Gender Euphoria

by Laura Kate Dale

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...