It’s no secret that I’m a loudmouth regarding social justice, equality, and especially transgender rights. I talk about it, I tweet about it, I write novels about it. I’ve tried to convey with clarity what it’s like to be any hue of transgender in a binary society—mostly in reference to myself, I think, but I don’t think we’ve discussed the day-to-day stuff. I’m not talking about the flag-waving, law-making, book-writing, battle-fighting part. I want to talk about the “hey, I’m trying to live in this body” part.
I read an article this morning about a male-to-female transgender teacher. She called her transition a relief from “never-ending incorrectness” and I thought something like “wow, this is wildly relevant” because it is. Living in a body that doesn’t feel like your own, even when you’re not thinking about it, is a constant state of dysphoria. Incorrectness. The steady and unshakable feeling that something isn’t right. And it’s not just any something—it’s your body. It’s this thing you grew, that you’re irrevocably tied to, that you’re supposed to be one with, right? But you don’t, never have, and you can’t escape it.
It’s being unable to vocalize your discomfort, too, because it doesn’t make sense to anyone around you. You are literally trapped inside your own head and a meat suit that prevents anyone from seeing you and acknowledging a base level of your identity. Pause. Try to imagine it.
Aside, here, for a second, because I can’t speak to everyone’s experience of being trans* and I know there are plenty of transgender and nonbinary people out there who feel content and don’t want to change their bodies. That’s phenomenal. More power to them, honestly.
But reassignment surgery is important to some people. Everyone on the planet cares on some level that their external appearance matches their internal identity, whether we’re talking hair, makeup, clothing, surgery, or something else. And it’s important to my partner, which is why we’re here.
Top surgery, which is a surgery female-to-male transgender individuals can get to change a female-looking chest into a male one, is expensive. Think, buying a new car expensive. My partner is ftm transgender, and we’d like to fund his top surgery by next year so he can start feeling at home in his own skin. Thus, the Itty Bitty Titty Committee is formed.
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