Elijah Luke Michel discusses the differences in transitioning outcomes (whether self or other-imposed), the importance of bodily autonomy and the right to choose how far we go in living our authentic lives.
One of the greatest moments of my life was in the hospital, looking down at my torso after top surgery. Decades of dysphoria had finally been appeased… yet I am one of the lucky few.
When you consider the high rates of suicide ideation amongst people with gender dysphoria – accessibility to life-saving surgeries is sadly very difficult to come by, no thanks to gatekeeping restrictions from health policies dictated predominantly by religious ideology. With genital reconfiguration surgery being considered ‘elective’ surgery in Aotearoa, funding is limited and, if available, incredibly hard to access.
The cost overseas (including flights and accommodation) for genital gender-affirming surgery is significantly cheaper than the operation alone in New Zealand, where family support and post-op care are readily available. For most transgender people, surgery is simply not an option.
However, there are those who are able to live wholesome lives without surgery despite the dysphoria, and others again who intently choose not to undergo GRS. Some are unwilling to take the risk; some appreciate the body parts they have and can internally negotiate the dysphoria; others are non-binary or intersex and may not need to.
“I can afford the surgery, but to be honest, I’d rather not take any chances with things like the urinary tract when creating a penis,” one trans man recently told me.
“I see no need for GRS,” a trans woman recently confirmed to me. “Although my body doesn’t fit, it is still functional, and walking around in a clothed society means no one is any wiser. My partner and I both enjoy pleasure from my giant clit!” She adds.
We each process life in our own unique way, and we all experience different levels of resilience. Some are able to remain firm in their identity without the need to add to or remove anything from their physical being; others choose to prioritise their relationships, careers or place in society over their discomfort or to appease the discomfort of others. But for those for whom access to affirming healthcare is limited or non-existent in the foreseeable future, the psychological distress can become life-threatening.
In the debate around puberty blockers, it is important to acknowledge the protection they can provide against patients needing further surgeries as adults. For trans boys, oestrogen blockers (which research suggests are completely reversible) mean breast development is prevented; for trans girls, having access to androgen blockers means height, limb size and vocal cord-deepening are halted.
I spoke to one trans woman who travelled to Thailand to have reconstructive surgery ten years ago. “It’s still hard. Even though my genitalia now physically match my identity, I still experience dysphoria. I am 6’2” with large hands and feet. I wish I’d had access to puberty blockers growing up… That would have changed everything for me.”
Bodily autonomy is a human right. Whether someone chooses to have surgery (if they can) or not (even if they could) does not make them any more or any less their preferred gender.
People deal with dysphoria in different ways, and each individual must consider in their own way: the timeframe, access to affirming care, freedom of choice, safety around coming out and support networks they have. At the end of the day, there is no official end goal to being transgender – and nor is there any start, aside from knowing intrinsically where you are on the gender spectrum of humanity and remaining true to yourself.
Photo from Elisabath Ohlson Wallin’s exhibition ID Trans.
Source | Facebook.
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