Of men and the masculine

A story of my wholeness

I love men.
I have been beaten by men.
I have been controlled by men.
I have been used and abused by men.
I have been raped and nearly murdered by men. 

And I love men. I love their masculine, wild, raw, musky strength as well as their soft, protective, compassionate hearts. 

For years I only dated effeminate men. Men who were nice, who didn't get angry, who spoke softly, who smiled a lot, who had processing conversations about emotions for hours on end. I loved them and I felt safe with their softness. And I went crazy. Inevitable, each and every one would try to change me, gently, subtly, through words explaining reality to me, through flowery emotional sentences convincing me how I should be different. Sometimes it was they who eventually blew up and I came to know the terror of a peaceful man's anger. Sometimes it was me and I'd endlessly apologize for my hysteria. Either way, we would break up and I hoped they'd find a woman more deserving of such a gentle, peaceful, nice man.

I despaired of dating nice men and decided the problem was that I wasn't meant to date men, I was meant to be a man. The signs had been there all along, my discomfort with being seen as a woman, my not fitting in, my wishing I'd been a boy from the time I was young, etc. So I transitioned, first socially, then pursuing hormones and surgeries. I wanted to be the kind of man I wanted to love. Let me say that again: I wanted to be the kind of man I wanted to love. I wasn't finding him "out there" so I was going to find or create him "in here".

The full story of my transition and detransition is not what I came here to write. I talked about it for the first time here, in this interview. In short, it didn't work. Living as a transgender man did not heal the wounds I thought it would heal, and despite periods of gender euphoria (the opposite of gender dysphoria), I always crashed back down into a reality of unhappiness. I blamed others, a transphobic society, systems of oppression, etc. but none of my blaming and wailing made me feel any more whole.

And then the miracle occurred: I met my inner masculine in ritual. He was furious, a wounded furnace of rage and destruction. My inner feminine panicked and wielded her weapons of manipulation to push him back into oblivion. We waged war and blamed and abused one another, fighting to conquer and destroy, but eventually, after months of struggling in the shadow of the underworld, we learned to accept one other. We integrated.

The rubble and blood of that war did not disappear overnight. We did not go on to live happily ever after without conflict and strife. But we knew we belonged together. The moment my masculine integrated my transgender identity was over. The idea that changing my body and manipulating how people perceived me could ever give me even a fraction of the wholeness and peace I felt through my integrated masculine became laughable. With him at home in my heart, how could I ever care about gender identity again? THIS was what I had always wanted. To live my inner masculine fully and wholly in this female body of mine, it was everything I had hoped to gain by transitioning. And more.

Recently I was at a retreat with 150 people where I hung out with men. It began when a tall man rose from his seat, took the microphone during a main session, and spoke of his masculine anger. My inner boy did somersaults. If this man could stand up for his masculine and for his anger, then there must be a place for the masculine in me, too. It continued at lunch, with men sitting on my right, and women on my left. The men were talking about men's work and joking with one another. My masculine wanted to join. They let me. We bro'd out, joking and speaking of the masculine. My inner boy got to hang with the the other boys and he was glowing. And I belonged, as a woman. Then the conversation turned to maleness, and I listened. This was not mine, this was theirs. But I did not feel left out, I seamlessly shifted to my inner feminine and listened. I enjoyed hearing the difference of life in a male body, of being a man, an experience I would never have, and yet I did not feel slighted. One of the women on my left asked me a question and I turned to talk with the women. I was masculine and feminine, I belonged with either, as a woman. There was nothing to fix, nothing to change, just me being in my wholeness and being welcome.

And I adored the men. My feminine met their feminine and my masculine their masculine and their wholeness led me into my wholeness. I adored them for their courage, their courage to embrace their feminine in a world in which men are mocked for their feminine, and their courage to embrace their masculine in a world in which men are feared for their masculine. They stood erect in their wholeness and penetrated my illusion of separation.

My world has not been the same. I don't know how to end this piece because this is just the beginning. This new dance of masculine and feminine within me is spinning visions of my future and my purpose faster than I can grasp and hold on to. I'm along for the ride and I know I won't be doing my work alone anymore. There are men who will stand by my side, men who will have my back. I don't have to be my own man for myself anymore. I get to be my masculine and my feminine and be fully and wholly a woman. And that changes everything.

Thank you, men who have the courage to be men, fully masculine and fully feminine, whole men.

I thank you.
I trust you.
I love you.