Posts Tagged ‘ history ’

Hi, my name is Wes and I’m three years old.

 Ok, that’s not exactly true, my body is 36 yrs. old however the person everyone knows as Wes has existed for only about three years. You see, I identify as transgender and spent much of my life living, loving, socializing and interacting as a woman.  When I was born, I’m sure the doctor said “Congratulations, it’s a girl” and from that perspective the doctor was correct. My body was born female, two X chromosomes and everything (and before you ask, yes it’s been checked. I really do have XX genetics) and as such, I was raised and socialized as a girl. Well, mostly as a girl anyway.

In many ways, I was lucky in that my parents by and large left me to my own devices as I was growing up. They let me hang out with whomever I wished (boys for the most part) and I was expected to do all manner of tasks around the house from getting the firewood to mowing the lawn when I was old enough. I was the oldest of three kids and we were expected to help out around the house period. It didn’t matter that the youngest child was male; I was expected to learn how to help around the house and do all kinds of useful things from starting a fire in the fireplace to where the dishes go when they’re dry. In fact, all the kids (three of us in total my youngest sibling being my brother) were expected to learn these skills as my parents simply considered them the price of living in the household.

I would like to say that I had an idyllic childhood, but I’d be lying through my teeth. My mother drank and my dad worked, a lot. Life was tumultuous at best, and downright nasty at its worst.  I suppose it didn’t help that I was dealing with ADD (something I didn’t find out about till I was in my 20’s) and that as far as my parents and the school system were concerned, all I had to do was pull myself together and BOOM, all would be well.  If only it were so easy.

I spent my childhood, and in fact a large portion of my adulthood, thinking there was something fundamentally wrong with me. I knew I wasn’t like the other kids around me, and it wasn’t just because I wore glasses and had a heart condition. No, I knew there was something fundamentally different about me; I just couldn’t put my finger on it. I was pretty smart, loved to read, hated school and had a hard time physically keeping up with the other kids at times; however that wasn’t it.

As I grew older, I left the small town I was raised in and landed in Toronto, my own personal City of Hope.  It was the first time I’d ever had exposure to the ‘rainbow’ community and boy was I shocked! I saw other girls who dressed like me, who seemed to think and move like I did.  I was able, at least on the surface, to see myself mirrored in faces around me. The tough looking butches that strutted down the street, the leather clad dykes that hung out in bars resonated in very deep places within me.  I felt like I had come home…and yet, there was still something I couldn’t put my finger on.

Looking back with retrospectively perfect vision, I can see that what wasn’t resonating was the fundamental acceptance these women had of their biological ‘woman-ness’. Granted, like every female growing up, they had absorbed images of what was acceptable and what was ‘allowed’ with respect to being a woman in society however these women had stepped outside those boundaries. By the simple act of being in love with other women, they had begun to disregard what society said was acceptable and carve their own paths. This was what appealed to me; this sense of self determination.  These women (because let’s face it, the gay men scared me for no sensible reason) embodied the boldness, the fearlessness and the sense of adventure that I wanted to have or rather, that I did have but needed to become comfortable with. Seeing these women live their lives gave me permission to start living my life the way I wanted. 

There was only one, small, tiny problem. You see, I wasn’t exactly consummately sexually attracted to women. Fact of the matter is I rather liked men. I liked their smell, their bodies and the general way they carried themselves. I felt at home with men, comfortable and in many ways, felt like I belonged. You think this would have set off warning bells right? No such luck. I tried very hard to fit myself into the straight girl mold while at the same time, to others I looked more and more like a butch lesbian with each passing day.  I didn’t know it, but I was setting up an internal dynamic that would take nearly 14 years to resolve.


This was first posted at The second part of this story will be available there on the 29th and will be posted here a week later.

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