The Quiet Grief of Becoming Someone New

There’s a concept that I’ve learned as I’ve begun discovering my identity: “trans guilt.” As people start their transitions and notice positive change in themselves, a part of them feels awful for changing the body they have. As u/thereissomuchgrass put it on the r/ftm subreddit, “I can’t help but feel guilty about changing my body, like somehow I’m doing the opposite of loving myself by transitioning. I feel like I have a traditionally beautiful female body and there’s a part of me that feels ashamed that it wasn’t good enough. Why can’t I just accept that my gender has nothing to do with me? Why do I feel the need to change? I feel so guilty for changing what is seemingly perfect already.” The concept of changing something that’s been yours for so long is intimidating. This applies to both trans men and women. 

Trans guilt and I tend to go way back. When my mom announced that I was a boy on her Facebook months after I came out to them about four years ago, I found myself losing adults in my life that liked the kind little girl I was. They didn’t care to stick around to watch as I changed myself entirely. One of these adults was my aunt, my mother’s sister-in-law. That change happened gradually. When we came back to Pennsylvania to help with my grandma’s funeral, she continuously called me the wrong name and pronouns. I didn’t correct her. Knowing how she was, she would’ve either made up some excuse or made me feel guilty. I wore masculine formal clothes to family events, and while she didn’t outwardly judge me, I felt the judgment from a mile away. I felt the guilt deep down, but I didn’t outwardly express it. It made me unsure if I really wanted to be who I was. I grieved in silence. 

I haven’t heard from my aunt in years. Even when I went to my grandfather’s funeral, she ignored me and my family the whole time. Her kids and her husband talked to us like nothing had happened, yet she ignored us. Even though she sat right behind me. The woman who taught me how to take a shot for my grandma was now staring right through me. I’m unsure if its her political beliefs in the MAGA movement or some sort of delusion that I would change my mind that was never entertained, but it was like I never existed. My uncle, who was also a heavy MAGA follower, used my name and pronouns correctly. He still reached out to my family to wish us well during holidays. 

There’s five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. There’s never a linear process with it either. I admit that despite my acceptance, I find myself questioning whether or not I’m sure that I want to really do this. I’ve found myself going from identifying as a complete boy to a demiboy. Demiboy is a trans umbrella term meaning that someone feels somewhat like a boy but not completely. This is defined by he/they pronouns. I often tell my friends that as long as they don’t call me a girl, they can call me whatever they want. 

While I grieved the happy little girl I used to be, I also realized that this same little girl fell into a deep depression trying to grapple with who she really was. If I hadn’t become who I am now, there probably would’ve never been James. Just a statistic. They say that grief is something you can’t let overcome you, and they’re right. Emotional thinking is great to a fault. It can ruin relationships if you let it. It’s taken me a lot of therapy to get me to where I am today, and I’m grateful for the journey. My advice to my fellow trans people dealing with trans guilt is this: your body is what you make it. Sure, some of the changes are permanent, but it's like getting a tattoo. Is a tattoo not also permanent, ink being injected into your skin to form a pattern or image?