My uterus and I.

My uterus and I haven't been getting along for quite a while. I'm not completely sure when it started. When I was on the pill as a teenager and in my early twenties I would get my period like clockwork. Tuesday afternoon at 2pm. But when I got a girlfriend I quit taking the pill and my period disappeared. Later I learned it was probably because of my low weight and the fact that I wasn't eating enough. In my mid twenties I started eating a bit more for a while and my period came back. We have been arguing ever since. I never knew when she would wave a red flag nor if she meant it. So eventually I got a coil, hoping to settle things once and for all. Or at least for a few years. No such luck. She still pops up every now and then but never in full bloom.
Now I have started testosterone things have not calmed down at all. In addition there are sharp pains or cramps as I feel my uterus shrinking. She's not going down without a fight.

A uterus is a woman's greatest asset. It's her crown jewel. It brings forth life. But in my case, she is an adversary. She reminds me of what I am and what I am not. Of what I will never be. Every time she cramps up it feels as of she mocks me. She holds back my masculinity. Over the years she has forced me into a shape I never wanted. She has made my life miserable. If all goes well she will be out of my life for good in as little as 4 months. It will be a little bit of death, and a rebirth. I can't wait.

In the mean time, I'm not getting any jewels back. I will be permanently infertile. I will never be able to have children. Then again, I'm 35 and not in a solid relationship where children are even an option. I never even wanted kids in the first place. So this shouldn't be a big deal, right? This is simply moving forwards. A logical step. Nothing to it. Alas, that is not how it works. Having the choice to not have children is different from not having a choice anymore. I know, having been born female bodied, the choice is pretty much over anyway. But my sister is 2 years older then me and is now having her second child. I'm happy for her. We hadn't expected it to happen but it did. So of the still got a chance at her age, why shouldn't I?

But wait, I didn't want kids, right? Right. So why is this a big deal again?

I have been thinking about this and I think it has to do with mortality and the meaning of life. If you have children a bit of you lives on in them when you die. If you don't have children you have to find a different way to impact the world. That's it in a nutshell. A lot of people try to live through their children. It's not always a good idea but it happens all the time. They hope their children will do all the things they never did, for whatever reason they may have had. Their children can compensate for their mistakes. They can undo their wrongs. When you don't have kids, you have to do all of that on your own. That's pretty big. This means that making the permanent decision to not have children automatically results in making the decision to live my life for me and me alone. That I have to do everything myself. That I can not rely on someone to make up for the things I didn't do.

Feel free to accuse me of thinking too much for my own good. I won't deny it.

Another thing is the social implication. Life exists purely to sustain itself. Procreating is the most important thing there is. We have copied that in our social structures. You can see this in any society. Children provide status and security. If you do not have children you are pitied. People generally find it hard to believe that some people don't want to have children. They don't understand why someone would not want to have children. I don't feel the need to defend myself as to why I don't want them, that's up to me and me alone. Often people assume you're just saying that because you don't have the option. But if you actually can't have them, then you truly are pitied indeed. And that is the last thing I need. I don't want this status attached to me of poor transperson who had to give up children. That is not the case. But I know some people that I will meet will think that way because it is easier for them then to accept the fact that I chose to live my life for myself instead of trying to live it through someone else. This might make me not a good living creature, but it doesn't make me a bad person. I think a lot of people would be happier if they focused a bit more on what they would like to do with their lives instead of putting pressure on their kids to have better grades then the neighbor's kids. If you want that's best for your children, don't you think setting an example on how to be happy with yourself would be more valuable then comparing them to others?

Final conclusion: it's time for me and my uterus to part ways. After all, you usually regret the things you didn't do more then the things you did do.

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Oh my.... size.

People generally agree I have gotten bigger in a good way. They say I look impressive, strong. When I look at the statistics they are right. I have gained over 2kg of muscle since I started testosterone and have lost over 3kg of fat. The difference is noticeable. On a good day I would agree I look pretty good. Most days however, I disagree. Most days I feel like I look scrawny. I feel my arms are way too thin and my shoulders too narrow. This is a very strange thing. Let me show you why.

The picture on the left is me, 6 years ago. When I took that picture I felt huge! There was way too much of me and I wanted to disappear. My eating disorder never had anything to do with wanting to be pretty. I simply felt there was something wrong with me and the less there was of me the less wrong I was. A strange construct but it made sense when I came up with it at age 7.

The picture on the right I took this morning. Again, it is impossible to be objective about it. I'm not sure how I feel, but I know it's not what it should be. Part of the problem is obvious. The boobs. They have to go. They get in the way of the rest of me. It's like all of me is hiding behind those boobs. Maybe that's why I feel the rest of me should be bigger. Not just generally bigger, but specifically muscular bigger. Manly.

But that's not the only problem. For a very long time I was very thin. Part of me always knew that, even if there was too much left still. It was part of my identity. And now I am letting that go. More then that. I am actively getting as big and strong as my body wants to be. I'm allowing my body to grow towards it full potential. I know I should be bigger. I know I should allow myself to take up space. There's the thing: taking up space. I used to feel that was such an awful thing to do. And now I am allowing myself to take up space it feels like I'm still not getting enough of it. I need more. I need to be present. I need to manifest myself. I need to stand like a mountain.

I might be over compensating. I am aware of that. But I think it is a natural process that you need to go through. After denying myself for so long I really need to say: here I am, not just to others, but mostly to myself. This is a part of my transition that is more mental then physical, though it may seem to be the other way around. By letting my body change I am slowly letting go of who I used to think I was supposed to be and growing into my own. It's a slow and painful process. Something that doesn't hit the surface much but is still there, constantly rearing it's head. These are the growing pains. Every time I look in the mirror I hope to see myself. On a good day now I do. I'm hoping there will be more and more of those to come.

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