I mentioned (I think) in my first post that I have not had the “typical” trans experience. It caused me some grief (literally and figuratively) at the beginning of this process — that is, the process of coming out and transitioning — that I didn’t have any of those moments where I just knew that I was a boy, or that I should have been a boy, etc. I came to terms with it, realizing: one, that you don’t need those experiences in order to be trans; and, two, that I had many of those experiences, I just…suppressed them or channeled them into other aspects of my life. But my mother just told me a very interesting story which casts doubt on the whole “I’m-not-trans-enough” complex which I suffered from at the beginning of my gender revelations.
Sometime in 1st or 2nd grade, I carpooled with two of my classmates (a girl and a boy) to some…activity (I don’t remember what, soccer or…honestly, I have no idea). One day, my mom picked me up, I got in her car, and I said, “[Boy] told me that girls can’t be heroes” (man, it started young). I then promptly started to cry — or, as my mom put it, I was sobbing and absolutely inconsolable, just…miserable. Then, I said to her, “Why aren’t I a boy? I want to be a boy – I want to be a hero.” My mom did her best to convince me “girls can be heroes too” (which is true, I’m not disputing that). But I was pretty damn upset.
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