The first time I can look back at growing up and pinpoint dysphoria was the onset of puberty. It felt so wrong, like it shouldn’t have been happening to me. I felt trapped in someone else’s body. I remember reading the diary of Ann Frank, and she was happy to get her period and be a woman. That concept was so foreign to me. Why would anyone want to be a woman if they didn’t have to? I got a period, and I felt dread. I knew my mom had a hysterectomy, and I knew that’s exactly what I wanted as soon as possible. I have always known that I would get sterilized. The thought of birthing children and getting pregnant made me feel sick and uneasy. I wished it weren’t possible. I wished I didn’t have to.

As I grew to be a “woman,” I had a deep hatred for what I felt I had to be. I didn’t want to be a man. I just wanted to be a default person. I didn’t want to be perceived masculine or feminine. When I was a young child, I didn’t feel like a pretty little girl. I felt like just a kid. A lot of girls played with other girls and boys with other boys. I never felt like I belonged anywhere, but is that dysphoria or is that growing up as an outsider?

I remember thinking about cutting out my uterus while it was bleeding. I felt it shouldn’t be there, and I needed to get rid of it. That was totally dysphoria. There’s nothing like that when I was younger that I can remember.