This is continuing a five-part story about Relationship with Self for a Biblical Relationships series. This is post two, but the proper start of my story-- the previous post mostly served as introduction to gender dysphoria and issues with gender.

First, let me say that I am a happy, content, unrepressed woman. I love being a mom, having boobs, being married to a man, and more. This is not a coming out story. This is a story about an angry child whose parents raised her with a lot of grace, love, and understanding-- and crazy amounts of wisdom.

From the earliest times I can remember, I was upset that I wasn't a boy. For me, it went beyond mere tomboyishness. I said upset-- furious would be more accurate. I cried a lot between the ages of four and nine: when I was told I was a girl, when I was reminded of it, when I had to wear dresses or pink, when I couldn't play football.

I did play t-ball, soccer, basketball, softball, and ice hockey. I begged to be allowed to join the boys' Wednesday night classes at church instead of the girls' ones. My friends were mostly boys-- I avoided the girls, with only a few exceptions.

I was obsessed with ninjas, sports cards, and Batman (my fifth birthday party was Batman-themed). I hated dolls. When I'd play pretend with friends, I was always a boy. I begged my parents to let me change my name, to call me something else ("Alex" was my preference).

I kept my hair as short as they would let me. My aunt usually cried while cutting it, and I would cry because she wasn't cutting it short enough. I wore baseball caps almost constantly and never corrected people who mistook me for a boy. I had one hockey coach's assistant who went several practice sessions before finding out I was a girl. I intentionally fooled friend's visiting relatives when I was ten.

I wore boy's shorts, boy's shoes, and cried (again) every year for years when I wasn't allowed to buy swim trunks. I was mad that I couldn't pee standing up.

One incident related to that last confession was so weird and drastic even for me that I was deeply ashamed of it and didn't even tell anyone about it until this year: When I was six, I made myself a penis out of paper, contact paper, and orange crayon. My plan was to wear it all the time. I abandoned the plan after my first attempt to use it to pee resulted in a huge mess all over the bathroom.

I have happy memories of my childhood, but this discontent was a large, daily part of life for me. It was not a six-month phase-- this was ages three through 16.

I told my mom that God had messed up, that He hated me and had made a mistake or was punishing me. I told her these things often. "I was supposed to be a boy!" was a mantra.

Check back tomorrow for the next part!



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This is part of a two week series on Biblical Relationships that I'm doing with a network of bloggers! Check out their daily (or almost-daily!) posts on Biblical Relationships at these links!