What It Would Be To Not Be A Woman…
Philippa Perry in The Guardian today writes of gender dysphoria, a condition that challenges the gender nature assigned to us – and, as Perry draws attentions to, our children.
Perry explores the cliché of ‘I’m a woman trapped in a man’s body’ or the reverse, in a way that questions whether as a society we should be more encouraging of our children that express a confusion of their own gender preference at an early age.
Alarmingly Perry writes ‘it may be that their lives will be easier if hormone treatments are started just before puberty.’ This may be the case scientifically, but emotionally, how as humans can we even contemplate this option for our children?
Giving the option to children of the UK to alter their gender before puberty does not sit right with me. I am by no means a qualified individual to give an educated reasoning for this, but I can offer my personal experiences.
I have never in my life experienced a confusion of gender within myself, although I have known people who have -a school friend who took a very long period of their life questioning their position of personal gender, a gay uncle who struggled with his sexuality for years and a group of experimenting friends.
Personally, I was brought up with many strangers mistaking me for a boy.
Now it has come to be a family joke that ‘I always looked like a little boy.’ I had the great pleasure of being dressed in many ‘fashionable’ hats that my grandmother knitted, mainly from blue, rough wool. These hats, I would love to say hid from all my flowing, long dark brown hair, but no. I did not need my first haircut until I was five. Five years old. Even now I think my mother only took me to the salon because she was itching to complete the last of the ‘firsts’ on the baby list. I also, again very fashionably, wore dungarees. All the time. All these factors coupled with my name – Sam – contributed to many strangers commenting to my mother on her ‘lovely little boy’, her ‘well mannered little lad’.
When reading Perry’s article, I could not help but think of the time I went in fancy dress to playschool:
Here I am in the foreground, trainers and a checked shirt. The week before, much to my mothers despair, I decided I wanted to be – “A Cowboy!” Not a ‘Princess’, a ‘Barbie Girl’, not even a ‘Cowgirl’, but a ‘Cowboy’.
I was lucky.
If a small child somewhere today were to say the same thing I did back in 1997, as suggested by Perry they could be joining a queue to talk about hormone adjustment if their parents pressed the matter!
Here I am next to my beautiful, blonde cousin a couple of years later, shortly after my first haircut. Despite the teddy bear, quite a masculine look – a Yogi Bear homemade sweater and dull striped trousers. I am in contrast to Danielle who wears a typically girly sweater with a common symbol of femininity – the love heart. In today’s society, would we really want to give a child, just like me in this picture, the power to decide their gender for the rest of their life?
One thing I can say about my boyish self growing up…
I could still rock the florals!
The importance of my own gender did not become a large part of my conscience until my father left. I was nine at the time; I was left in the house with just my mother. She and my grandmother became, and still are, the biggest influence and support in my life. I had no idea about women until he walked out of the door. My mother and I had always had a good relationship, but nothing like what we have now.
My mother picked me off of the living room floor, when I was fourteen after taking every pill in the house, in a desperate attempt to kill myself. My mother swore at me when we argued. My mother brought me a pregnancy test. My mother read my writing and admitted she didn’t understand. My mother sat through hours of counselling with me.
Doing these things together were what any other family unit would have done when they needed to, but we were women. Together we were women.
I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if I had been a male. They would have called me Darren.
I sometimes think my mother would have phoned for help if Darren had been on the living room floor that day. Maybe she would have pretended she understood every word Darren wrote.
Perry’s suggestion that children could even start to understand the importance of gender before puberty is dangerous.
Are we just blank canvas that gender is projected onto? I do not think so. I think that gender is fundamental to our paths in life. If these paths do lead to other genders then so be it, but toying with the idea that the body can be something else it is not, and at such a young age, is a suggestion I do not welcome.
