On Being Female, Being Myself, and Being Trans 

                My name is Olivia Standley and I am a woman. Unfortunately, when I was four years old, I discovered that I was supposed to pretend to be a boy. I pretended for 36 years.

                Aspects of that 36- year-old memory are very clear; others are not. I’m not sure where we were, church maybe. I am pretty sure it was summer, because I was playing outside with a group of girls. This part is very clear. My dad, a good person to whom I do not cast blame, told me to go play with the boys. I remember responding, “but I’m a girl,” or “I’m not a boy.” I also clearly remember than answer not being ok. I did not get a spanking, but I got yelled at that I was a boy. I know I started to cry, and I now I was told,’ stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.” Again, I do not cast blame on dad, and I ask my audience not to either. It was 1979 or 1980 in the Panhandle of Texas, and he was a macho law enforcement officer (a product of his own time in society). He meant no harm that day, but harm was done. Something happened to me; I realized I was not normal. I was not ok. The pretending began. 

                Imagine having to pretend to be the opposite gender your entire life, and you might be able to put yourself in my shoes. I never wanted to be a girl; I always was a girl. What I always wanted was to stop pretending to be a boy. Anytime I would hear my mother say she wanted a daughter, I ached to respond, “I’m your daughter, let me be your daughter.” However, on that day when I was four, I learned that if I said that to anyone there would be trouble. As I got older I learned that I was surrounded by that threat of trouble in all aspects of society (although I could not have expressed it in that manner). Indeed, in the 1980’s and 90’s (even the 2000’s) there was a constant threat in my mind that someone would find out, that I would become a laughingstock, and that I would lose everyone. So I pretended. 

                I tried hard to be the boy I was told I should be, and I never told anyone. I desperately wanted to have a Barbie, and I never told anyone. I learned boys don’t cry, and I never told anyone. I prayed every night that I would wake up and get to be a girl, and I never told anyone. I tried to play football and failed, and I never told anyone. I always wanted to be a cheerleader, and I never told anyone. I wanted to look like Debbie Gibson, and I never told anyone. I was horrified and terrified when I learned what would happen to me at puberty, and I never told anyone. I accepted that this would be life and I should try to hide who I really was, and I never told anyone. I was worried I was going to hell, and I never told anyone. It never changed, and I never told anyone.  I cried myself to sleep thinking about wearing a tux instead of a prom dress, and I never told anyone.

           Research has found that individuals who have consistently expressed cross-sex identification from early childhood (toddler age) onward develop psychological problems resulting from the pain of pubertal physical changes, including depression, anorexia, social phobias, and suicidality. (Cohen-Kettenis, Delemarre-van de Waal, & Gooren, 2008) (Cited in Gibson)

                As I grew up, I tried on many hats of masculinity in an effort to be “normal.” I tried to be a cowboy, then a rocker, then a cowboy again. Those two repeated often. I am certain that I was depressed before I was 10, and it only got worse in my teens.  On my little brother’s 13^th birthday (he and I have a fear of years with 3) and 11 days before my 16^th birthday, doctors found a tumor (cancer) in our dad’s brain. They said it was the size of a grapefruit, and I always questioned how that was possible. Not only did I not get the sweet sixteen of my dreams (and I never told anyone), but the time surrounding my 16^th birthday was one of the most difficult times of my life. It was also the time that self-medication began, and, unfortunately for those around me, I had already become very good at hiding things from everyone. 

               At 16, I was drinking during lunch and doing drugs, and I never told anyone. This was also when I discovered that if I was not completely sober, I did not care as much about having to pretend, or at least I was distracted.  Against what we were told, dad survived the surgery and remembered everything about his life. The time between then and April is blurry, but I remember the day in April when dad had strokes in his brain-stem.  Little Brother and I spent the next 16 years helping mom take care of dad. She was the primary care giver, but he and I became the secondary caregivers. The caregiver role came easily to me, some might say it is because I am female and women tend to be better caregivers. I think it is simply a personality trait that is not based on gender. 

                 I do not think I was ever suicidal during that time of my life, but I attribute that, in large part, to a need to be there for my mom, brother, and father. Mom, little brother, and I worked together for years to take care of dad, but mom did bear the brunt off the care-giving. Post-stroke dad was a different person, and perhaps he would have accepted me had I come out. Little brother recently told me he found my feminine clothing from time-to-time throughout our youth, and he didn’t call me out; he is a fantastic brother and I love him dearly. I know, and always knew, that mom would never turn her back on me. That is not the kind of person she is; it does not fit her character, which is a character that I still strive to achieve. Perhaps, I would have been ok had I come out to them, but it was still the 90’s and 2000’s and society would have been much harsher than it currently is; it can still be pretty harsh depending on location. And, I have other family members, who appear to be on the fence of still loving me now. I am pretty sure they would have disowned me back then. So, I never told anyone.

                Throughout my teens and into my 20’s I continued to struggle with my gender. I would buy women’s clothing and “cross-dress” in private, though I never really considered myself a crossdresser, it was the prominent term for what I was doing. From time-to-time, I would fear someone had or would find me out (apparently little brother did multiple times, but he is so damn awesome that he never said anything, never brought my fears to life) and so I would purge, or throw away, my collection of feminine attire. I am saddened by that; I had some really cute stuff in the 90’s. This form of connecting with my hidden femininity continued until I was 36 years old, and I never told anyone. 

                From July of my 20^th year through April of my 21st,   my self-medication turned very dark. I began using harder drugs and became unrecognizable to others and to myself, both physically and mentally. That April, because of several circumstances, I left the part of town I had called home, moved in with my grandmother, and detoxed on my own. I have never gone back to that type of life. But the self-medication did not stop completely. Alcohol and pot were prevalent in my life until I went to college in 2003, and other forms have come and go until now (I am still medicated, but it is by my doctor). After, I left the west-side of town, my family followed me and we rented a much larger house in another area of town. It was then that I met the guys who would become my lifelong friends. I tell people they still keep me around, because when we met they were all in high school and I could purchase alcohol, but that is only a joke. There are seven friends form those days, way back in 1997, who I am still very close with. When I came out to them, they all offered overwhelming support and love. I am fortunate to have not lost my friends, but I think it is also because of the caliber of people I am friends with. I love each of them very much, and I am proud to myself their sister. Several of them have said they would have accepted me back then, maybe teased me, but accepted me and still been my friends. Perhaps I could have told them, I am certain of their character, but I was so scared to lose people, and I never told anyone. I did everything that I could to be what society told me was normal.  I longed to come out, but the imagined repercussions in my mind were terrifying. 

               Coming out has been the opposite of those imagined repercussions. I have a strong support network of friends, and most of family. I am happy. There are bad and sad things in my life, but I choose not let situations or people control my psyche (the only choice i have made about being trans by the way; being trans is not something a person chooses). I will not let myself become the anxious, depressed person who attempted suicide in June. I will live the rest of my life as myself. I will not pretend to be a boy any longer. 

                This story is a work in progress; I intend to use this blog to document my experience on this journey of self-activation. I hope that I will have readers, and that we will have civil discourse in an effort to bridge understanding and create a better world for the children we love. I want to bring awareness to people about the struggles of trans-women and men. I want to help; I want to be an activist (I was a student activist, why not be a trans activist?).

Works Cited

Gibson, Bethany, and Anita J. Catlin. "Care of the Child with the Desire to Change Gender -- Part I." Pediatric Nursing 36.1 (2010): 53-59. Academic Search Elite. Web. 5 Nov. 2016.