What It Means To Be A Woman - A Detransitioner Story
What does it mean to be a woman?
I have struggled with this question my entire life, and my definition has changed through the years. In my younger years, I thought being a woman meant being silent, self-restrained, submissive, these are the examples I saw all around me. Almost every woman in my family is or has been in an abusive, toxic relationship, including my mother. From a young age my dad abused my mother, and her subservient behavior is now engrained into me, as she was my example of who a woman should be. My father also abused me, both sexually and emotionally, his physical dominance and emotionally manipulative behavior meant I was basically his object that he could use and abuse as he so pleased. This abuse caused me to have a mind-body disconnect so powerful that I would avoid looking in the mirror, and when I did I would be appalled at the distant figure staring back.
Additionally, it caused me to masculinize my appearance, hoping that would make the abuse stop. This marked the beginning of my life long battle with gender dysphoria.
In school, I always felt like I belonged nowhere, and due to my timid demeanor, I was constantly bullied. Since being masculine led me to being ostracized in elementary school, I decided upon entering middle school that I would feminize myself to the greatest degree in order to fit in. Of course, this did not change anything, I was still bullied throughout middle school and high school. Life seemed too much to bear at times, I would go to school and be taunted and go home to face the same fate. Nobody was there for me, I had nobody to talk to, nowhere to go, I was completely and agonizingly alone.
It was around the age of 14 that my mental health issues became unbearable. That year my anxiety had become so intense that I, already being very thin, lost 20 pounds because I was too anxious to eat. The only one who cared was my grandmother, who would command me to eat without any interest in getting to the root of my problem. It was around the age of 15 that I started cutting myself, I would have cuts running down my arms, yet still, nobody said anything. It was at the age of 16 that I had enough, I was extremely suicidal and disassociated, and I wanted more than anything to receive professional help, no matter the consequences. I told my mother I wanted to go to a mental hospital, and when my mother told my father what I had said, he came to my room and yelled at me for being so ungrateful. He just kept yelling and yelling, as usual I kept silent, until he tried to take away my phone. In that moment something within me snapped, and I yelled at the top of my lungs that he was the reason for my mental health issues. He said that was “exactly what he needed to see” as he sat there unemotionally while I was bawling in my mothers’ arms. A couple of months later, I began “treating” my mental health issues.
Though I was going to therapy and seeing a psychiatrist, my mental health issues never really got better. Sure, it was nice to have somebody to talk to, and maybe it was my fault for being unable to open up, but these resources did not help relieve my mental health conditions. For this reason, I made the impulsive decision to stop receiving these resources about 6 months after I had started. At the time I had discovered marijuana, providing me with a quick fix to alleviate my mental health issues. I had met some friends, and my ex-girlfriend, I finally had people I could talk to, people I could be somewhat vulnerable with. For the first time, I was in love, it was what I always had yearned for, she became my entire world. At the same time, being with a girl confused my gender identity, I felt masculine when I was with her, which I now realize was due to societal expectations and internalized homophobia. The feeling that had come and gone, gender dysphoria, was now flooding back in full force. All of these experiences, combined with strict gender roles, and the general humiliating experiences most women go through (staring, cat-calling, etc.), led me to my decision to transition.
I had finally decided to transition, to “live my truth”, I felt like I was taking a leap in the right direction, only now do I realize transitioning was the greatest mistake I have ever made. Without even a psychological evaluation, I was prescribed hormones after some simple bloodwork from planned parenthood, having only been living full-time in my chosen gender for about 2 months. It was also around this time that I decided to be honest with my mother about the sexual abuse I had endured at the hands of my father. Too afraid of the reality of my situation to reveal my experience face to face, I decided to reveal through text message. After receiving the message, my mom told me she would talk to my father, I was full of fear. Will he beat her? Will he beat me? Will he take his gun and kill my entire family and himself? The true outcome was actually completely unexpected, my mother knocks on my door late that evening. I let her in, and my heart sinks awaiting her response. She tells me not to worry, that I had just misinterpreted the sexual abuse, that it had never happened, invalidating my pain, struggle, and agony that I had carried with me since I was a young child. I was taken aback by her words, but I was not completely shocked, as she always has and most likely always will be my dad’s puppet. It was in that moment that I realized I needed to get out of that house, through whatever means necessary.
When I moved out I was on testosterone for about 2 months, I talked to my aunt about what was going on and asked her if I could move in with her, and she lovingly agreed. Yet there were still grey skies on the horizon, her husband was also abusive and unhinged, and I needed to find a way to become financially independent from my parents. I realized that this living situation was only temporary, and that to afford my own place I would need to make more than just 9.50 an hour as a barista. I was desperate and lacking proper guidance, which led me down a dark, narrow path, the path towards sex work. I decided to try and make some extra money by camming, basically doing sexually explicit acts live on a website in order to make money. This idea did not work, I was not even close to making the amount of money I would need to become financially independent. For the time being, I had given up on the idea of sex work and just tried to focus on school and work. Then, a couple of months after living with my aunt, her husband decided to kick me out of the house, he was an old school Cuban who was appalled at the idea of two women together (my girlfriend and I). So, I was back at home, desperate to find another place to live. I decided to open up to my professor about what was going on, and she was able to find me emergency housing at school. I was glad I was able to find a place to live, but I was back at square one. Knowing this living situation was only temporary, I began to reconsider doing sex work. I was afraid, but I decided to just brave through and meet someone in person, my friend dropped me off at this very old, very creepy mans house. I was to perform oral sex on him, we had agreed on 100 dollars, but upon entering his house he told me he could only give me a check. I told him I needed cash, and he only had 80 dollars on him, so I told him I would be leaving. He was visibly upset, but since there were other people in the house, he could not become violent. I bolted out the door, and called my friend to come pick me up. I felt so disgusted and afraid, still able to feel his hands on me as he tried to persuade me to agree to less money.
At this time, I had also started experimenting with cocaine, I would do it mostly on the weekends with one of my friends, and this would take out a large chunk out of my finances. I was becoming a different person due to the stress of transitioning, my trauma, drug usage, and the testosterone itself. I was becoming very prone to anger, and very toxic in general, especially towards my ex-girlfriend. It was about 6 months into my hormone therapy that she decided to break up with me. She was my entire world, and our break-up shattered me into such small fragments, it felt impossible to pick up the pieces and put myself back together again.
After my break-up, I decided to do what most unhealthy people do to cope with their heartbreak, have meaningless sex. I would let these men into my dorm, my private space, which would inevitably prove to be yet another addition to my string of regrets. And of course, I was using Grindr, as most desperate transgender people do, and I would only sleep with men, because being with another woman would have just been too painful. The first guy I was going to sleep with was completely unhinged, and I only realized that after meeting him. I made up an excuse to have him leave, and then did not respond to his messages. In the coming days, I received transphobic text messages and death threats from an anonymous number, along with pictures at the bottom of my dorm building. I refused to go to the police, knowing how they usually treated transgender people, and decided to live in fear walking home from the garage to my building after work, at night, alone. This did not deter me from using the app again however, soon after I had sex with one guy, then another, then another. The third guy I slept with sexually assaulted me, and the most heart wrenching part is that the assault brought me back to the sexual abuse I had experienced as a child. Part of me was thankful for the awareness this experience brought me, because it cemented in my mind that the abuse that I has experienced as a child was real, I was not making things up, my feelings were valid.
The sexual assault had caused me to be a wreck like never before. I dropped out of school, I began to have more frequent, random sex, and I started using cocaine and marijuana religiously. I told my mom what had happened, and I could tell she felt guilty, urging me to move back home. I eventually would move back home, as I had become a horrible roommate, and did not want to burden the very people that had actually tried to help me. Seeing my dad was incredibly triggering, even though he usually did not speak to me, being in his presence would make me sick to my stomach. I would often replay in my mind the sexual abuse that I had previously suffered. It was around this time that I had met a very toxic, thirty-year-old man, who I spent time with continuously for about three months. He would provide me with everything I thought I needed, rough sex, cocaine, alcohol, and someone to talk to. He wanted me to be in a relationship with him, but every time he asked I would laugh in his face. He wouldn’t even take me out in public, how would we ever be in a relationship? Still, I was incredibly infatuated with him, but just like everyone else, he eventually abandoned me.
I was now 19 years old, almost a year on testosterone, my first year of adulthood had been a mess, but I was beginning to see that I needed to start taking more responsibility for myself. My mental health had deteriorated for such a long time, that I wanted more than anything to have just to have an ounce of sanity. So, searching for a quick fix, I decided to try going to a psychiatrist again, more than anything I did not want to talk about my feelings. I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression, receiving the wrong diagnosis for the third time in a row. On a brighter note, cocaine had started to make me feel sick every time I took it, so I decided to quit. I was incredibly proud of myself for having the will power to stay away from such a powerful drug. Yet still, my dependence on weed did not go away, and it would not for months to come. I was still having pretty frequent random hookups, and I had been only practicing safe sex, until I had another harrowing experience. I was having sex with a man I had seen previously multiple times before, he went to the restroom and took off the condom we had been using. He then decided to continue having sex with me, not telling me he had taken off the condom until the sex was over. I was infuriated and disgusted, this experience on top of my other experiences really cemented in me that I was invaluable, and due to this I would begin to partake in unsafe sex.
It was October 3rd, 2019 that I decided to have a double mastectomy, essentially removing my breasts. I did this more so because I was just tired of having to wear a chest binder, the back and chest pain just became unbearable. Before the surgery, I thought that having my breasts removed would somehow solve all my self-image problems. It was still very challenging for me to look in the mirror, I hated the way I looked, the word “ugly” always echoing in my mind. After the surgery, I remember looking at myself in the mirror, and still all I could do was pick apart all my flaws. The double mastectomy had changed nothing, and I would later find that this was my greatest regret of my transition.
For a while I had decided to stop obsessing over leaving my house, but I was beginning to realize that my mental health issues were stemming from my toxic home environment. Still being immature, and lacking the awareness that this would further intensify my mental health issues, I decided to pursue sex work for a third time. Every experience was both humiliating, demoralizing, and terrifying. I was so numb, so broken, that each experience just felt like another trauma to add to my list, no big deal. I never realized that by letting these men inside me, I was allowing them into my soul, further corrupting myself. More than anything I just wanted to be loved, to be held, to be touched gently and affectionately. I felt so unbearably alone, so lost, making mistake after mistake, all I wanted was for someone to save me from all this pain. I would not be saved, but I would soon meet someone that would help guide me on the path to discovering my true self, and to give me the kind of unconditional love I always longed for.
One day while I was sitting on the couch in my kitchen, my dad had asked me a question, I don’t remember what is was, all I remember is storming out in frustration. I now realize that when he would try and talk to me, it was in to guilt me, to make me feel like I was just misinterpreting the abuse, that he was always just a caring father who had issues. For a while I was able to resist his manipulation, but like most abuse survivors, I began to feel guilt for setting boundaries. That night I decided to write him a letter, I told him if he wanted a relationship with me he would have to change. He would have to stop being racist and sexist, respect my mom, stop drinking, basically just become a decent human being. He was getting better, which I did appreciate, so I decided to start having a relationship again. I thought I really had misinterpreted the abuse, unfortunately I was just naïve and yearning for a father figure.
For more than I year I had been having meaningless sex, but what I truly wanted was someone who would be there for me and love me despite my baggage. That is when I would meet the man who was now my boyfriend, the man who would help me on the path to a healthier life. When he first saw me, he stared into my eyes, but it felt like he was piercing into my soul. It made me so nervous, nobody, not even my ex-girlfriend, had ever looked at me like that. We shared an amazing afternoon, I remember that day he asked me what I was looking for. I looked into his eyes and saw sincerity, kindness, and empathy, but I was so terrified of being hurt. He had treated me so nicely and delicately, I thought it must be a trick. I looked away and told him I wasn’t sure, but he could tell I was lying. He could tell I was in pain, that my experiences had made me insincere and detached, but he saw something in special about me, so he decided to take a chance. I saw something in him as well, something I had been missing for a majority of my life, someone who could be vulnerable with me, real with me, even when I did not want to hear it. Our time together has not been perfect, like any relationship we have had our struggles, yet still we have continued to stand by each other, and accept each other for our past mistakes. He challenges me to be not only my best self, but my authentic self as well. I will be eternally indebted to him for all he has done to help me, and I am honored to share my future with him.
Being with my boyfriend made me realize all the femininity that I had buried deep within myself. I began wear more feminine clothing again, yet at the time I identified as non-binary. I started to question my gender again, “woman”, the identity I had spent so many years running away from, was now standing at my doorstep. “Well I cannot say I am a woman now!”, I thought, “I have been on hormones for more than two years and have gotten my breasts removed! How could I go back to being a woman now? Everyone will just think I am a transgender woman!”. I was afraid, but I ultimately made the decision to embrace my womanhood. I decided to alter the definition of what “woman” meant to me. Strength, resilience, courage, empathy, compassion, wisdom, that is what being a woman now means to me. My experience detransitioning was far more challenging than transitioning, there are no resources for us, and we are demonized and ostracized by the transgender community and their followers. Yet, my experience detransitioning has been far more liberating than any other experience in my life.
I still struggle a great deal with my traumas, I was numb for so long that once I realized all I had put myself through, it became incredibly grueling to even get out of bed in the morning. At this point I have been officially diagnosed with panic disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, bipolar disorder, and borderline personality disorder. My mind sometimes feels like a cruel prison, and about 7 months ago I had another realization that what my dad had done to me was in fact sexual abuse, and I am still living in his house, which is extremely traumatizing. I was also baker acted about 5 months ago for self-harming, which I will open up about in another piece. Yet still, I have survived every single gruesome experience that has been thrown my way, and have become healthier in many ways. For instance, it has been more than a year since I have done sex work and months since I have smoked marijuana. It has not been easy to write this piece, it is still difficult for me to accept everything I have experienced in my life, but I do not care, it is more important for me to share my story. There are too many people who are afraid of speaking out against their abusers and against this horridly violent society that silences us. I am afraid as well, but I want to be a voice for the voiceless, strength for the weak, power for the powerless, I am speaking out for all those who are unable. I also want to show people that our traumas do not have to trample us, we can still be that person we have always dreamed to be, and achieve all we have ever dreamed to achieve. I sit and write this piece as a survivor of sexual abuse, a survivor of sexual assault, a survivor of sex work, a survivor of drug addiction, a survivor of mental illness, a survivor of racism, ignorance, and intolerance, and I am still living and bettering myself each day.
As far as the transgender community goes, I believe gender dysphoria stems from trauma, strict gender roles, and a society that encourages us to be followers. I do not believe the appropriate treatment for gender dysphoria is to mutilate one’s body and injecting oneself with cross-sex hormones. I cannot stand by and watch people, especially children, make the same mistakes that I have made, as I myself am filled with regret and barely recognize the body I see in the mirror. People assume I am a man, which is so infuriating and makes me fearful when I am in woman’s spaces. I get stared at and was even called a faggot once, this is not a fate I would wish onto anyone. Not only that, but I now will no longer be able to breastfeed and am unsure whether I will ever be able to have biological children. To those considering to transitioning, I urge you to take some time to question your motives. Learn to love yourself for who you are, and to not allow the transgender community or the medical community to persuade you to make a decision you will later regret.
To all detransitioners, please find a safe place to share story, do not allow the transgender community to silence you. We are strong, brave, and deserve the chance to speak about our experiences. Thank you to anyone who has taken the time to read my story, I hope you have gained something by reading about my experiences, and please share this with your friends and loved ones. Together we can put an end to this toxic movement, and make this world a healthier, more understanding place.
Sofia
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