I’ve never accepted my birth gender. From my first memories at four years old to right now.
Early on my requests to dress as a girl and play with girl’s toys were angrily rejected by my parents leaving me bewildered.
I stopped believing in a benevolent god when I was very young because my desperate nightly prayers were ignored.
I discovered birthday cake wishes never come true and never had the courage to ask Santa what I really wanted for Christmas.
The one thing I could control was my personal identity. They could call me boy, they could make me look like a boy, but couldn’t make me join in. I knew I could resist joining male groups or supporting male causes.
In the absence of any other control even now I will resist the pressure to join the boy’s team.
I never use restrooms unless I am desperate and men’s locker rooms disgust me. Change before and shower at home is my motto.
When a social group fragments by gender I excuse myself.
This is how I rail against my dysphoria. Quiet, under the radar, a bit pathetic.