

Bored with “the wrong body” (a guest blog post)


Avery Edison

Avery Edison

It boggles my mind that people aren’t constantly aware of my penis. On the occasions when it comes up –as I remind a friend why I can’t go swimming or strike out tight-fitting pants from a shopping-spree wish list my girlfriend assembles– it surprises me that the thing between my legs is something that everybody else manages to just forget about. My penis is always on my mind (well, on my groin), always limiting me, always reminding me that my body is mismatched with my brain.

I made an effort, when I first came out as transgender, not to get too wrapped up in the dysphoria of gender misalignment. I wanted to accept my situation and do what I could to remedy it without getting bogged down in the despair of having certain sections of my anatomy feel alien.

I remembered watching a documentary with my mother, shortly after I came out, about a young transwoman who cried every single time she took a shower or used the washroom. Something about that always struck me as pathetic, as self-indulgent. Surely a simple tube of flesh is something one got used to, especially after growing up with it always there. And I’ve always tried to bear in mind my relative lack of suffering; I may have a birth defect, but at least I’m not a child soldier, or a political prisoner, or a Real Housewife.

But as I enter my sixth year of full-time womanhood and bring my penis with me, I grow more and more upset at its presence, and I get closer and closer to the reaction of the young woman in that documentary. I’m not weeping in the bathroom, not yet, especially because the cat litter box in there makes it an unpleasant space for emotional outbursts. But there are mornings when I wake up having forgotten, while sleeping, that my genitals are still a missing –or rather mismatched– part of the jigsaw puzzle that is my form. And then I shift my body to get out of bed, and it shifts with me, and I remember, and I am so incredibly sad. Just for a second or two. Or the whole morning.

There are bathroom visits on nights out with friends when I’m sitting in the stall next to someone who knows my situation and I’m wondering about their level of comfort, hoping they’re not freaked out that they’re sharing a women’s room with someone they know is –at least in small part– not entirely a woman. And then, on the occasions when I bring it up in conversation afterwards, trying to chuckle away my awkwardness, they tell me it hadn’t even occurred to them. And that seems insane to me. Which is a weird perspective coming from the girl with a stick shift.

I guess it boils down to this: I am the only person that my penis makes a difference to. Which is pretty obvious, of course, but that doesn’t make it any less tragic. I’m the only person who can’t forget, and I’m the one who most wishes she could.

Sometimes I’m asked why I went through all this effort. Why I didn’t just stay a guy and put up with the dissonance I felt. I wish I could answer with the raw feeling of disgust I sometimes have at my own genitalia. I’ve sometimes asked people how they would feel if they had a penis on their body, but that has a tendency to come across as a weird threat.

The problem of transgenderhood is often described as being “born in the wrong body,” but that’s a phrase I feel uncomfortable with. My body is fine, for the most part. Sure, I’ll probably get hereditary diabetes, and I have a couple of freckles I’m not a huge fan of, but everything works, for the most part. There are just tiny sections of my body I wish to change, just slightly. But while I’m waiting to change them, they follow me around. You can’t run away from yourself.

I was born in the right body. I just have the wrong junk.

Avery is a comedy writer. She is currently sharing her experiences as a transgender woman in a series of pieces at the Bygone Bureau.


Categories: General
Byrgen Finkelman

11 Responses

  1. Leslie says:

    Thank you Avery for shedding light on a subject that is often misunderstood by our society. As a mom of a transgender child I am grateful that he can follow in the footsteps of such brave people like yourself! By writing this article you have made this world a better place for my child and thousands of kids like him, because I believe awareness fosters acceptance.

  2. Anissa says:

    I agree with Leslie! I, too, am the mother of a beautiful little girl who just has the wrong junk. I am inspired by your ability to not drown in the inequity of the situation and am also hugely grateful for your willingness to speak out and make the world a more loving, accepting place. Btw, you are beautiful!!

  3. Franklin Jane says:

    Poignant and funny – thanks for sharing this great essay!

  4. Jo Clifford says:

    Dear Avery,
    I was very moved by your story. Thank you for telling it; and telling it so beautifully.
    I am a trans woman with a penis too and completely understand what you’re saying.
    Since my orchidectomy it has shrunk, so I can go swimming, and it functions a bit like a clitoris. It can be a source of huge pleasure; and is, to me and to my lover.
    We humans are amazingly diverse creatures, and it saddens me that the insistence of the west that we must be either Man or Woman should cause so many of us so much pain and distress.
    I do hope a path opens up for you to take you past your present suffering.
    Wishing you all success and happiness

  5. Renate says:

    I too feel as Avery, but I have a number of friends who are quite happy with a mismatched body to an aligned gender. I know others who remain androgynous and are quite happy presenting themselves that way. I once was satisfied mimicking the fairy archer in Lord of the Rings.

    Gender is a galaxy of expression choices. Just go to the mall and check out those walking by. The myriad of gender presentations is not limited to transgender people but exits over a range of humankind. That is the way things are and will remain.

  6. Andie says:

    Thank you too. I think this is true for many of us. I was never “trapped” in the wrong body because I didn’t know there was any alternative. I didn’t know, when I was growing up, that there was a reason and a way out so I stuck it out for 40 more years. If you were born in a prison, life is normal to you. But the point about increasing dysphoria seems often to be felt, not just for the no-swimming rule, but because you fit much more easily into being completely a woman in everything you do, the more you live as you feel. And then you have to handle “it” and you are reminded all is not as it should be, or you would like. That’s why in the end so many opt for GRS, as indeed I shall. Most of us with any other treatable abnormality would do so.

  7. alex says:

    I’m with you. I started off not minding my body. This quickly changed as my breasts caused a cascade of ‘ma’ams’ ‘her’s and ‘she’s that were in stark contrast to the he that the rest of me showed. Once I got my binder I felt better about my chest but over time my dysphoria towards my genitals increased. I used to have a normal female feeling towards my periods but now I cry at the sight of it’s beginnings. It took me a few months to understand how somebody can feel so angry at or upset about their body. Now I understand.

  8. kucheza says:

    This is off-topic, I know it is, but it just jumps out at me so clearly – if all CIS/hetero men understood this: “I am the only person that my penis makes a difference to” — this world would be an entirely different and better place.

  9. Ailina says:

    I have man hands and man feet. Yes, I am a woman but one without womanly hands and feet. Sometimes I hate it that my hands are so manly rather than delicate and fine with narrow shell-like fingernails. My feet are big and hurt like crazy when I wear heels. Man feet, obviously, because so many women seem fine as they totter around in stilettos.

    But…I can’t chop my hands and feet off because that would be stupid. So I have to learn to accept them and not obsess about them, because that would be narcissistic and there isn’t any way to change them anyhow. At least they are capable hands and feet, and can do many things and are actually in very good health, for which I am grateful.

    My point is that most people have something they dislike about themselves (oh yeah, I also have a man temper like my dad, unlike the cool-as-a-cucumber temper of my mother), but learn to accept those somethings because there is no other choice really. I will probably never love those parts, but I will learn to get along with them.

  10. Byrgen Finkelman says:

    Thank you for sharing, Ailina, but I want you to know that many “woman” feet cannot deal with heels. We look forward to the seasons when flats are in.

  11. Charles says:

    Informative, thanks. While this may not be a new issue it has come more into the light. I’m an old guy by the way, comfortable in my old body.

    I recently visited a college with my son while he was being interviewed for position. Seeking to use the restroom I found the Women’s room and the Unisex room. I walked further down the hall seeking the Men’s room. I did not find one. Back to the Unisex room. I felt uncomfortable using the facilities with a sign over the toilet advising proper disposal of feminine protection.

    What’s a man to do?