'G' is for Girl

Musing on a lost life - and thinking of how my childhood changed me. Different music choice today - it's a song that came out when I was at school - about the time when I realised something was different about me, a time when my interest in the singer wasn't just liking her, but wanting to be her. I had the album and remember sitting the in tiny parlour (it was a 17th century, very little changed from victorian days) of my Great Grandmother's house in Ireland listening to this on repeat play - wishing that I could wake up and be like Madonna.

So what was it like growing up as a girl that (nearly) nobody saw as one. In a word 'tough' - a lot of people I talk about this to ask questions or make comments about wanting to play with dolls - I never really did - and I'm not convinced that it's a good arbiter of childhood gender identity, I've even heard of medical professionals using this as a yardstick in making a diagnosis of gender dysphoria, which seems absurd to me. No, for me it was much more about the interpersonal relationships, the conversations and the expectations put on me as a tall, apparent boy - I found those expectations wholly unattainable, and unpacking it all these years later, probably a key contributor to the issues I faced in general growing up.

I don't for a minute think that anyone worked out that I was trans (or any variant thereof) - outside of general homophobic abuse which was hurled about with gay(!) abandon at my school I didn't get any comment on any particular effeminacy about me - I recall being called 'Hijra' by some of the boys at my primarily asian school, accompanied by a hand gesture of the palms slapping together and sliding apart - to signify the removal of the genitals - but this was as I say, broad based generic homophobic abuse - but when I worked out what the word meant, I became fluent in swearing in punjabi, hindi and gujerati there (thanks for the rounded education Hounslow) - I worried if other people could see inside me, know what I was thinking. Had they worked out that the bald patch and black mark on my leg from where I applied one of mum's wax strips to it? (before panicking it wouldn't come off and then remembering just in time for PE.) . Or was it something else? Looking back on those days I don't think it was anything other than what passes for pleasantries in an outer london school - but it made me wary.

I liked the girls at my school (mostly) and I liked them as my friends, I enjoyed peering at 'Look in' magazine during art lessons, reviewing the fashions (loads of neon!) and talking about favourite bands - this was OK up to a point, but then I think I started to stick out a bit. I tried to make friends with boys at school and got interested in computer games - the days of the 8 bit machine were a dream for me, and into wargames and role playing. I loved roleplaying games - especially Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay (I still have my copy!) - and I do well recall the amusement of my friends when I created an assassin character called 'Anna' that I was massively protective of. I also know that I irritated everyone so much that they ostracised me eventually - again, I wonder if it was an inherent difference or just an irritating personality that caused it - I don't think I'll ever know the answer to that.

I also recall staying over with a family on our street, the mother of the family was French, and she shared with me a stack of Paris Match magazines to read - this helped develop my love of France (Paris in particular) but also the magnetic attraction of French style and fashion - again I looked at the pages and wanted not to meet these women but to be them, to be beautiful and to wear those clothes - it didn't feel abnormal, but my run in with the shrink ensured I kept quiet about it.

I had a couple of friends back then who were girls - I'm back in touch with one and out to her too - she expressed regret I hadn't been able to talk about it with her - and she misses the fun we could have had - so do I, and that's I guess what is missing - not dolls and pretty dresses but fun - hanging out 'down the treaty centre' - listening to music, nattering, not being expected to be a boy and all that entailed - not being told to 'not be a big girl's blouse' when I cried or constant comments to stop being a 'big tumphy' - both common things in my house growing up.

Other things I remember clearly were when we were split from the girls while they had a lesson on menstruation - we weren't told what was being talked about - and when I asked a friend who'd been in the session and she told me I recall being really jealous of her. I couldn't articulate that then, but it was a very tangible way of knowing that I would never be a normal girl. Indeed - in the time since I came out a common comment from cis friends is to say how lucky I am that I'll never have a monthly cycle with all the misery that can bring - I have to say to them that I'd trade a lot for that very misery; the monthly reminder that I don't have a uterus and womb is actually pretty painful to me. Sure I'd moan and cry about it but I'd have it - and even then as a 12 year old I knew it felt wrong. [at this point I want to say something clearly, menstruating or not is NOT the mark of being a woman; some men mensturate - my lovely friend and brother from another mother Sam says as much here - but it is one aspect of my life as a girl and woman that is missing for me - amongst so many others]

I found life really difficult - and not just because of the secrecy and shame of dressing - but because of the deep scars inside that not having the right physiology meant. But most of all because I couldn't form the sorts of friendships I wanted to. Don't get me wrong, I still have 2 or 3 friends from childhood and I love them to bits - but I missed normal girl socialisation - no sleepovers, no pyjama parties, no learning the dances from madonna videos.

Tough as hell to try and get beyond the grief and regret of a lost life, but I'm trying hard - I have second puberty coming up courtesy of HRT, and I'm nervous and excited in equal measure - male puberty was dreadful for me - all the wrong changes. I have to fight the urge to live as a teenager or young woman in her 20s - not least because time and testosterone have conspired against it - but I see the rest of my life being one where I get the peace between brain and body I never had - and I still love Madonna, albeit all we have in common now is bad knees :-)