After I came out as trans (FTM), my lesbian relationship was ending, and my first instinct was to stick mainly to gay and lesbian dating sites.
Perhaps this was out of a desire to meet and connect with people in the queer community; perhaps it was because I wasn’t totally comfortable identifying as heterosexual, despite the fact that I was a man and was attracted to women.
If I were to publicize being post-op, it might silently reinforce the stereotype that trans person wants surgery, or that a trans person is legitimized through surgery, or that a trans person is required to talk about or share details of their surgical experience.
In particular, I've insistently avoided publicly disclosing my surgical status: Whether I am post-, pre-, or non-operative.
In other words, whether my trans body includes its factory-original penis and rage-inducing gonads, or has been up-, down-, or side-graded with a vagina and assorted vulva surgically sculpted by the careful hands of our world's most ambitious plastic surgeons.
century, knowledge about my private parts and my health decisions is for me, and for those with whom I consent to share: my lovers, my friends, my doctor. We must join together and demand the world restore to every person that same respect and dignity.
Part of me is tempted to say this is universal—that everyone kind of hates it. Of course, I didn’t self-identify as a woman inside—so that part wasn’t easy.
My right to decide who gets to know about intimate details of my body, my so-called "private" parts, was robbed from me in what was literally the most vulnerable moment of my life.