Why I HAVEN'T Transitioned by S.A.

You may forget but let me tell you this: someone in some future time will think of us”
Sappho Born: 630 - 612 BCE, and it is said that she died around 570 BCE
I was the stereotypical tomboy when I was growing up, and, by and large, I rejected femininity forced on me.  I would put on dresses when it was a special occasion , but I’ve always felt more comfortable in jeans and a sweat shirt. My earliest childhood memories are of running through the thick pine forest and woods in back of our house, building forts, and playing baseball with my brother. I don't know why, but while most girls were playing with dolls, there was nothing I enjoyed more than the smell of the grass and the muffled ping sound of a ball as it struck the bat at the sweet spot for a solid double. I knew how to slide into third at age twelve.
Similar to many girls and women, I struggled with a certain degree of body dysphoria. When I started puberty, I felt intensely awkward as if what was happening to my body meant that I could no longer hang out with the boys. I had to put away my baseball mitt that I loved and become a girl. Boys always seemed to have more fun and far more freedom to do as they please. Being a boy represented a form of Independence that I could never sense in a girl. Besides regretting puberty and all the changes in my body, thinking back and analyzing my life experiences, there was another reason why I felt especially uncomfortable with my breasts. I can say with all certainty that my body dysphoria or revulsion I had towards developing breasts was partly related to my grandfather touching me inappropriately on my developing breasts. I can't recall the exact age, but I was about twelve or thirteen and I had just started developing breasts. One warm summer day my dad was going to drive my grandfather home since grand dad didn't have a car. I was wearing a light tan colored shirt and I wasn't wearing a bra at that time. It's funny how I can recall what I was wearing that day. I was sitting in the back seat of the car with my grandfather. My dad stopped at the post office downtown and got out of the car. I was alone in the backseat with my grandfather. I recall him reaching over to me and touching my breasts. It was no accident at all. He was trying to caress my breasts. I didn't know what to say, and I got out of the backseat of the car and started to walk home. I don't know why, but I didn't tell anyone. I was deeply ashamed more than anything else.

I was exposed to women’s history and feminism in college, and I believe that this is one of the major reasons that I’ve been able to overcome my body dysphoria and to come to appreciate and cherish my female body.  I discovered that there were women like me thousands of years ago. I’m proud of being a female and a lesbian, and it's liberating to know that women have lived before me. As to sexuality, I could care less if a female is heterosexual, lesbian, or bisexual.  I only hope that she learns to appreciate, cherish, and honor her body, and her history.  
It might make me sound old, but I was born before people started using the words "top surgery". I grew up in the country, and no one even heard of the word "trans". At any rate, if someone told me that they could remove my breasts, I would have done it right then and there. Because I felt so insecure, and always hid my breasts, I would have had it done at age sixteen. I associated anyone even looking at my breasts with that sick, terrifying feeling I felt in the pit of my stomach when my grandfather's hand felt my breasts. After this incident, I recall clinching my fists and hitting my chest until it bruised. I didn't want to be a woman, and I didn't like my body. My body and breasts were betraying me, and were a source of fear and shame. When I was around sixteen years of age, I started wearing loose fitted sweat shirts to hide my breasts. My hair was short, and on more than one occasional I was mistaken for a boy. I would wear a baggy shirt, put on a heavy coat, put my hands in the front pockets of my jeans like boys and men do, and slouch over

It took me about ten to twelve years before I finally began to cherish and appreciate my female body. It was a slow process that required a great deal of soul searching, and it didn't happen over night. With a loving and patient partner, I actually enjoy my breasts touched now. It's very sensual and erotic. I'm so fortunate that I was born before "top surgery" because I sure as heck would have had them lopped off. I know it might sound strange, but I was in my mid-twenties before I finally realized that my breasts were actually things of beauty.
I've read many touching, insightful, and deeply personal stories of why some women don't transition.  I've struggled to answer the question, "Why I haven't transitioned", but I feel as nothing  that I say can do justice to this issue.  I am part of all the women who have come before me, and I'm part of women's history in its entirety.  I'm not willing to abandon my female identify because it is too precious a gift. 


  1. Beautifully said.

  2. Good for you. But keep in mind that your story doesn't represent everyone.

  3. Anon@4:46am Nowhere is SA's story did she say it did. One has to wonder why the clearly visceral comment.


  4. Very well put, S.A.
    I'm happy for you that you embraced your breasts. Very powerful!



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