Author’s Note
I thought I was coming back to make a few edits.
Many hours later, I realized I had accidentally dismantled the entire essay.
Turns out the reason it always felt muddy is because I was trying to explore several different questions at once.
So... here we are 😅
I’ve been ruminating over this haircut.
I thought I just needed to make it through the “give it a little time” phase, but I never did.
It feels too bottom-heavy and sculpted. Too… feminine?
People compliment me, but it doesn’t make me feel better.
When I look in the mirror, I don’t feel like myself.
I’m not 100% sure what feeling like myself even means.
Now I’m spiraling— not just obsessing over a haircut, but questioning the entire construction of me.
I’ve been losing weight. My chest is less full now, and I feel torn.
Part of me grieves the fullness I had before. Another part of me wants my chest to disappear under a T-shirt.
Realistically, compression would be a sensory nightmare.
It’s confusing and scary to feel this way toward my body when I haven’t before.
I wish it were as simple as wanting bigger boobs or being flat-chested.
Femininity is uncomfortable. I can’t wear dresses. Skirts. Even certain necklines. Anything that makes me feel like I’m being perceived by men when I don’t want to be visible to them.
Yet there are things on the masculine side that make me uncomfortable too.
Suits. Buzz cuts. Looking like a “man.” I don’t want any of those things.
Feminine. Masculine. Androgynous. There is a fine, moving line between comfort and dysphoria for me. Everything feels a little alien.
Yet somehow when I scroll through old photos, the ones where I have long pastel hair and am wearing makeup, I miss something.
It’s hard to admit that I’m grieving the version of me that was easier to understand, even if I don’t want to go back to existing that way.
