this is NOT my body

I stare blankly at the reflection looking back at me. I have encompassed this body for 20 years but it has never felt my own.

What is it like to love your body? To look at your reflection and say with confidence that is me. That is my body. The pride to claim it as your own.

I don’t know.

I may never know.

What do you see when you look at me?

Can you see the pain in my eyes? The exhaustion on my face? The tiresome look of someone who was born into a body that trapped them into a box and labeled them a woman.

The look of defeat because no matter how hard I try I can't help but feel like I am playing dress up. As if underneath lies the same masc lesbian that I was before.

A fraud in men's clothing.

On these days, the scars on my chest are not reminders of my strength and courage, instead they remind me of the flesh that caused me so much pain and discomfort. Is it crazy to say that on these days I miss those lumps of flesh?

I think back to the beginning of my transition and all the ways my body has changed.

There's a constant love-hate relationship with your mind and body that never seems to go away.

That voice in your head that tells you you will never be man enough one day and reminds you of how far you’ve come the next. The feminine curves and stature that wipe out every image of who you are now… of who you will be soon.

The acne that comes as the result of being a self-made man. The contradicting tone of voice that is the cause of painful misgendering but also so much damn euphoria hearing it deepen with every injection.

I take one last glance at the reflection staring back at me.

I don't want this body to define me.

This is not my body… not today.