From my birth, up to puberty, everything was harmony for me.
After that, life became dissonant.
Of course, this happens to all teenagers to some degree, it’s a dissonant time by nature, but what happened to me was quite different.
I can’t explain to you the pain of experiencing the world as a girl any better than by describing what it’s like to reach puberty, see what’s happening to all the other girls around you, and then to realize that isn’t going to happen to you.
Instead, you realize you face life as a deformed monster infected with testosterone.
But worse than that is another realization.
It is the realization of sex and sexuality.
The understanding that you are different from the other girls.
You grew up socialized in such a way that you expected to be a mom.
The games you played were nurturing like that in nature. You cared for your dolls like children just like the other girls did, with the basic understanding that that babies are made in the bellies of people like you perceive yourself in every physiological, sociological, and psychological way to be, that you will fill that role one day.
But then, at puberty, you realize:
You will not conceive.
The truest pain of my experience was that pain and I’ve carried it with me my entire life.
Trans exclusionists often love to taunt me with this fact.
It hurts, so much, every single time.
It hurts in the exact same way it would hurt any other female unable to conceive who wishes to.
If I could have perfect biology including a womb, I would, I’d do it in a heartbeat just like most women who can’t conceive. It’s truly the cruelest of our separations to hold against us.
This is a testament to the truth of the biological and physiological experience of transgender women. I didn’t have a womb. It didn’t stop me from feeling as though I did and being impacted by it accordingly.
All my life, I experienced my body in much the way an amputee might experience their missing limbs. Parts which should be there simply aren’t but it doesn’t stop the experience of them. It never goes away. It never went away until I began hormone replacement therapy. Now, it, and all of the distress related to it are gone.
But still now, as I am in my mid-thirties, the burden of not being able to conceive remains with me as it always has and sadly, always will.
Every woman who has lost the power to bring life into this world but who still wanted to bring more knows the pain of this burden and the social and psychological impacts on you.
This is the true pain of dysphoria.
Luckily, social progress, being the beautiful thing that it is, has allowed for people like myself to adopt in many areas.
Sadly, this is not true everywhere by any stretch of the imagination.
Keep going, social progress!
In the meantime:
Arguments over whether or not a person is mentally fit to care for a child (or serve in the military for that matter) should be settled by case workers, not internet trolls.
Stop it for the betterment of humanity.