Content warning: Includes descriptions of intimate anatomical features.
Well, I don’t know why I came here tonight,
Got a feeling that something ain’t right,
Wear a bra or else my boobies dance,
But I still can’t wear women’s pants,
Men to the left of me, women to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.
I’m a nonbinary trans woman.
Isn’t that contradictory? “Woman” is a binary label. “Nonbinary” is, well, it isn’t.
I see it as Schrödinger’s contradiction. The combination of labels I use is both contradictory and non-contradictory, yet neither of the two. In short, it doesn’t matter.
I wrote the lyrics above several weeks ago, when I started to ponder where I really am in terms of gender identity. For decades, I had assumed I was a man who was hiding some very feminine characteristics and interests. Those characteristics were an undeniable part of my identity, but I couldn’t let them out because they weren’t male. Even the people closest to me did not know me.
Then, last summer, I woke up. Reading a blog article was a significant piece in a lifelong puzzle, and that piece allowed me to see what the picture actually was. It was undeniably feminine. It was a woman. A trans woman. I immediately started socially transitioning and sought out a medical referral. I started discussing my transition with other trans women I had been following on Mastodon. I had jumped from the male side of the fence to the female side, and I wasn’t looking back.
Yeah, I’m stuck in the middle with you,
But I know what it is I should do,
Look ahead, it puts a smile on my face,
Look behind, I’ve got to leave this place,
Past to the left of me, future to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.
Then I met a new friend, someone who very quickly became my best friend. (I’ll call her B, although I’m sure she wouldn’t mind me using her full name.) We’re opposites in many ways, but our minds mesh in a way I’ve never known before. We describe our connection as intellectual intimacy.
And we’re radically honest with each other. Straightforward honesty is important to me because I spent five decades hiding myself, and I won’t do that anymore. Honesty is important to her because life is too short to hide what you’re thinking.
Part of that honesty is challenging each other’s perceptions. She often asks me, “Why do you think that?” “Are you sure?” “Have you thought about…?”
Well, I’m keeping my appendage,
But I’m glad I am a self-made girl,
And my friends all see my progress,
And they slap me on the back and say,
Sweet,
Sweet,
One of the ways B challenged me early on was questioning whether I was going to go through a complete surgical transition. This isn’t the type of question you would ordinarily ask a trans person unless you know them really, really well. But, by that point, we already knew each other intimately—intimately enough that she was familiar with my most definitively male feature.
A lot of trans people experience significant bottom dysphoria. Despite the definite femininity at the core of my being, I’ve never experienced that. In fact, I rather like my penis, and so have other people. And, as I read more about transfeminine bottom surgery, I decided I didn’t like the prospect of the disassembly of my penis and and reassembly as an incomplete clitoris. There is simply no way to completely reconstruct the nerve pathways and integrate it with the corpus cavernosa. And there’s the possibility (although uncommon) of permanent nerve damage.
Sexual pleasure is important to me, so the “Violet wand” (as I call it) is staying right where it is.
Well, I’m trying to make some sense of it all,
In high heels, hoping I don’t fall,
If I do, who’ll pick me up off the floor?
Or will I just have to crawl to the door?
TERFs to the left of me, transphobes to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.
I spent quite some time trying to make sense of it all. I’m a trans woman. Everything inside is feminine… Well, almost everything.
B and I flirt brashly, and tease each other mercilessly, even though our friendship is platonic.* And we talk about sex as if it’s not a taboo subject! Frankly, it boggles my mind that the critically important biological process that allows life on Earth to continue isn’t openly celebrated, rather than hidden away in embarrassed silence.
Physically, I have no problem with high heels. I rather like wearing them. This verse is more of a metaphor for the various challenges I’ve faced as I’ve gotten used to my new gender presentation. Like bathrooms. At work, I talked to all of the women before switching bathrooms. Out in public… I was a lot more nervous, even if I looked confident as I strode to the ladies’ room in a sports bar during a hockey game.
It’s not just bathrooms, though. From past trauma, to questioning my orientation, to existential uncertainty, B has psychologically picked me up off the floor more than once.
Well, I started on my hormones,
But I have to keep some testosterone,
Now I’m looking in the mirror,
And my skin, it feels so soft, I say
Sweet,
Sweet,
One thing that happens during feminizing hormone therapy is a change in skin texture. When that happened, I couldn’t stop touching the side of my neck! Seriously, it’s the most unbelievable, noticeable difference in early transition.
Another thing that changes is libido. For me, it almost completely disappeared for a while, which was really inconvenient because, by the time I started hormone replacement therapy (HRT), I had decided I wanted to keep my wand. (See above.) To keep myself functional, I need to put in some effort, and with my libido almost completely absent, it was a lot of effort.
Then I read an article from the World Journal of Urology, quoted on the Boston University School of Medicine’s website, calling for more attention to maintaining appropriate levels of testosterone in women. In their opinion, anything below 0.7 nmol/L (20 ng/dL, don’t get me started on units!) should be considered deficient. This paper was written over twenty years ago, but even my well-informed trans medical doctor hadn’t seen it.
My T was sitting at 0.2 nmol/L. The next time I talked to my doctor, I indicated that I wanted to raise my levels. I took my anti-androgen less often, and when I switched from patches to injections to take my estrogen, I stopped the T-killer pills altogether. My next lab result was 0.7 nmol/L, just where I wanted it. Low enough not to interfere with the feminizing effects of estrogen, but just high enough to make everything work the way it should.
Since then, my libido has increased. In fact, it’s gotten right back to where it was before HRT. That worried me a bit, but only briefly. One thing that is strongly reinforced in the most up-to-date guidelines for transgender care (not WPATH, but guidelines that focus on outcome rather than process, such as the Sherbourne guidelines published by Ontario’s Rainbow Health Network) is that the patient’s satisfaction is more important than maintaining a specific range of lab results.
The fact is, I’m very happy with where I am now. During my “hatching week,” after waking up to my identity but before really coming to terms with it, I saw my ultimate goal as reaching a balance between my masculine and feminine sides. I’ve run over to the female side of the fence more than once, but I keep drifting back here to the middle. I’m a nonbinary, genderfluid trans woman.
Well, I know why I came here tonight,
‘Cause my new life makes me feel so right,
I’m still scared when I don’t know what to do,
I’m so glad I have a friend like you,
Men to the left of me, Women to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.
The puzzle is not complete. I still notice gaps and search around for the missing pieces. My friends (especially B) keep me sane when that happens. But I’m not actually stuck in the middle. If I wanted to come down on one side of the fence or the other, I would. I thrive in the middle. I’m not just in the middle; I am the middle.
*Yes, I know what I said before. It’s complicated.
I Am Violet 