdle. At this time I also began to experiment with drawing facial hair on my face to see how I would like as a guy. A lot of the times I did it was when the depression seemed unbearable. It was one of the coping mechanisms I had.
Then in 2013 I actually said the word “transgender” in regards to myself. I confessed to a coworker that I think I maybe trans. Still, I did not take action. I battled with myself on the issue. What would that mean for me? What would that mean for my family and friends? In 2014 something happened. I began to just free myself of everything. I set goals and followed through. I went to the Bonnaroo music festival in Tennessee and it was the most liberating experience I ever had. I went alone, catching the MegaBus to Atlanta and hitchhiked a ride from there the rest of the way, camped on the farm for 4 days and enjoyed great music with awesome strangers. When I got back to Houston I decided I would really enjoy my life and live on my terms. I called a good friend of mine and told her I was transgender and wanted to know how to begin my transition. She provided me with some resources and that’s where it started. I had my first appointment October that year to have my bloodwork done then in January 2015 I started testosterone and came out at work. In February I filed my petition for my name change and had it granted in March.
Now I’m becoming the man I always felt like. Each time I look at my reflection I feel renewed and free. And even though I sometimes question my decision I think back to that misunderstood little 5 year old boy that knew beyond a doubt what his gender was despite what the world saw him as. December 12, 1987 a man child was born and I am proof of that.