The Hardest (Unexpected) Part About Being a Trans Man

In the state of Missouri where I began my transition to “Mitch,” you have to undergo gender therapy in order to receive a letter of authorization from a therapist stating that you are of sound mind and that you are, in fact, transgender and experiencing gender dysphoria – a disorder that calls for appropriate medical intervention – before you can start hormones.

During my time in gender therapy, we discussed some of what to expect once I began transitioning. Most of this was centered around the physical changes — more body hair, a deepening of the voice, changes in fat distribution, and so on. We also talked a little about the emotional and “logistical” side of things, but from what I can remember, this revolved mostly around how to tell friends and family, what might happen at work once you came out and began seeing physical changes, and some starting advice of how to go through the complicated process of legally changing your name and gender marker on state-issued identification.

Many people never have the privilege of being able to transition physically, or have the safety to come out in their lives due to religious beliefs, location, financial instability or otherwise. This is a real problem in many parts of the world (including the U.S.), as discrimination and violence toward transgender individuals is unfortunately very common.

Thankfully, I was in a position where I felt able to begin my transition, and in November 2013, in a small doctor’s office in Kansas City, I received my first shot of testosterone (hormone replacement therapy (HRT). Thus began my medical transition.

As of today I have been on HRT for 7 years and have undergone multiple surgeries to help remedy body dysphoria. Though the first four or five years of my transition were filled with their own set of challenges (like suffering through being mis-gendered, called my “dead” (birth) name, and navigating what sometimes felt like a totally new body), today I can sit here and comfortably look back at the past seven years with a bit of wonder and objectivity.

As I reflect upon my transition experience, one of the biggest things I think about is a challenge that was totally unexpected and never brought up in those initial days of gender therapy: The inward battle of what it means to be a man in this world, and how to overcome the toxic masculinity that often accompanies that.

Am I Man Enough?

When I first began my transition, I was obsessed with manhood and what it meant to “be a man.”

This was 2013, and while there was beginning to be some meaningful conversations around gender and sexuality, there still wasn’t as much discussion around toxic masculinity, the gender binary, gender fluidity, identifying as non-binary, or even trans-ness as there is today.

Therefore, I’ll admit that my idea of manhood was pretty antiquated, hailing from the toxic ideas characteristic of the 1990s and early 2000s (and of course these were remnants of the past few centuries of toxic masculinity pervasive in Western culture).

So at the time, to me “being a man” meant things like:

• being physically strong
• being emotionally distant and/or cold
• being charismatic and funny
• being successful and earning lots of money
• only having hobbies like sports, cars, building things and playing video games
• drinking craft beer

I could go on, but am somewhat appalled at my own ignorance and fulfillment of [particularly white] male stereotypes in those early days of my transition. You get the idea though.

Due to these warped ideas of masculinity, I experienced a very odd phenomenon: I was simultaneously feeling more “myself” and like I was closer to living my truth than ever before, all while hiding away aspects of myself that I considered to be “too feminine” or not masculine enough.

For instance, I stopped using certain phrases that I considered to be too “colorful” or “flowery” (vs. the more direct messaging that I believed men used), feigned disinterest in hobbies that brought me joy like musical theater and the arts, and even began feeling uncomfortable smiling fully (I somehow thought that smiling big made me look more feminine?).

The very odd phenomenon was essentially of both becoming and un-becoming myself.

Today, I attribute that to the societal and cultural ideas of what it means to “be a man,” which are hard to pinpoint yet strongly influential.

Masculinity, Redefined

As the years went on, I felt torn. I was exploring this newfound identity as “Mitch” and loving every minute of it, yet I was also struggling to incorporate what I perceived to be the more “feminine” parts of myself into my new life.

This often made it feel like I was living on a tightrope, treading a thin line of living my authentic life and still lying to myself about what was really important to me.

This was the part of my transition that I felt utterly unprepared to tackle. Why didn’t any of the trans guidebooks cover this? Why didn’t my therapist talk to me about what it meant to be viewed and function as a man in our Western culture?

I constantly feared that my interest in hobbies, culture, movies or music that were traditionally considered non-masculine would somehow “give me away” or “out” me to those who didn’t know I was transgender.

For instance, I was afraid of saying that I liked listening to Taylor Swift’s new album, or loved houseplants or interior design, or enjoyed shopping at cute local shops (or even using the word “cute”), or how I actually just wanted to eat a salad for dinner. Instead, I ordered the steak, or pretended I was only at little shops to buy a gift, or that I had never heard of Ariana Grande (or whatever female pop star was popular at the time).

Looking back, some of the stuff that I considered “too feminine” was absolutely ridiculous. But in my head, being so new to this male role, it all felt important and like something I should be paying attention to.

Over time, my experience of “manhood” began to shift and became a lot healthier. In part, this was due to my own experience navigating the complex cultural systems present in our world today and slowly peeling back the layers of my beliefs and values. However, this personal evolution was also assisted by two broader cultural shifts:

1. More conversation and education in the public sphere about how gender (and therefore “manhood”) is only an imaginary social construct with really no valid scientific basis.
2. Seeing other trans, gay, non-binary, etc. humans explore their own expression of gender and play with gender fluidity a lot more than in years prior, which seemed to provide more space for my own expression of masculinity and femininity.

I began to see that, despite generations of being conditioned and told otherwise, being a “man” actually didn’t really mean anything at all. And that forcing people to subscribe to the gender binary (aka “male” and “female” only) was both harmful and even biologically unnatural. I saw my own thought patterns reflected through these societal beliefs, and saw how even as a trans man, I was still subscribing and perpetuating these same ideas about masculinity.

Manhood began to take on a new meaning for me, and I began to slowly open myself back up to sharing ideas and phrases and hobbies and interests that reflected who I actually am on the inside, not the person I thought I “had” to be if I wanted to appear in male form on this earth.

I realized that being a man is whatever you want it to be — it could be being a good parent, writing poetry, wearing clothing that reflects your personality and creative expression, wearing earrings or jewelry, squeaking with joy when you see a puppy or cute animal, or buying a new plant for your home. Or it could also mean building things, playing video games or enjoying craft beer. But not because that’s what “men” enjoyed doing, but because that’s what you enjoy doing.

I realized that being a man is whatever you want it to be.

Beyond the Binary

At the end of the day, some people really do just identify as male or female, and they prefer traditional pronouns like he/him or she/her. That’s fine. In fact, I fall into that group as I prefer to identify as male and go by he/him/his pronouns.

So to me, the goal (at least for now) isn’t necessarily for everyone in the world to use “they/them” pronouns and identify as non-binary or gender fluid lest they appear ignorant and insensitive. The goal is just to realize that there is more than one definition of what it means to be a “man” or “woman” in society, and it doesn’t always align with the harmful stereotypes we’ve been fed for the last 2,000 years.

When we can deconstruct our false notions of gender in a way that validates all people’s experiences, it will allow for more freedom of choice and self-advocacy. And that can lead to a much more beautiful life.

We should be able to self-declare who we are and how we want to express ourselves without having that identity chosen and thrust upon us by an entire culture. If a person who was assigned “male” at birth ultimately decides they want to sport a beard but also wear a dress that makes them feel beautiful, then who are we to say “no” to that? And if a person who was assigned female at birth (AFAB) grows up knowing that they are, in fact, a boy/man, then so be it.

So the biggest and most unexpected lesson I’ve had to learn while being trans is that gender is not real. It is constructed by those who have the power to construct these types of things, and whose power relies on heteronormativity (that is, the binary, man-and-wife, etc).

Being yourself doesn’t mean fulfilling a stereotype and meeting all the criteria outlined by some mysterious force. It means allowing ALL aspects of yourself to shine forth, Ariana Grande and all, and encouraging others to do the same.

Ultimately I learned that masculinity isn’t just cars and sports; it’s whatever you make it. And that because I am a man, everything I do is part of my own, personal manhood. And when I realized those things, that’s when I was finally free.