Nomad on the gender spectrum

[readolog_dropcap ]I[/readolog_dropcap]t seems your message can get lost in the language of the world. Your own personal truth. The message that you wrote to yourself years ago. It gets smudged under a coffee cup. The ink fades.

When I began transitioning I did so under the faulty assumption that there were just two genders up for grabs. The expectations of femininity didn’t suit me so I assumed that I had to pick the other option. I didn’t realize it didn’t have to be an either/or situation. I set out because I knew I had a truth that I was trying to reach. A something about me that I had to find. So, I got the counseling. I started the doctor visits and I evolved.

Through the windows of my eyes, I observed my body shift. My hairline recede, my arms grow larger, my face turn into someone else’s. I watched an old version of me fade into a new one. I’d study my hands each morning. The new hairs sprouting, the texture changing. It was a rapid progression to somewhere. An uncertain somewhere. Three years into this physical transformation, I started catching glimpses of that person I had been trying  to reach. There. There in that mirror, there he was. And ‘he’ was. I treasured this time. I felt deeply rooted in my flesh. I felt like a beast. Strong, but not too strong. Still soft. Something about my face still held some femininity. My hair still full. My eyes sparkling with life. I felt unstoppable. I felt sexy. These feelings surrounded me for a year. I lived in a palace of excess.

Then gradually it began to change. My hair moved further back on my head. My face started to look worn. My hands odd. My eyes dull. I was losing something. Something was leaving me. Something I loved. Someone I knew slipping through my fingers. I saw shallowness and anger. I saw something I wasn’t. I had to do something. Stop this progression. I moved my testosterone levels down. After a month, I started to feel that vibration of me.

And now, I’m at a stage where I realize, just like full fledge femininity didn’t suit me, neither does being immersed in masculinity. I crave that middle space. I’ll say it again – that sacred space. When I was in my late 20s I tried to expand my masculinity and now in my early 30s I’m grasping at my femininity.

My message is coming in clear. I’ve cleared away the mess and I see that note to myself – coffee stains and all. I’m a nomad on the gender spectrum.

Photo from unsplash.com