I once told a friend who had breast cancer that being trans is like getting chemo therapy for 28 years. I’m sure the experience is not really comparable and everyone copes differently.
Yet from everything she told me about her journey, I still think they have something in common: The whole being is hurting. Just existing hurts.
I think today that I already knew that something was not the way it should be, when I was still in my mother’s womb. No, I cannot prove that. It’s just a feeling.
Growing up I did exist. People tell me I was in Kindergarten and in school. I have the school reports that bear my (old) name and some grades. Yet I cannot remember most of it. What I remember are the highlights of my pain.
The constant mobbing of my classmates. They always thought I was gay. Well, not entirely wrong, something was different about me. But not helpful either. The failure of all the grown ups around me to look at my behavior and not push me down but take me seriously and actually help me. Boy I tried. I was helpless. I did not know what was happening and I was screaming inside without anyone noticing. I remember the moment I realized that this penis between my legs could do something. I remember the countless nights as teenager falling asleep wishing to wake up with breasts and without the other thing. Having no idea that this is not what normal teenagers do.
Additionally my body showed my stress. I had acne until I transitioned. It was so bad that I couldn’t lean on anything because I had it on my shoulders and my back. I still have the scars in my face as testimony of my struggles. I had a constant cough which would not go away. My posture was the opposite of straight. And hair loss like crazy.
The hair loss was what triggered me to search for the reason. I felt some sense of urgency. A sense of now or never. I started with conventional medicine. They either had nothing to offer or it was so krass that I would not dare do it. The dermatologist suggested some crazy treatment for my acne, the GP only suggested “stress” without any more inquiry into the problem. I did allergy tests for my cough without result. Eventually I went to a homeopathic practitioner. She could not help me because my symptoms were just symptoms. Nothing she did had any effect. But it was around that time when I realized that I felt physically better wearing women’s clothes.
I already had a few while still living with my parents. I threw them away when I moved in with my partner. But I found myself unconsciously ordering them. It was like watching myself do it. I thought it was some sort of fetish I had and did not put any thought to it. I had applied some nail polish while still in school but didn’t make the connection. Also I took my grandmother’s face powder while I was a teenager and nobody even considered it was me. I had no use for it. I just had it. Still I could not see the connection until I observed that my cough got better when I wore different clothes. How crazy is that.
I observed myself getting better when I wore women’s clothes and getting worse when I didn’t. I was so far away from my feelings that I had to use my bodily symptoms as a guide.
I only went to a psychiatrist once I had decided I wanted to take hormones. The psychiatrist experience was rather traumatic for me. He wanted to talk about my childhood of which I had nothing to tell. The best question was “what did you feel in this situation?” I did not know what he meant. It took me years to get there. At some point I ordered the hormones off the internet and self-medicated. Not the best day for modern psychiatry.
A good day for me though. I had and still have the feeling that my whole being waited for that day. My skin tickled the first few days. it was a rather wild feeling. I think it’s about seven years by now. I’m not totally sure.
Changing my name was another major step which took a huge weight off my shoulders. It is rather strange and hard to explain to not look anything like the name on one’s ID card.
During my transition I developed a steady meditation practice. I don’t know why. I just sat down for maybe half an hour a day and at first let all the thoughts come that wanted to come. I sorted them and thought them through. Sometimes I even wrote a note down.
After that I noticed that emotions started to surface when I concentrated one by one on every Chakra. Chakras are energy centers within the body in the yogic tradition. I did get a lot of emotions. I started it by chance and only years later in my yoga teacher training learned that it is a thing, which is called “Chakra shuddi”. I’m not sure how, but somehow I puzzled this rather sophisticated practice together by myself.
Anyhow. Looking back, I think it was meditation that helped with all of my necessary steps. It was meditation that guided me along the way, that took the edge of the tough decisions like doing “the” operation or not. Meditation feels natural to me. I still do it daily. Sometimes multiple times a day. After waking up and before going to bed. If I’m not feeling good or when a situation is too much for me.
Meditation is the pill my mother never had. It is definitely unpleasant to feel the emotions bottled up in my Chakras or in my energy system. But it showed me the way. It made me realize the things I had to do and it gave and still gives me the strength and the courage to do it.
Meditation is the orchestrator of my life. And to be more precise, my intuition guides me and I get the information through meditation. I am healing because I listen to my intuition. It is an ongoing process. Still, ten years later.
After healing the acne and my cough I am working to get my body back. This probably sounds a bit strange to you. But because of my “condition” I think I was probably the farthest away from living in my own body than anyone can be. I’m slowly claiming this body as my own. Millimeter by millimeter. Emotion by emotion. This is what healing is to me. To bring body, mind and soul together. As one being.
It is the weirdest and hardest thing I have ever done, but I am on my way. I hope this life will be long enough…
Love, Julia