Don't Judge a Girl for What's Between Her Legs

Don't Judge a Girl for What's Between Her Legs

by Ana Valens

President Trump’s election finally did it for a lot of trans women. They weren’t sure what health insurance would look like by November 2018, or if they’d even be able to go under the knife during the administration. So one after another, other trans women around me started signing up for consults to get gender reassignment surgery, just in case Trump’s repeal and replace plans left us without care.

The idea was tempting for me at first. I mean, wouldn’t it be great to finally have a pussy? Maybe having a vagina would feel nice. Maybe it would fix up some of my gender dysphoria. Maybe I’d finally get the chance to have some of the sex I’ve always secretly wanted, the kind that’s assumed in The L Word, the sort that’s depicted in queer zines and lesbian erotica.

I seriously considered getting a vagina for a long time. Except there’s one problem. I actually like the junk I was born with.

And I’m not in a particular rush to change it.

Let me start off by making something clear: Gender reassignment surgery is absolutely necessary for many trans people. For them, GRS is literally a life-saving surgery. So if you need surgery, go do it. If you want surgery, go consider it. If you’re simply curious about getting GRS, then be curious. Your body, your rules.

But not all trans people need nor want surgery. And for me, gender dysphoria — or the incongruency a transgender person feels between their gender identity and their gender assigned at birth — doesn’t start and end with whatever happens to be between my legs. Gender dysphoria is something that I experience beyond my junk. It’s about my body in its entirety, not just its genitals.

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For a long time, I bought into society’s ruthless lie-peddling about the “grossness” of trans bodies. As a result, I absolutely hated looking at trans women in pornography. How could a trans woman’s body be female if it was still “biologically male”? If a trans girl’s body was exposed to testosterone from the start, didn’t it still posses the telltale signs of being “masculine,” anyway? Didn’t it still have the wide shoulders, the chubby stomach fat, the narrow hips, and the flat chest we come to know and understand as a “male” body?

This was the message that our culture drilled into me. In some of my favorite TV shows as a kid, like The Simpsons and The Daily Show, transphobic punchlines regularly depicted trans women as ugly, disgusting, perverted men in dresses.

That disgust stuck with me through the very start of my transitioning. And during my first few months on hormone replacement therapy, those fears became directed (or perhaps redirected) back at my own body. I was worried that HRT would make my body freakish. I heard about other trans women’s penises atrophying, and I immediately felt fear and disgust at the thought of my genitals shrinking in size.

Read the Full story here: The Establishment