An Experience of Shame As a Trans Woman

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.meta content warning: internalized transphobia, bipolar depression, etc

so looking at it, perhaps i’m led to the conclusion, the place, that—though life is worth living—it is by necessity deconstructive.

i’m worried about who i am.

I’m worried about my voice, life, my loves, my curses.

i seek redemption, love, peace, forgiveness, and yet deep down i assume and feel eternal failure.

What is this curse, if not depth of creation?

do i want to be a created player?

do I want to be min-maxed to the point where i am disabled, unable to financially provide for my needs yet able to experience deep art, felt art?

do i want to be in love?

do i want to be a mom, a wife, a lover, a caretaker?

oh, how deeply i do…

And yet here I am, cursed with poverty and mistake, burdensome body and mind.

I seek not to destroy the world—i am forever broken—in the ways I am.

And yet in so, so many ways I am impressed, I am in love, unsought and seeking, believing and doubting entwined.

And this is old—i have no doubt.

being disabled with bipolar depression and a trans woman is an ancient experience—do not feel young.

And so many care for you, Nature.

So many care for you.

And the hurt of breathing is insight and direction, not simply curse.

Yes, there is love, there is carefree—be not control.

In attempt for control, dear pained expression, there is persistent and inconsistent delusion.

but it’s not easy, yeah.

it’s really fucking hard.

And for so many who are not disabled, you are looked down upon as weak and lazy, not worthy of acceptance nor love.

And in this brutality is peace, because you can hate yourself more than they can hate you.

it’s so fucking hard to keep going, so fucking hard.

And yet i sit here, numb, hearing muted frequencies, frustrated by stagnation and repetition of disorder.

I’m not trying to keep going—it’s just what happens.

I’m not trying to understand the world—i just keep getting back up.

This bluntness persists; it infects with apathy and nihilism, and yet, i get back up.

Why?

I am not an unreasonable being.

i have flamed and doused many times—i am tired of the burden of repercussion after flame.

Who am I to demand?

Who am I to beg for help?

Who am i to crave womanhood, comfort with my own shape and voice?

What a demand upon reality: crafting toward a being that so many hate, that so many are disgusted by.

what a thing to be a trans woman, to crave so deeply motherhood, and yet be shamed as perverted for something so common.

what a thing to realize, and in the realization be blessed with freedom yet cursed with eternal contrast.

What a thing to hold that pain, and tear, and be numb with input meant to aid.

i’m fucked up, in so many ways.

cursed, in so many ways.

And yet i get back up.

Why?

Why do i get back up?

what is it in me that persists, that re-arises?

can i ever die, please?

this exhaustion of failure overwhelms; so little holds meaning.

And yet i persist.

I re-arise.

I do not die.

But i _do_ give up.

i do not wish to control; i simply wish to be a woman.

oh how deep the dimensions run.

i feel so lost, so anguished as male.

it’s so fucking hard, and the voice assaults without warning.

there is a persistence in the writing that i cannot deny—i do not wish to.

i am struck with overwhelm at the myriad difficulties of being this disabled bipolar trans woman.

What is it, dear Ellimist—is there respite?

is there kindness, joy, love, here?

i’m so fucking tired of fighting against the optimism.

i’m so tired of being broken, of trying _so_ hard, and having crumbs, only.

what is the point of all this?

I can feel the edge of tears and the push against them from the blunt of trialed input.

how is it that i’m so fucking smart, and the smallest things destroy me?

i want to rest as Jessi, to stop fleeing as masculinity.

i’m so fucking tired of trying to be a guy, while craving so deeply to be a mom, to be felt and seen as a kind and gentle woman.

i’m so tired of trying and failing.

and so it goes with trying to get disability support, too—so many wasted days, wasted efforts, for nought.

i’m so tired of believing it will happen, of persisting against unreasoned optimism.

i’m so fraught with angst and dislike, of my own inducement, my own systems and preferences.

i so want to be a woman, and it’s so fucking hard being a male.

i reach out, and am made lonelier by absence of response.

i reach out, and lack deepens despair and cycles of isolation.

i reach out, and am unmade.

when I step back i am not freed; i am lost.

i am lost in the torment of gender contrast.

i am lost in the opposition of controllessness.

i am lost in the transphobia that permeates my childhood.

i am lost in the pain of my own voice, my own breathing.

Why?

why does it matter?

Consider the deconstruction, again.

What are you, if not curiosity, itself?

What are you, if not exploration, itself?

but this does not aid, not when contrast of gender persists so deeply.

fuck this is hard.

Why?

contradiction with desire is one thing; distress with something so experienced as gender, another.

fuck this is hard.

i feel the blunted effects, and the spurred from stimulants, ability yet apathy inducing inability.

i rest, not for purpose, but because meaning is unjustifiable.

the emotion that gives rise to love, to joy, is imperceptible.

attempt after attempt after attempt: i break my own records with failure, perhaps.

the disease of craving reboots, assuming validity in comparing myself to others—such is a toxicity of ancestry.

never allowed to be worse off, never allowed to be comforted by being the most burdened.

always having to fight to justify lack of output: it’s so fucking exhausting.

Do we all have problems?

Yes.

But being a bipolar trans woman is really fucking hard, and invalidation of the difficulty is like reaching for comfort and being shunned.

i’d rather just have not brought it up at all.

but that’s not what i am, because I don’t exist.

there is a difficulty in expression that i hope my efforts in pain can alleviate.

there is a shame in how i feel my body, how i want it to be.

there is a pain in the complaint of cis women, for oh how lucky they are to have the pain i can’t. oh how lucky to not be crafted by such a potent torment, even before eyes open.

fuck it’s hard being trans.

i rest alone and yet ancient, an artist burdened and yet unburdened.

there is so much queerness in mind, in pattern, in art, in expression.

i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing.

i feel so unlovable, so burdensome and yet so kind.

i try so hard to be sweet, to be loving, and my voice denies who i’m trying to express.

i’m felt as a filter rather than as _me_.

i’m so fucking tired of it.

and i try so hard to practice, to train, and the pain of breathing makes me worry about damage to the animal herself.

i so desperately want to be comfortable as a woman, but i speak and am seen as a disgusting man.

i’m told to speak louder to be heard, the pain of the inconsideration itself adding to the torment of being felt as a man.

i say as such, with no response.

do others have it harder?

of course.

but i cannot help them if my disabilities already leave me exhausted; i don’t need optimism; i need help.

i don’t need comparison; i need compassion.

i am so lucky, in so many ways; cannot cis women permit that their pain is lucky, to me?

why must i feel shame for wanting to be a woman?

why must i be shamed for this craving i have never not-known?

to wish so deeply for something so many want, and then be told i’m perverted and disgusting for wanting it… to crave so deeply to be a mom and wife, and exposed for decades to torment that causes assumption of man-ness…

What a fucking hard thing, yet it persists.

i don’t want to cause women angst, and i fear my very presence disgusts.

i don’t want to alarm, but i feel so very ill-fitting in my own body.

i feel so very ill-fitting in the systems that are taken for granted by so many.

i so don’t want to cause fear, and yet such a thought doesn’t even cross their mind.

i feel unaccepted, unseen, secretly and actively disliked and unwanted.

i care so much, and yet am felt as a man, and dismissed.

i’m envious of the young ones now who will never feel shame for being a male who wants to be a woman.

such is not my luck; i have craved and yet denied for longer than they’ve been alive, shame everpresent and yet now allowed to be examined.

denying that i want to be a woman never worked; i want to be a woman more now than ever.

what a difficult thing to admit, what a difficult thing to pen, what a difficult thing to share.

And oh how little so many cis people do, seeing trans people as a burden rather than an insight into experience of life.

oh how little they try, and oh how loudly they complain.

“we all have it hard.” fuck you.

i fear and hate so much about what i am, and i need comfort, not comparison.

so much about me is effectively impossible to change, and i need to weep and be held, not be forced to prove that the pain is real.

so much torment for so many years, hidden beneath love-for, rather than comfort-within.

to be free, to be accepted—what peace, and yet what spark that enhances contrast…

what a thing to love, and what a thing to be unloved.

what a thing to be unburdened, and yet what a thing to be burdened with.

i didn’t ask to be trans, but please, world, let me be a woman.

what a thing to have such fear to even make the request.

what a thing to be afraid to even believe it as a possibility.

what a thing to want to be a mom and wife so much, and yet be male.

what a thing to be disabled, broken, dependent and yet so finessable and adaptable.

the torment of the past will perhaps always haunt me, but there are also lessons in the past.

i will not claim inherent insight, but i will not deny it, either.

to be such a thing for so long, hidden and denied because of culture’s hatred: can you blame me for being such a clumsy portrayal of womanhood?

i’m trying so hard to even accept it myself, even after knowing it for decades.

what a thing, to want so desperately to be a girl, and be told by everyone that you’re a boy.

what a thing to feel such shame at the wanting, when it is so prevalent and common.

what a thing to be disgusted at yourself for wanting, so confused and ashamed at the envy.

i don’t know how to process the shame i feel for wanting to be a woman.

to even pen that i want to be a woman is scary.

to share requires egolessness.

but oh how deeply i want to be a woman—fear of not having access to medicine induces panic.

can a cis man understand that? how deeply i fear my own body masculinizing me? how deeply i crave for my own body to feminize me?

and yet such shame, such shame at failing to be a man, and yet never wanting to be one anyway.

such shame at so desperately wanting to be a woman, yet not wanting to corrupt their beauty with my ill features.

so desperately trying to be felt as a woman, yet speaking and all my efforts being in vain.

to be a pansexual lesbian, uncaring about men yet so craving to be felt as beautiful, too.

to be a trans lesbian, trying so hard to not be fraught with envy but it being so interwoven, too.

to be who I am, authentically, to draw upon the decades of experience from a very different life, and not feel as if my womanhood is in question because of it.

to feel it as a strength and resource that is attractive, rather than use it as a weapon against me and call me a man, which i so desperately don’t want to be.

what a thing to be authentic and loved for it, accepted and cherished rather than face disgusted and fearing attitudes.

why am i ashamed to want to be a woman? because i can’t be one.

i will always be felt to be a twisted man, and oh how deeply that overwhelms my soul with pain.

“we all have it hard.” fuck you.

i so deeply envy the pain of cis women, but to express that is not meant as critique, but request for comfort.

i am new at this, new at authentically expressing my gender as a woman; i am not new at life, however.

my unsuccess is prevalent, yet so is my persistence.

i don’t have evidence of it working for me, but that doesn’t mean i can’t help _you_.

yes, the socialization as a boy and man are brutal upon me, yet what if it indeed was mere costume, mere acting, and really it was a trans girl and trans woman in those years?

A trans woman isn’t a cis woman; I had a trans girlhood, not a cis girlhood.

oh so many years as an unaware trans girl; oh so many years as a trans woman in denial.

yet, i was still a person. i still read and wrote, played and talked.

i just thought i was broken, and was too ashamed to share what every single birthday wish was for (“I wish I was a girl”).

what a thing to try and make peace with hiding about yourself, and what a thing to finally share, and feel love and acceptance for.

to share such a deep, radical secret and be wrapped with warm comfort is a true blessing.

i can’t ever be a woman, but in so many ways i’ve always been one.

so many years imagining a different life, and so many years of shame for the craving to imagine it.

i still have such shame, shame for causing anguish and fear in women and disgust and vitriol in men.

i try so hard to be felt as a woman, and i am so lucky in so many ways, but oh the daggers to my soul when i fail and am called a man; the decades of socialization intrusively screaming in my mind that I will never pass, that my femininity will always be felt as a costume on a man rather than an authentic expression of who i am as a woman.

“we all have it hard.” fuck you.

And navigating and exploring being not only trans but also a lesbian adds even more dimensions and complexity, because i don’t really feel a compulsion toward gynephilic men’s beauty standards, but not presenting high-femme can make it harder to pass as a woman, but the strength of presenting authentically is important to me as a lesbian, even though it can be incredibly scary.

why should a male so desperately want to be female, put herself through so much pain and expense to be felt as a woman?

i don’t know.

for a population there are models for why it can be evolutionarily helpful to have transgender awarenesses within it (diversity in general can make adaptation more robust).

as a trans woman myself, i don’t know why when i close my eyes my body is female and i’m happy and then i open them and it’s male and i’m distressed.

I so, so, so don’t want to be male, and the overt contrast is brutal.

i’m ashamed of how envious i am of cis women, and i’m ashamed that i’m angry that so many of them take being female for granted, never giving a moment’s thought to the torment of decades of socialization with a body with the wrong functions and form.

yet at the same time i get it: imagining living as a man in a male body grosses me out, whereas imagining living as a woman in a female body feels like being wrapped in a cozy, soft, comfy blanket.

but that’s not where i’m at; i’m a trans woman, not a cis woman; my experience is living as a woman in a feminized male body.

it’s cozier than it used to be, but the contrast can be brutal, especially because i’m disabled.

but it still is better, and the fear of masculinization is very real.

and i’m ashamed of that too.

i tried faking being a guy and couldn’t make it; now i’m trying to authentically express who i am as a woman and i disgust others and myself.

i’m ashamed of wanting to be a woman, failing at being a woman, making women as a group uglier because i’m a clumsy, haphazard male trying to fit in with the beauty and elegance of female women.

i’m ashamed of all this internalized transphobia and disgust at my body when it wasn’t my choice and it’s extremely expensive to change.

“beautiful people are beautiful, no matter their gender”—but that can’t apply to *me*, because i’m trans.

other trans women are beautiful, but i’m disgusting.

i feel like i can never be accepted by men because i want to be a woman, and never accepted by women because i’m male, even though i so, so, so want to be female.

but life is long; drink water if only to outlast your enemies.

i’m ashamed of the envy i have for younger trans women, who can have more potent medical effects like wider hips and a more feminine skeleton, whereas i spent those years in denial of what actually makes me cozy, trying instead to be successful at being a guy, and ending up more stuck in the end.

i’m ashamed of how little i make, but i’m trying as hard as i can; there’s nothing left in me; this is everything i have.

i speak and the incongruency assaults; i try to practice but it hurts to breathe.

i’m ashamed of the envy i feel for cis women who can speak without effort and be heard as women.

so much struggle trying to learn something so personal; so much pain when trying so hard to be felt as a woman and getting perfunctory niceties, not genuine acceptance.

and who do we do this for?

who am i trying to be a woman for?

i don’t know why it feels so cozy to imagine being a female woman.

i don’t know why it feels so cozy imagining being a lesbian housewife and stay-at-home mom.

i don’t know why it feels so *right* to have a feminine body, but being a guy never fit; it was like always wearing a costume and never taking it off because i was disgusted that i crave to be female.

i was in awe of trans women because they got to transition, but i was in denial that medicine could make my body cozier too, because i want kids, and life is so much harder for trans women than cis guys.

but a hatched trans woman trying to fit in as a cis guy can be even more brutal.

i’m ashamed of saying i crave to be female, of admitting i crave so, so, so desperately to live as a woman and be felt as a woman and love as a woman and mother as a woman.

i’m so ashamed of wanting to be a woman, because i know i never can be.

i’m disgusted to be transgender, and i’m ashamed to say and admit and feel that.

i’m ashamed that i’m disgusted to be male.

i’m ashamed that i hurt so much trying to be a guy that i take medicine and try to live as a woman and disgust even more people with my maleness, especially Sapphics, whom i most want to have joy.

i try so hard, but i’m disabled and stuck as male.

i’m ashamed of being disabled, and i’m ashamed of being ashamed of being disabled.

i’m trying so hard to be authentic, and all i really am is a fucked up guy.

i’m ashamed to want to be a woman, because i can never be one, and if i try, the beauty of womanhood will decrease.

i can never be a woman, because i’m male.

i can never be a woman, because i was socialized as a boy and man.

i can never be a woman, because i was not socialized as a girl nor woman.

i can never be a woman, because i am not female.

but oh how many decades i have craved so, so badly to be female.

i was not assumed female at birth, but oh how cozy being a woman in a female body induces, like all this pain and suffering will have been worth it.

but i’m stuck, here, disabled and voiceless, mid-transition and trying to make peace with the fact that my self-disgusting maleness may persist indefinitely.

to face that i’m disgusted to be transgender elicits that i may not get to be a woman, and that immediately panics because i so don’t want a male body.

please, please don’t make me be a man.

i’m so ashamed to be trans, and i’m so ashamed to be male.

i’m ashamed to be a trans woman, and i’m ashamed that i’m not proud to be a trans woman.

i try so hard to be comforting for others, but my own male body disgusts me so much, and i’m so ashamed to feel that and admit that.

other trans women and enbies can be stunningly beautiful, but i’m a disgusting mess, unworthy of love or investment.

i’m male, and it doesn’t matter that males can be incredibly interesting and sexy, because i’m a disgusting mess, and i can never be loved as a woman by a woman, because no woman would ever talk with me and feel she’s talking with a woman.

all it could ever be is an approximation, and i could never be as good as a cis woman.

no Sapphic would ever choose me over a cis woman, because i’m male, and that’s disgusting, and i could never be as sweet and lovely as a real woman, a female woman, a woman who had a cis girlhood.

i so don’t want to be a man; please don’t make me be a man.

i just want to be sweet and lovely like a real woman, but i can never be, because i’m male.

i can never love my body, because i’m not a real woman; i’m male.

i want so badly to be a mom, and i’m so ashamed to say that because i’m male.

i’m ashamed that i’m disgusted by my maleness.

i’m not disgusted by cis men, i’m not disgusted by other trans women, so why is it i’m so disgusted by my own maleness?

if i was a cis Sapphic there would be an appeal to trans women because of genetic offspring, so why not the inverse?

i desperately, desperately want to be female, and i know i can only ever be an approximation, and in that gap is where i am forever stuck, because i’m male.

no matter how hard i try, no one can ever talk with me and feel like they’re talking with a woman, because women are better than me, and i can never be as good as them.

they are women, and i am male, so i can never be as good as them.

they are female, and i am male, so i can never be as good as them.

they have beautiful voices, and i don’t, so i can never be as good as them.

they are elegant and womanly, and i am clumsy and male, so i can never be as good as them.

i am forever stuck in this form, eternally running from the effects of maleness, which i never wanted in the first place, a lesbian cursed as male.

women are so beautiful, and i’m cursed as male.

why would a woman love me, if i’m male?

how could a woman love me as a woman, if i’m male?

i could never be as good as a woman, because i’m male, so she would always be settling for me.

i’m broken as a woman, because i’m male.

how is it that other trans women are women, but i’m not?

how is it that them being trans is just another part of who they are, but me being trans is utterly disgusting?

i’m pansexual; men and males can be attractive to me, but *me* being male makes me queasy.

i’m ashamed that i’m disgusted to be a trans woman.

as an egg, i remember being in such awe of these women who were doing what i so desperately wanted.

and here i am now, disgusted that i’m not a real woman.

here i am, with a feminized male body, stuck.

a lesbian, cursed as male.

a woman who wants to be loved by a woman as a woman, but cursed as male.

i can never be as good as a cis wife, because i’m male.

i can never be as good as a cis mom, because i’m male.

i want so desperately to be a woman, but i’m male.

i’m so disgusted that i’m male, and i’m stuck as it; it pervades my experience.

i desperately don’t want to be male, and people go out of their way to assume that i do.

i’m ashamed that i don’t want to be male.

not really a fan of being a male.

i didn’t choose it.

i did my best.