dariaphoebe: (redhead)
I'd ridden up the hill, as always, and on this day had chosen a street which looked like it might pass the highest point on the slope, one that helped form a bowl around a valley behind the downtown-facing hillside. As I passed that high point, I looked around at the high points around me that circled the rim of that bowl, as well as the spouts etched by millions of years of water which cascaded down, forming descending channels in several directions from that uneven rim.

I couldn't see over the edge, but the skyline peeked over the houses beside me. With all I could see, I wondered who could see me, and as if on cue, a lady stood up from behind a car where she'd been presumably collecting something from the ground. I saw her gaze in my direction as I passed, unsure of how to read her face in the brief moment I saw it before I was past her.

Today is Transgender Day of Visibility. In some sense, though, I live as though every day is. Through whatever combination of privilege, luck and effort, I am able to live my life in the open, without requiring effort to conceal who I am. If my style conveys my female-ness, the body I have surely telegraphs its origins. The diagnosis in my file with the therapist is gender dysphoria, and I certainly feel dysphoric about my body all too often. That's my burden to bear, but I feel I have nothing to gain by hiding myself, and so I don't.

I won't lie: being myself is a blessing, and exercising that is entirely a selfish thing. But if you think I am the first transgender person you know, the odds are pretty good you're wrong. I just happen to be the first to show you.

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dariaphoebe

May 2017

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