[My decision to come out as a trans man was lifechanging. What’s
so scary about the possibility of choice when it comes to gender?]
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I STOPPED TRYING TO BE A WOMAN – AND I FELT RESURRECTED, FULLY
MYSELF FOR THE FIRST TIME  
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Jackson King
March 31, 2023
Guardian
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_ My decision to come out as a trans man was lifechanging. What’s
so scary about the possibility of choice when it comes to gender? _

Male and female transgender symbol,

 

I’ve quit jobs, relationships, and even some religious beliefs –
but by far the most important thing I ever quit was trying to be a
woman.

Four years ago I came out as a trans man. After 28 years of attempting
to be a woman and wondering why things had never felt quite right, the
mist cleared: the issue was that I’d been trying to be someone I
wasn’t. And not just that, but someone I didn’t _want_ to be –
playing a role I felt compelled to adhere to by society.

I’m glad I quit being a woman. And I’m intentional about framing
my transness as quitting womanhood – as a choice I’ve made. There
has been endless debate about whether queer and trans people are born
this way, but to transition – either socially or medically – is a
choice.

In one way, my internal sense of gender identity was there from the
beginning: as a child I remember asking one of the adults in my life
about getting a “sex change” (the terminology I’d picked up as a
90s kid). The response I received made it clear that this would be
frowned upon – seen as a social failure. So as a result I did what
many queer and trans people are forced to do, repressing the idea so
deeply it would take two decades to excavate again.

When, in my late 20s, I began to revisit these gender “feelings”
it was like trying to recall a dream: remembering vague images and
sensations, but not quite being able to piece the whole story together
– yet. Gradually, the motifs and themes of my repressed trans
history came to the fore. Suppressed feelings have a habit of
springing up, like a jack in a box packed with potential energy that
will eventually find its way out. Once I’d allowed myself to
acknowledge and give space to my sense of gender incongruity, there
was no going back. The proverbial ship had sailed.

_This_ was why I’d spent a lifetime enjoying women’s company but
never feeling like one of the “girls”. _This_ was why I’d
often found myself looking at men’s bodies with jealousy and
longing. _This _was why despite all my efforts at self-love, I had
the inescapable sensation of wanting to crawl out of my own skin.

After coming out my transformation was palpable. Not much was
different on the outside beyond a boyish haircut and an
ever-so-slightly flatter chest (there’s only so much a binder can do
when you’ve got an H cup). But on the inside I’d been resurrected.
I was showing up fully in my life for the first time. Small moments
like having a Starbucks barista call me by my new name in a crowded
coffee shop were euphoric. And as one of the lucky few trans people to
have accessed medical transition healthcare in the UK, the more my
body has masculinised, the more my contentment has grown.

Let me be clear: I love women. My intellectual heroes, political role
models and most beloved artists are women. When submitting my deed
poll after coming out as trans, I chose a middle name that would
honour the women in my family who’ve made me who I am and taught me
how to show up in the world with love and strength_._ I love femme
women, butch women, trans women, cis women, and all the women who show
the diversity of and push the boundaries of womanhood. But, dear
reader, I am not a woman.

To transphobes, I have become the social failure I was warned about as
a child. They see me as a quitter, a social abnormality, an
abomination even. Because in refusing to have my gender determined by
my genitalia I’ve chosen not to accept my fate. And they are
correct: compulsory cisgenderism, and therefore compulsory womanhood,
is a narrative I’ve rejected. I’m glad I made that choice, and I
stand by it. What’s so scary about the possibility of choice or
autonomy when it comes to gender? As the David Carrick case shows
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men do not need to cosplay as women to cause harm.

My guess is that when queer and trans individuals choose not to abide
by the rigid rules of cisheterosexuality, it throws into relief just
how many people are unhappy adherents to behavioural norms thrusted
upon them. Norms they’ve had little or zero personal choice in.

Perhaps it’s a bit like accepting you can’t have your cake and eat
it, while someone next to you scoffs down Victoria sponge and loudly
smacks their buttercream-laced lips. You can either more rigidly
follow and enforce the rules handed down to you, or question what’s
so wrong with having your cake and eating it in the first place. I
know which one I’d choose.

_Jackson King is a freelance journalist_

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