A fractured self courtesy of the gender delusion

 The past weeks I have begun to notice something curious in my way of thinking and the way I regard my own behaviour. As awareness and acceptance of my actual, real, physical body grows, so do the thoughts of how it could also move and look. It's a weird thought, that perhaps doesn't make a lot of sense to those who did not get forced into this 'gender' mess that society has concocted.

Basically, I'm free to behave in a way that is considered 'feminine' now. Yet for many years I was supposed to behave in a way considered acceptable for 'men'. Even as my body changed during puberty into that of a woman and my environment got terribly confused trying to place me in the binary system, as I did continue the 'male-approved' hair and clothing style even though my body did not fit that look.

Although I have since found the freedom to find my own look as a woman (because anything goes, pretty much), it's still weird to think about what mannerisms and way of moving and so on truly fit me. What was easy in the beginning enough was the realisation that I was not using my body properly, and possibly damaging it in the process. This included the way I used my vocal tract and how I walked. In both cases I used my body as though it actually was a male body, with a male vocal tract and male pelvis. Suffice it to say that one's body doesn't take kindly to such abuse.

Where things get trickier are the small details. Only when looking at photos and videos of myself did I begin to grasp what it was that others were seeing, and why I was getting so much attention from heterosexual men. Especially in photos of me next to other women, it would suddenly be obvious to me that my build is very feminine, with the shoulders, arms and upper body. That also means that similar ways of moving my body makes more sense, rather than assuming that I have a clunkier, more masculine body, as I had always (falsely) assumed.


During this readjustment process I also find myself loathing the horror show that I was put through by doctors and psychologists on account of perpetuating the gender delusion, and the supposed existence of 'transbinarism' (i.e. 'transsexualism'/'transgenderism'), which itself can only exist if one assumes that a brain is either 'male' or 'female'. Which we know they are not. Nor are bodies, even if the distribution there forms an inverse Bell curve which could give the false impression that physical sex is purely binary.

Minds, however, are as unique as they come, with each its own mosaic. That means that despite society's insistence that there is a way to 'feel' like a woman or a man, there truly is no such thing, and the best you can do is accept your body and work with it. That was the realisation which took me the longest to fully work through, I think, as the string of posts on this topic on my blog attest to.

The result of society's meddling in this process, however, has meant that I was forced to do the equivalent of puzzling a mirror back together using tiny shards, all of them stuffed into a fresh midden. Even if one has little choice but to keep working on puzzling oneself back together, tedious and disgusting.

Who are you after all, but what you are?

Your body, what you were born with, what you grew up with, what you experience and what you live through. Your mind, which experiences through your body's senses, growing and changing with each new experience and thought.


Yet the more I feel myself progressing towards completing the puzzle of self, the more I feel disgusted with the gender delusion. I am free to talk and move my body in any way that works for me. There should be no social pressure to feel inhibited or otherwise restricted in that area. Nor with what bits of fabric, the styling of said bits of fabric, or the colour of these bits of fabric I cover up the shameful parts of my body.

I find it here fascinating to talk with friends of the male persuasion, as we compare notes on what they are allowed to wear and what I am allowed to wear. While as a woman you can easily nick your husband's or boyfriend's knickers, pants, shirts and so on, with people calling this 'cute' or 'tomboyish' behaviour, doing the same the other way around gets you called a 'creep', 'pervert' or something worse, like 'homosexual'.

The same is true for the ways in which one is allowed to walk, sit, move one's hands or otherwise move one's body. What I think I'm feeling at this point is the realisation that those shackles have fallen off my ankles and wrists. That I'm now free to behave and move and talk and do whatever. The way that works for me.


And somehow I feel like a fur farm fox after being rescued who is blinking stupidly at an open cage door and a wide expanse of grass beyond it.


This may take some time.


Maya