Sugar, spice, and C19H28O2

I can honestly say that I have no idea how I first questioned my gender. If I look back at myself through the years, then lord knows it was always staring me in the face, but the problem was I had no idea that it was even a thing; I didn’t know that you could even question your identity, I wasn’t aware that you could look at yourself in the mirror and see something unrecognizable to most staring back. One day, though, that is exactly what happened. At around the 17 mark I realised that this was it; I was not necessarily a man, and I had definitely not suddenly woken up and found myself like a lost set of keys. On the contrary, it was only the very beginning of my journey of ‘rediscovery’ or whatever dramatic titles you would want to give it.  

 I remember being little relatively well. I was always particularly boisterous, and always encouraged to stop being that way. My first little boyfriend when I was 5 is now gay, and when we slow danced at a party I led. I played conkers, climbed trees and had hot wheels sets. I cried when presented with a pink goody bag stead of blue. The men I took to; the older boys that everyone else was crushing on were more like role models to me. When the age came to wear makeup and like boys I lost all confidence and I became a painfully inverted and nervous child. It was alright being young and not caring for these things, but you stick out like a sore thumb when you don’t enjoy chick flicks or eyeliner at the age of 12.

I had to research how to dress effeminately, what men liked, even what men I should like. I never once thought I was gay, but I knew that I felt absolutely nothing for men, and I hid that well. I don’t think it is at all healthy that I would go home from school, revise, and then proceed to memorise a list of teenage heartthrobs so I would have something to say to my peers the following morning. Men were all that they talked about. Butterflies and lust were things I had no concept of, and it left me distraught, as I genuinely believed I would never have an interest in relationships or know what it is to love.

I assumed this would change. I thought I would grow out of it, or snap out of it in some way; that I would wake up and perhaps walking with my hips and head back would come naturally to me instead of being a constant struggle. Quite the opposite happened, actually. I was gangly and awkward, so while everyone else developed curves on petite frames I quiet literally woke up one day three heads taller than the rest of the girls in the class. If this was any indication that my body was fundamentally different than I chose to ignore it, just as I ignored every other indicator that I wasn’t quiet female. 

I felt as though I was always a positive person, and I believe that I still am to some extents, but I promise you now that everything felt as if it were designed to make me hate myself.  No one thing was a harrowing experience, but I can safely say that the build up of little things slowly whittled away at my confidence. Like most teenage girls my self worth seemed to be born of what men thought of my appearance and nothing more or less. It was the most important thing to every girl I spoke to, and instead of questioning it I lapped it up as gospel.