I am a trans man, and I just ended a nearly year long relationship with a transphobic man who is straight and cis.
It started simply, we met online and started chatting, we had a lot in common as far as just personality goes, but also health and being curious. I lean left, and he leans right. He found out I was biologically a woman the first night we talked, I had health worries that were relevant and health is what we were talking about.
He misgendered me within a week I think, and freaked out and apologized. I don’t jump down people’s throats about it and was chill, told him it was okay. I’m not prone to easy aggression. He told me that that was an unusual reaction from his experience.
I need to say something about myself here, and it’s very important: I am incredibly blunt, straightforward, and forthright. I don’t keep secrets of my own, I don’t have any room for them. I’m also not able to tell falsehoods or lie when asked a question directly. I don’t have an internal monologue, I’ve only recently started getting words in my thoughts at all. They’re rare, and mostly just me telling myself what to do next. My actual thoughts are all pictures and color, music and sounds, and feelings. None of it is linear. I have a hard time communicating, language is hard.
I am also extremely traumatized, and one of the results of that is that I change parts of myself for other people. I’m a very good mimic and social chameleon… But I can’t lie. I actually change, and my memory changes too. The only things that I can’t change are at the core of what I am–I love animals and I don’t want to cause any pain. I’m also in love with people, with humanity as a whole, and even more in love with the people I become friends with and care about. It’s not romantic or sexual, and I’m not sure I’m capable of feeling possessiveness or jealousy. I want everyone to find happiness and peace. I want to help them.
I’m very open-minded and accepting, and always willing to listen to the other person’s side. I can change my mind if I’m presented with new information. It’s incredibly hard to offend me, and I have an incredibly long fuse as far as temper goes. I’m rarely particularly judgemental. I was taught early to soften and temper my words so that others find them more palatable. I’ve never liked doing that.
I try to make sure EVERYBODY I have extended interactions with is aware of all of this. The man this relationship was with was aware. He became infatuated with me and I got lost in his dreams. I try to tell people what I am and what I do to prevent this from happening, to prevent what happens next, to prevent the end of this story. Because I almost never catch myself when I start to fall into you, and it burns us both.
…
He started suggesting that I might not be trans. We talked about other things, but he started suggesting it. Because I didn’t freak out about being misgendered, was I really trans? I had they/them as a part of my pronouns too–which was a compromise, with my husband, and to make life easier for other people. I don’t want to be a nuisance, I don’t have a lot of energy. So I thought about it. And I realized that I had a fairly nasty bit of misogyny I’d buried. Women are weak, I don’t want to be weak. There are a lot of strong women though, I think he pointed that out. So I accepted that I have a feminine side and became bigender. Do you see where this is going?
I like him, I love him, I want him to be happy. He kept making suggestions, and I kept following them. Maybe maybe maybe. Maybe I’m more of a woman really? Maybe I’m just a tomboy. Maybe I always was. I told him I have a phantom penis. I told him that I didn’t believe it when my mom told me I was a girl. I told him that I was so angry and felt betrayed by my body when I realized I was growing breasts. I don’t remember the exact interactions, but he dismissed the phantom penis as just another weird quirk. He told me that all of this was normal for autistic girls. Us poor autistic girls, the left keeps deluding us into thinking we’re men when clearly we aren’t. How can I be a man? I have such a nice curvy body and a pretty face.
I shared part of an early conversation with a friend of mine in another country because it confused me. I trust her, she’s good at seeing right through bullshit. She told me that the rhetoric he was using for that conversation, which was about trans youth and him being against them transitioning, “think of the children” was one transphobes use a lot. She told me to be careful. I thought I was. I should have talked to her more often this past year, but I didn’t want to add to her stress. I had low social batteries myself.
And I was talking with him. Almost all day. Almost every day. Hours and hours. We talked and we talked. I listened a lot. A while ago, he asked me how I managed to survive without lying. I told him that most of the time I don’t need to. All a lot of people want is to be heard, so I listen to them. And I can see how what they see the way they see it can be a problem. I’m very specific: I see how that could be a problem.
That doesn’t mean I agree with you. I told him that too. I don’t think he believed me. I tried protesting that I DO lie, early on. I omit, I redirect, I give partial answers. It’s not always on purpose, but it very much can be. He told me that’s not really lying, it isn’t fabrication. Fabrications are what lies are. And I clearly can’t do that to save my life–a consensus that everyone who knows me seems to have.
I am easily confused by social stuff, it’s hard for me to catch guilt trips and manipulation a lot of the time. I don’t like getting into arguments and am bad at confrontation. Only part of it is bad experience, the other part is that once I flip to that mode I do NOT hold back–until I get confused by something that the other person says. Then I go silent and try to figure it out.
After I became bigender, he told me he wanted me in his bed, along with his girlfriend. He had been scornful of the idea of polyamory before, but now he wanted me. It was flattering, he’s a younger man, and I’m fairly isolated and alone. I’d been holding back my interest–I CAN become sexually interested in friends, they’re the only people I can be into like that–out of respect for that boundary. And he broke it. So we became friends with benefits. We started an RP, and then I wanted to draw on my computer, so we started calling on the phone. And then we started calling more and more often, for longer and longer periods.
I think I was catatonically depressed for 7-8 years, we met when I was just coming out of it. Did you know that there’s a cap on the length of phone calls? Not sure whose carrier it was, but the cap is 8 hours. Then the call drops. We had phone sex a few times. I’d never done that before. I disassociated though and couldn’t remember anything about it after a while.
He fell in love with me. His way. The way that people are possessive with. I told him that I can’t love him the same way. He said it was alright, he accepted that. He asked if I minded him saying “I love you”. I said it first, technically, in my answer. I told him that I want to support him and help him realize his dreams. He said that was enough. I love you too. I was so happy that I fell over and couldn’t move for a few minutes.
I’m starving. I’m starving for affection, for being talked to in a way I can listen and hear it. And I am incredibly, incredibly heavy. I heard a song the other day. “I’m the kind of heavy heavy, that no one wants to carry”. It made me sob. A lot. I identified with that. A lot. And then my thoughts shifted… I am that kind of heavy, but no one should HAVE TO carry me. But… Maybe it’s okay to lean a bit on other people from time to time, let them help a little.
…
I like to believe the best of people, and I try to be cautious and guarded. I’m bad at it. Nothing he ever did or said felt malicious to me, but maybe it was because I have a lot of empathy. And he did help me with things. I liked and trusted him, and some of his comments and questions and my responses made me realize things sometimes. Telling him about the most impactful piece of trauma I have, a Sophie’s choice when I was 10, made it actually register that I was a CHILD when it happened, and I was able to finally forgive myself and let go of the self-loathing I’d been carrying for over two decades. I believe that actually getting sleep and not being catatonically depressed anymore helped too. I don’t deserve all the pain the world has been throwing at me my entire life. I thought I did, ever since I was 10 all the way up until this past April, 2024.
We talked a lot. We talked about people who don’t have an internal monologue. I told him I don’t. Again. And reminded him of how I think. And he said that I must, people who don’t have an internal monologue are idiots and run on instinct. I run on instinct. He told me I don’t, I’m capable of intelligent discussion. And I let it go, it wasn’t worth the fight. I didn’t have the energy.
We talked about religion. I’m a heathen. I’ve been a heathen before I even knew the term. It’s one of the most steadfast things about me. I have an ex-girlfriend who thought it was super funny that I had to pretend to be Christian when I was around my family, because it’s incredibly obvious that I’m not. I’m not capable of it. This man was Christian. And I started getting stirrings of unease when I realized that I’m exactly the kind of savage he thinks needs tamed or exterminated. I’m a wild, half-feral guy. I wouldn’t take Jesus’s hand, I love my gods too much. I love the world too much. I’m not going to sacrifice my integrity for personal gain. What use do I have for a hollow salvation?
We talked about families and children. I didn’t shoot down the idea of children like I normally would have, I wanted to be open to the idea. And I was easily convinced that I wanted them. I want him to be happy. I have never wanted kids in my entire life, except for one brief period where another man had also convinced me otherwise. I don’t want kids. I can be a fun uncle or babysit occasionally, but I don’t want them. I never have. But that was changed. I got lost in his dreams of me.
I think I might be an intoxicating person. I have an odd effect. A lot of people want to be a part of me too. They try to love me back, and it hurts them. And it hurts me. Animals love me too–shy, skittish cats come up to me and rub against my legs and fingertips. I can coax wild birds into perching on my hand or arm. And a lot of people want to mold me into their image of what I could be. They want to control me. And I burn them. And I burn me. I’m awake now. A lot of my memory is murky. I need to learn how to pull away sometimes, give people and myself time to breathe. Recenter and remember ourselves.
I didn’t step away from this man until the 5th of June this year, 2024. We had been talking, always talking, since the last week of July in 2023. I have gotten drawn into a group of wonderful, kind people, and a small piece of group drama the day before, on top of the incredible amount of stress I’m dealing with trying to get my life together, on top of having been constantly socializing for so long… My social battery completely gave out and I had had physical symptoms from stress that were concerning enough for an ER trip the day before that. I completely disconnected from everyone for one day, and decided to mostly take my mornings for myself.
And I started talking with other people more. Including another straight, cis man. He also thinks I’m cute. The topic of gender came up a few times. I told him too, about what was going on with my gender. About how I learned that being trans was a thing in the first place, and how late I learnt it. I was 19 when I met a trans woman for the first time.
I made her cry because I was confused when she told me her name, I thought she was a boy. The person I was visiting, an ex boyfriend, was angry and started yelling at me and asking what was wrong with me, she’s trans! I was extremely confused and looked at him blankly for a moment and told him I don’t know what that is. He calmed down and explained it. I apologized to her and we bonded over anime. I don’t want this to be a statistic, but she also accosted me in the shower one morning–I didn’t know how to clearly say “no” yet, though I tried to. I am putting this in for full disclosure, because I told the transphobic man that part too. I don’t think I remembered to tell the other man who thinks I’m cute that part though.
I was in my 20s when my best friend told me that trans men exist too. I was complaining about something relating to it. And I realized that I was right in the first place, I’m a dude.
The man who thinks I’m cute is a bit flirty. I had told him that I do identify more with the masculine side, I think. He apologized at one point and said that he needs to adjust his frame of reference, and I offered to help break that for him. He told me to go ahead. And I told him about my phantom limb.
He didn’t dismiss it as another weird quirk. At all. He did tease me for a moment–how do I know how big it is if it’s phantom? I told him I can actually feel it, that’s why it’s phantom and not imaginary. And then told me that that’s actually a studied phenomenon in the trans community. And he linked a famous lecture and a few studies for me to look at. And I did. I watched the lecture. I read the studies.
And… I realized I was right in the first place. I’m a dude. The dream I had been living in with this other man in another part of the country melted away. And I was horrified. There are so many levels where this was wrong. One of them is that I went against the consent and completely shattered the trust of another human being by changing like I did. I know it’s a trauma response and that I couldn’t help doing it–but I don’t feel that that completely absolves me of responsibility. On the other hand, as it was pointed out to me, if he was a good friend, he would have actively worked against letting me do that instead of making suggestions and encouraging changes like he did.
I told him as soon as we were both awake the next morning. I started off by apologizing for getting caught up in his dream. I tried, I tried really hard to explain what happened. I am not good at handling things delicately. I told him that I’m a dude, was more firm about the fact that nothing is going to convert me to Christianity, and that I’ve never wanted kids. He… Did not handle it well. He was hurt and angry. I could feel it. He was disgusted and betrayed. I could feel it. He told me that this was 6 months of regression. He told me that this told him I was flighty as fuck, how can he believe anything I’ve ever told him? He accused me of lying–which, I did. Because I lied to myself, I got swept up into his ideas and imagined them with him. I don’t have an inner monologue. He told me it felt like I was bored of wearing him and his aspirations like a skinsuit and was casting him aside–I wasn’t. I was hoping, I was really hoping, to salvage the friendship.
I tried to empathize. I felt hurt and betrayed too. Me? ME? What the hell do I have to feel betrayed by? I didn’t just have one of my worst fears realized, I hadn’t just been caught in a trans man’s trap. He didn’t say it, but that’s how he felt. But… I did have one of my worst fears realized. I tried to be who I am and was honest about it, and he used a very sweet carrot to walk me down a path he had chosen for me. He wanted to control me, consciously or not. Because I’m dangerous. I gave him so much of my trust. It’s hard for me to give. It always gets broken, it can be hard to gather up the pieces again.
He wished me a good life and blocked me, but before that, at the part where he said I lied… I hurt. I felt my feelings and I felt his feelings and it was overwhelming me. I was crying, I was struggling to breathe, and my throat was closed up so much that I could barely get down water. It hurt. It hurt. It was hurting me. I tried to do the right thing, I have no interest in stringing people along.
Three people helped me let go of that pain. One was empathetic and pragmatic and told me no, I shouldn’t be a hermit, look at where that’s gotten me already. Another is someone who is just kind and comforting even without any context. A third… I think was angry. And also pragmatic. And put things in a way that, as my brain processed the words, let me fully release the pain that wasn’t mine. My own pain is painful enough without his on top of it.
…
I’m scared. I’m scared that this happening is going to somehow cause more pain in the world. No connection is truly in isolation, we all have an effect on one another. I think it’s beautiful, even if it can be terrible, and a very important part of being human. I want to fix what happened. I want to heal it. I want to protect everyone, everyone, even the man whose dreams I shared. Even the people who have hurt me more than most people can imagine–I’ve seen the worst of what humanity has to offer. I fully believe the people who are capable of atrocities committed them. And I hope they can find peace within themselves.
If he unblocks me, if he tries to connect with me again, I’m not going to allow it. Because I hope and want to believe the best of people. I don’t want this to happen again. That, and writing this down to share it, is all I can think to do. I turned my computer back on because the words started and I thought catching this was important. I’m very tired. Please, stay safe.
An important update:
I was able to settle into myself the day after I wrote this. I shared it with the friend that thinks I’m cute, and what I was saying about people thinking I’m flighty and always ending up betrayed and confused, as well as talking about how I’m always hiding parts of myself away–like being a smartass–and his outrage at how a lot of this wouldn’t be a problem if I’d transitioned, really and truly catalyzed for me. Gender dysphoria and trauma response. I’m a dude, and people and society can fuck off with their expectations of me based on the form of body I’m in. The world has changed from when I was growing up, not everybody around me is a little psychopath who’ll hurt or kill what I love to try to keep me in line. I’m not going to change myself just to make people comfortable and continue on with that fear hanging over my head–I’m not a child, I can protect those who matter to me.
I don’t need to soften my words all the time, I don’t need to appease everyone, it’s okay for me to tease and be playful the way I want to be and have a wicked sense of humor.
This peaceful feeling I’ve been carrying after the catharsis of that registering is nice. I don’t feel like I’m being ripped apart into 10,000 different pieces.
I’m sure there are concerns that I’m just mirroring this friend–I’m not. The interest is mutual, and I’d’ve stayed a completely submissive girlie masochist with a daddy kink if I was trying to be what he wanted–I was a really good social chameleon, people can’t hide their drives or cores or pains very well. They show little by little in everything they say and do, in every interaction with each other and with me. I wouldn’t be planning on transitioning, HRT and top surgery, either.
I’m good now. I think I’m going to write a proper book about my life.
One more, small update:
I told that friend the real reason I know I’m not changing for him.
I told him that I’m not trying to take on his anger. It isn’t mine.
He told me that that’s healthy–and I’m right, it isn’t.
And then I told him I wasn’t taking on any of the other things I can see in him. There are things that resonate, but I’m keeping myself separate.
And he said that I’m my own person, and he has no need to share his thoughts with a mirror image of himself.
I told him that I really loved that, and said that he’s also not dumb or arrogant enough to try to keep the ocean in a teacup.
We both really like that analogy.