Gender Euphoria

by Laura Kate Dale

When it comes to explaining why you need the right to live the way you do, that you feel uncomfortable with yourself, that you need to alleviate a pain deeply lodged in you, that’s easy to explain quickly and simply. Everyone has been hurt emotionally in their lives, and it’s easy to understand why you would want to take steps to avoid that discomfort. Beyond that, even, the media plays a part in that framing of the trans narrative. If you want people to feel sympathy for the trans community, explain we’re escaping dysphoria. If you want to demonise the community, tell people our dysphoria is a delusion and shouldn’t be indulged. It can be spun differently depending on who’s trying to spin it, which makes it a powerful aspect of the way trans stories are so often portrayed. I know I, as a trans person, fall into this trap sometimes when discussing my own transition. When I wrote my memoir a few years ago, sure, it touched on some positives and joyful moments, but that certainly wasn’t the focus. I wrote a lot about not fitting in growing up, about struggling to be accepted when I came out, and I wrote about the challenges I am facing in the world today. It made sense to share those parts of my story with the world, but it also got me thinking about how prevalent that narrative can be when discussing trans stories. Over the couple of years since then, I have thought a lot about the importance of celebrating the fact that stories of transition are not all just about doom and...

The gender euphoria that I got from not having a period was like a wave of relief and comfort that helped me finally feel at peace in my body. Despite the fact that people of all genders can have a period, the highly gendered nature of the way society views the experience and the stereotypical association with womanhood made me feel incredibly othered and invalidated as a non-binary person. Being able to distance myself from this experience as an intersex person, though, while still allowing me to love the other parts of being assigned female at birth helped me appreciate my body and its existence outside of the biological binary. Another aspect of my intersex puberty that delighted me was the thick body hair that earned me the nickname ‘Chewbacca’ from my family. While they definitely intended for it to shame and bother me, the moment I realised that I had more body hair than my brother I was ecstatic. I constantly had other trans people tell me that they were jealous of my body hair and how well it helped me pass when I presented as a guy. My body hair also enabled me to subvert the expectation that anyone could assume my gender based on my appearance – and the act of wearing a dress with my unshaved legs filled me with a sense of non-binary pride. Similarly, I had facial hair that was dense and clustered around my chin, jawline and upper lip. Sometimes I would shave, and shaving my face sparked a memory of my dad shaving his face early in the morning and smelling like a...

when I see someone dressed in that sort of fashion, I already trust them more, since punks are some of the nicest people I’ve ever met, even though they’re the kind of people that typical adults think are intimidating or dangerous. Crazy how wearing some spikes can be a symbol of acceptance, isn’t it? The ones in the mohawks and leather will be the first ones to say, ‘I’m adopting you, I’m your new parent,’ to young punks like me, who have been cast out by the environments they were raised in. I know from first-hand experience that being ‘adopted’ by established punks can mean the world when you have no one else to give you that kind of support. It really feels like finding family. Punk is a community of misfits helping misfits, minorities standing together and fighting for acceptance and equality. Every time I step into a crowd that already has its mosh pit in full swing, I feel euphoric, as though I’m surrounded by members of my real family rather than my bigoted biological one. To me, gender euphoria is the feeling I get when I look in the mirror and think, Oh yeah, that is me. Gender euphoria is when I don’t keep count of how many feminine or masculine items I’m wearing; I just wear what I want and don’t care what others think. Gender euphoria is being called by my preferred name and pronouns and knowing that I’m actually seen as genderless. It’s making earrings out of oestrogen or testosterone bottles and showing off top-surgery marks like battle scars. It’s Laura Jan...

Adrenaline Fix: Turning Masculine Pursuits Into Feminine Identity Samara-Jade Sendek

In some small way, I still feel alien for being a tomboy. In another, I know it’s all internalised. Some dear, trans women friends are breathtakingly beautiful. Non-binary, agender, trans men… all of them live a beauty I feel I’m pantomiming. I know it’s internalised because it’s someone else’s standards. I have a voice that’s mine. That quiet rascal wants to brew kombucha and beer, so I do. She wants to wear pragmatic coats and dresses, so I do. The spaces I was with before, many of whom still remember my deadname, took my transition in stride. I had a place. That there was even a word for people like me in my heritage was unimaginably relieving. At least, on some level, I had something more to look forward to than hellfire and brimstone. Aboriginal and Wicca culture had answers when ‘polite society’ didn’t. I may not be the model of femininity to any mob, let alone a model witch, but I wasn’t hated for the crime of existence. Those eddies became the truth I lived. My euphoria was my truth, living as a woman, an artisan, and as the friend I needed years ago. My ideals weren’t refined ladies or society’s definition of femininity. And power to you if it’s your way: I have no desire to slag your smiles. It wasn’t for me. My way is in Boudicca, Tomyris and Grace O’Malley. It is in Lady, Raven and Kerillian. In history and in art, I felt understood. Without Justt-K’s nudge, I don’t think I’d have taken the plunge. Without the friends I made after coming out, I wouldn’t be writ...