The most insightful and helpful person in my life recently said something that I’d paraphrase as:
I understand you’re not interested in being male and even when you tried to live as a male, you failed. You almost had to — since you have, as best we can tell, a female brain structure. But now that you’re living as a girl, there are always other girls that are more feminine: more curvy, more soft, more petite, more experienced in femininity. So, trying to live as a male, you felt inferior. And now, living as a female, even though you’re happy, you also feel inferior.
But maybe that glass is really half full. Maybe you’re actually the best of both worlds.
The human race is still evolving. Using software version numbers as an analogy it seems to me you’re Human 2.0. You have the strength of a male and yet the social savvy, empathy, lack of anger, caring, knack for subtlety etc. that seems to come so naturally to a female mind.
If an animal has the combined strengths of two animals, why would it not use them all, e.g., if part-cheetah and able to run as fast as a normal cheetah, why would it renounce that capability?
That was a nice compliment and yet a hard-hitting subtle reproach too.
If you’ve never actually watched the three main Rambo movies you might have dismissed them superficially as being just blood-and-guts stuff. If you actually pay attention when watching, you learn that John Rambo is a very sensitive and caring character … who also happens to be immensely skilled as a combat veteran. This set of skills bothers him, haunts him. He tries to renounce them, living in as peaceful a haven as he can find: a remote monastery in the far East. He actively contains any use of his combat skills such as limiting it to formally organized public matches … in which he shows his opponent mercy when he wins, and he donates all the winnings to the monks. Day to day, he expends his energy in helping improve the monastery. He likes it there. His former commanding officer tracks him down and confronts him by describing his personal dilemma explicitly. Rambo agrees and yet continues to try hard to live as peacefully as he can, suppressing his combat skills … in much the same way as I suppress my masculine traits.
Evidently, I’ve done a lot of thinking since that thought-provoking conversation. Here’s what I came up with:
To me, the answer lies in the mostly binary structure of the human brain. Yes, there are many variations but to a huge extent, brain structure tends to be basically female or basically male … though I understand that this is a politically unpopular view among the politically correct.
As best I can tell, the most logical explanation of what I am brain-structure-wise is that I really do have a female brain structure. Mentally, structurally and fundamentally, I’m female. Not kind of female, but basically, thoroughly female. Hence, I basically feel female. So I value female traits … those that I have, those that I have acquired, those that I plan to acquire, even those that will forever be out of my reach (given the limits to biology and medical science).
My male traits are, ironically, very nice, objectively. I just struggle to think of them objectively. I’m tall. I’m svelte and yet I’m almost uncannily strong. I have good muscle tone and skin tone. I’ll try to avoid making this blog R-rated so I’ll just blandly say that: In bed, I’ve also been told that I’m the best of both worlds.And no, I don’t eat little blue pills. I don’t need them.
This latest input does have me re-evaluating things. Regardless of how I’d like to be, I DO have certain male-based traits. And they are undeniably useful — even if they do come from the masculine side of my make-up. Perhaps I should re-evaluate them more objectively instead of just automatically condemning them as fundamentally tainted due to their source.
If you’re a male reader of this blog, and you’re feeling offended, I hasten to add that I have nothing against anyone else having masculine traits. I just have an issue with ME having masculine traits.
The main problem is how deeply ingrained this I-hate-my-maleness mindset is, in me. The idea of having cellulite at the back of my thighs is literally a turn-on for me. And my hottest fantasy sexually is a scenario in which I can’t function sexually in a male role ever again, as in: in the fantasy, I can’t, won’t ever be able to again … and I know it. Odd as this might seem … yes, that turns me on, more than anything else in the whole world.
That’s some very deeply ingrained dysphoria. By the time I get that turned around, the mere passage of time might ironically have destroyed my male-based desirable qualities because thirty or forty years from now, it won’t matter much any more anyway.
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Here’s a quick July 10th add-on to show the dichotomy: if you were standing at the cash register of a particular Walgreens store this morning, you’d have seen a tall blonde t-girl (looking just like the picture to the left, which I took a few minutes ago) buying two very pretty sundresses, some Neutrogena skin-by-the-eyes moisturizing cream … and a magazine lauding the adventures of American Special Forces.