Her Mother's Son (and Finding Peace)

Presented without explanation. But for a modicum of context: "Paralytic States" by Against Me!

On some level, I know that no matter what I do, I will always be in some measure the person my mother can’t seem to let go. From the broad shoulders to the hair and face that remind her a little too much of my father. All of my siblings look a bit like him, and that’s all she can see in me, because she is so very convinced she knows me, knows what’s deep down in my heart. She is convinced, and in some ways is right, that I will always be her son.

I don’t mean that I’m not a woman. I am and always have been trans, and specifically trans feminine. I am and always have been more of a girl than a guy, more of a lady than a fella, more of a Jill than a Jack. That’s who I’ve been for as long as I can remember. And it won’t change.

What I mean is that no matter how much progress I make, no matter how much I see myself in the mirror, no matter how much other people see and hear me, no matter what happens, someone will always see the person I have never been, but who I looked like until I came out.

And unfortunately, sometimes, that someone is me.

The first time I saw myself in the mirror, truly saw myself as I knew I was meant to be, I was 31 years old. I had been on HRT for two and a half years, and I was finally starting to look like me. I wasn’t looking for it. It just happened one day. I walked by a mirror and was confused to see a woman walk by, so I paused and looked at myself for a minute. It was there. It wasn’t a lot, but it was there.

And it kept happening. At first it was always like that. I wasn’t looking at the mirror to see something, I just happened to walk by and see something that I wasn’t used to. And it started to happen more often. Eventually, I didn’t have to catch myself in a side glance. I was just there in the mirror all the time.

But it wasn’t perfect.

My body had been permanently affected by the testosterone. My facial bones would never change. My slightly too broad frame was set in stone. And because of that, I sometimes caught glimpses of what had been, even if it wasn’t there anymore.

But the frame is just that: a frame. The fat on my body was redistributing. My face rounded back out to what it had been when I was younger. The muscles all over went soft. And over time, I stopped seeing that boy as often as I once had. He was gone, and only I remained.

Even so. No matter how far I go, I am still stuck with this body. And I can’t help but it see sometimes. I can’t help but see what I’ve worked so hard to escape.

My hips are too narrow. My shoulders are too broad. My face is too angular. My feet are too big.

And the dysphoria sets in. And I look in the mirror or at my body and I still see my mother’s son. And all I want is for everything to go away.

But I remember something beautiful in those moments. I remember something that has kept me going more than anything else. I remember something that was the reason I made it this far, and in remembering, I am able to keep going.

I remember that when I was 11, sitting in a hallway outside the bathrooms of my elementary school, I saw a girl in a yellow dress and realised for the very first time that I wanted to be like her. I wanted to wear pretty dresses and be thought of as a beautiful person. I wanted to grow up and be someone that little girls like me could look up to.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t confused by all the things I was feeling. Everything was clear.

And when I remember that, I think about 11 year old me and I know without a doubt that she would be proud of where I am. She would be so pleased that she made it this far. She would look up to me. She would marvel at how far we’ve come.

It brings me peace and joy to know that after all this time, younger me would be proud that we’ve made it. So when I look in the mirror or at my body, I see the wonder that I always wanted to be. I see the infinite possibilities that were open to me back then realised in my own body. In my own life. And the dysphoria melts away.

And for just a moment, everything is beautiful.