To Feel Like a Woman

I understand the physical nature. Broad shoulders linked to muscular arms; a strong chest with a thing waist creating a ‘v’; broad thighs formed from running. Even the anatomy itself does not create confusion. I understand the use of the penis for reproduction or personal pleasure. Understanding the reflection in the mirror, understanding that this mirror reflects my outward appears confuses me.

When my family went to McDonalds, I asked for the girl’s toy. I placed the small figurines in a short line like a glass menagerie of Barbies, Trolls, or My Little Pony’s. The other kids at school scoffed when I brought dolls to school. I liked to dress them in the clothes my parents did not buy for me. As I grew older, everything felt wrong.

Watching the boys play basketball, the sight of sweat on their bodies made me feel aroused. Their muscles bulged as they stopped abruptly and turned to shoot the ball towards the hoop. As their feet hit the ground from the layup, I watched a smile come across the lips if the ball whooshed through the hoop. If the ball bounced off the red rim, their brow remained furrowed and they rushed down the street. Unlike the other boys in the class, I only looked at the cheerleaders picturing myself in their outfits.

I thought about looking from the sidelines. The skirt rested on my shaved thighs revealing the long lithe legs. I thought about the sports bras covering breasts to stop them from hurting with the variety of jumping. The skirt would move up and down showing my spanky-pants. I wanted the long hair down past my shoulders and the same eccentric blue make-up to support my school.

Instead, I sat in the bleachers looking at the men feeling too big for the petite body inside of me. Even if I could never be a cheerleader, I wanted the long hair. I wanted to feel the bra strap dig into my shoulders and my back. I wanted to show off my stomach and wear the skirts. I just wanted to be one of the girls.

Sometimes when my mom and dad stayed out late, I sneaked into her room and placed my small feet into my mom’s shoes. I picked up her bras and put it around my shoulders. My thighs proved too big for her skirts. I looked at myself in the mirror picturing myself with a more lithe body, longer hair, and without the certain appendages that make me male.

At night, I stare without my shirt on at the ceiling of my bedroom. I wonder how other people feel within their body. Do they picture themselves dressed in the cheerleading outfit? Do they think about having a vagina feeling myself up inside the night instead of stroking on an erect penis? My heath professor teaches us to feel comfortable in our bodies. I stare blankly at the ceiling wondering what it would take to feel comfortable in mine.