Embracing Diversity During My “Second Puberty”
Changes from testosterone happen so excruciatingly slow that my body almost physically hurts from watching it so hard. Time is such a joker.
I must have checked the mirror on a thousand occasions before finally seeing hair on my chin and fuzz above my lip. My face shape appears more masculine, fat re- distribution has migrated fat away from my hips and thighs and more muscle is developing- mere subtleties to the naked eye- even my naked eye which has telescope-magnified longings.
Gauging whether people perceive me as a guy or girl is a daily exercise in futility. I can’t determine how I look to people and many times, they give me no clue; they just stare at me, as unsure of me as I am of myself. Will I be addressed as ma’am or sir? Might as well flip a coin.
My voice has dropped a little but I still get gendered as female especially over the phone. Upon awakening in the morning, my voice sounds pleasantly deep and I can feel it rumbling in my chest but as the day goes on and my vocal cords stretch out, my voice goes back up in pitch. At least I am past that bizarre stage where I sounded like an old woman who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day for the past 50 years, when I opened my mouth. I’m beginning to make friends with the frog in my throat.
The mirror is tired of me looking to it for validation.
My physical body is lost to interpretation.
I lay here listening to music while all my daytime spectators sleep. I realize that so long as I look outside of myself for validation, I will forever be searching. To rely on the external to determine who I am is the ultimate form of slavery.
I am reminded of the words of wisdom of my friend, Rey who said, “Beauty is in the different range of voices. Think about music and all the beautiful diversity. If everyone sounded like Barry White, can you imagine how boring music would be? What would it really have to offer?”