The Gym

At varied times in my life, I’ve been a gym rat. I’ve always enjoyed lifting weights – I would say it’s my favorite exercise. I spent a number of years away from the gym, but I’m back now. I don’t just lift weights – one of the other things I happen to enjoy is aquaerobics.

One of the things I’m doing as I go through this process is notice things.  I’m noticing what’s out there, what people say and do, and what my internal responses are.

First, of course, there is the locker room. Every time I go to the locker room now, I’m so aware of the fact that it doesn’t feel totally right (it never has.) And after I get top surgery (even if I don’t take T), it’s going to feel even less right.

Then there’s the aquaerobics group. 95% of the time, it’s all women. That was true today.  Every once in a while, one (other?) guy joins. As we were doing our thing in the pool, someone said something I didn’t catch (I’m thinking it was slightly salacious) and another person said, “we’re all girls here.”  And all I could think of was “no, actually, we’re not.”

One of the things that I’ve always hated is being called one of the “ladies” or “ma’am.” Ugh. I hate that. I’ve never, ever been a lady, and I never will be. Some aspects of my being are female, although I’d not say they were “feminine.” No part of me is “lady-like.”

The locker room, and public bathrooms that aren’t gender neutral are going to be a challenge for me, especially if I stay in a sort of in-between state after top surgery.

I remember starkly one day I was in an airport, in line in the women’s bathroom, and I heard someone behind me loudly talking about how there was a man in line, and why was there a man in line. It didn’t occur to me for a while that she was talking about me – but she was.  (I’m tall, have a short afro, and wear men’s clothes – I don’t fault her.)  Then, I turned around fully, and she looked at me sheepishly (I have large, visible breasts.) But once I don’t have those anymore, what will I do? I don’t have an answer for that yet, except if I do choose the men’s room, at least I will never have to wait.

 

Coming Out As Trans

I’m still not sure I identify as “trans”, although I’ve slowly but surely begun to realize that perhaps I’ve been avoiding that identity because it scares me. I’ve identified as genderqueer pretty much the moment I heard that term, in the mid-late 90s. Before people began to talk about gender fluidity and multiple gender identities, I didn’t really have language to talk about what was going on inside of myself.

As I said before, I don’t have the narrative of “a man trapped in a woman’s body.” I’ve never quite felt that, even as I’ve felt, for a very long time (as long as I can remember) a boy, and then a man, somewhere buried inside there.

I have had gender dysphoria for as long as I can remember. In all of my years of working on getting to be friends with my body, the dysphoria has only gotten worse, not better.

And fully accepting my dysphoria is what has allowed me to come to the place of wanting to do something about it – wanting to present differently in the world. And presenting differently to the world, in this world, at this time, means, basically, that I am trans.

And perhaps that’s the problem. That’s the rub. Because our society is so divided by gender, I can’t just choose to present another part of myself that’s so present for me without changing my relationship with the world.

I’m getting used to that – used to this idea if I want Maxwell to have his time in this world, the world will not see him in the same way as it sees Pearl (not my real given first name). Max can’t live in exactly the same way as Pearl has lived in the world. The same spaces will not feel safe to Max as they did to Pearl . And, more importantly, in many ways, Max will not feel as safe to some people as Pearl does.

 

 

Top Surgery

On Friday, I’m going to see a surgeon. I’m one of the lucky ones, living in California. My insurance will pay entirely for gender surgery. A few weeks ago (was it only that long ago?) I called Kaiser, that has a specialized transgender clinic in the East Bay. I spent a very nice time with a mental health specialist, who was I guess going through the varied things needed to make sure that I was OK for starting this process.

I’m excited and petrified. Going to doctors isn’t really all that fun for me (I don’t know that it is for most people.) But I have a fairly long history with them, having had a number of medical ailments in my life. I’ve had mostly great doctors, and a few horrible doctors, and some in between.

But there is something really vulnerable about going to a surgeon (a *plastic* surgeon at that) about this thing that has been so tender for me for a long time.

I’ve never liked my breasts, since the beginning moment they began to grow. I started puberty really late (more on that later) and it happened fast. One minute, I had a body that I liked enough. The next minute (or so it seemed), I had a body I hated. I have gotten much, much better at loving this body, but knowing that I can get rid of my breasts is a relief. I know for many of you that might seem harsh. If you love your breasts, I’m happy for you. If you don’t have any, but want some, I can’t really understand, but I can hold a space for that for you. But the idea of not having them feels so freeing.

Right now, this feels like it’s the right step for me to take. Are there other steps? I don’t know yet. Possibly, probably, maybe, who knows. One halting step at a time.

Beginnings

I have to start somewhere – although I don’t really know where. Do I start at the point where I hated wearing girl’s clothes when I was a kid? Do I start with the running battles I had with my mother about what I was going to wear? I’m wanting to lay it all out – explain it all, even though at some point it’s unexplainable.

First, I’ll give you a little background to get you oriented. I’m 57 (I’ll be 58 in about a week.) I’ve lived for 35 of those years as a lesbian, and lived what I might say was “to be determined” before that. I never considered myself straight, really. I grew up in a different age. Straight was the default, you didn’t think about it much, until you had to.

Gender has always been complex for me – ever since the beginning, but it has gotten more and more complex as I’ve gotten older. No, let me revise that. I have gotten clearer and clearer about the complexities of gender inside of me. I’ve never had the narrative that I was a “man stuck in a woman’s body.” That said, there is a man in my body, and has been since the beginning. He’s not alone in there, but he’s there. And he’s been in the background of my life for a long time.

And not. I’ve dressed in men’s clothing (including underwear) since I could buy my own clothes. I haven’t bought an item of women’s clothing in over 30 years. There are other ways that I express male gender, and I’ll dive into that later.

This blog is meant to be a chronicle of a big change I’m going through. After living as a woman for my entire adult life, I’m considering living as a man. It’s a scary process, as well as a damned exciting one.

Where am I now? In some ways, I’m at the very beginning. In other ways, I’m toward the end of a lifetime arc. And I’ll be here, writing about it.

For now, this is anonymous. The name of this blog, Maxwell Pearl, is the name I’ve chosen for myself as a man. I don’t know that I’ll legally change my name, but if I do, that’s the name I’ve chosen. Maxwell B. Pearl, to be exact. The ‘B’ is still to be determined.

So if you happen across this blog, who I am besides a 50-something-person, and a few other details I’ve shared, will be a mystery.  I want to have a chance to write about this publicly, but not personally. When I’m ready, I will attach this blog to my own online presence.

If you know me, and are here because I’ve pointed you here, feel totally free to share this with others if you are so moved, but please don’t tell anyone who I am. I appreciate the space and time to talk about this process without it being connected to me.

[UPDATE: As I have now come out as Trans, this is totally public. Feel free to share it with attribution.]

I’ll probably be weaving between the past and the present, and perhaps the future. I don’t know how this is going to unfold, in the same way as I don’t know how my own process is going to unfold.