Chapter 0 – Introduction
In June of 1972 I was born at the Leicester Royal Infirmary, much to the relief of my long-suffering mother. The summer of ’72 had been a pretty hot one, definitely not the ideal time to be heavily pregnant. Following a fairly uncomplicated birth (I’m her fourth child, shelling peas was mentioned when I asked my mother to recall the occasion), the midwife promptly cut the umbilical cord and pronounced to my mother, ‘Congratulations, it’s a boy.’ That moment, for every child, sparks a chain of events which will shape its destiny. Gender appropriate clothes are purchased or knitted by overly enthusiastic aunts and grandmothers. Names are chosen after many nights arguing whether naming the child after the place of conception will scar them for life (my friend Cannock Chase will testify to this). Nurseries are hastily painted blue or pink unless the parents went for the safe neutral option of yellow. Ceremonial trees are planted as has become popular in recent times, and parents begin to plot their child’s future.
But what if that moment was not as it seemed? What if the midwife or doctor’s assumption of the baby’s gender, based only on their physical assessment, was wrong? From that moment on, the child will be raised and nurtured based on what is between their legs and that alone. Documents will be signed and births registered. Certificates will be issued and put away for safe keeping. Gender appropriate toys will be bought for the child as they grow, like Barbie dolls for the girls and action figures for the boys. The birth of a child is a miraculous thing but it doesn’t always go exactly according to the plan. Our birth-assigned physical sex is not always in tune with our brain’s subconscious sex, or put simply, our gender identity.
Most people would agree that boys have a penis and girls have a vagina. I don’t disagree with that and you’d be hard pressed to find a medical professional to dispute it either. However, science is beginning to unravel the mystery of why some people are born either male or female, but as they grow, it becomes clear to them that this is not right. Instead, there is a deep sadness, the feeling that this is a mistake – and that they are actually of the opposite sex or somewhere in between. I was born with a penis, but it didn’t make me a man despite my best efforts to be one. I am the proud owner of a shiny new vagina with very few miles on the clock but that alone does not make me a woman. What makes me a woman is between my ears, not between my legs. This sadness, this feeling of not being comfortable in your own body, which transgender and gender diverse people live with, is called gender dysphoria. I lived with this sadness for forty-two years before I finally had no choice but to confront my demons and deal with them once and for all.
I hate jargon, so I’ve tried to keep it to a minimum in this book. That said, there are a few terms which need clarity before we go on. Let’s start with the difference between sex and gender. Sex refers to whether a person is physically female or male. In our culture this is determined by the presence or absence of a penis. The reality is that it is much more complex than that. Gender is typically used to describe a person’s gender identity or subconscious sex, whether that be male, female, neither or both. This can be how they present themselves, their behaviours, (masculine, feminine or neutral) and in some cases, their privileges or restrictions, based on society, culture and tradition. These defined gender binaries of male or female are not always so straight forward either. Take intersex people as an example. Intersex is a general term used to describe a variety of conditions in which a person is born with a reproductive or sexual anatomy that doesn’t match the typical binary of male or female. This can be anything from genitalia to chromosomes or even internal organs.
Now that we have the difference between sex and gender all sorted, let’s talk about sexuality. It is important to clarify that sexuality and gender identity are not linked directly. After coming out in 2015, one of the first questions I was asked by a colleague at work was, ‘so if you’re gonna be a woman, does that mean you’ll be sleeping with blokes then?’ This question made me realise how much emphasis society puts on our physical sex. When a person transitions from one sex to another, they do not typically switch sexuality as well. It can happen and there are exceptions to every rule but generally speaking, if you were attracted to women before transition, the chances are you’ll still be attracted to women after. When I explain my own sexuality to curious people who can’t help asking, I simply say that my sexuality is who I go to bed with, and my gender identity is who I go to bed as. Pretty simple really when you think about it.
If like many people, you’ve never heard the term gender dysphoria, then let me explain. The word dysphoria simply means a feeling of severe dissatisfaction, anxiety or restlessness: a feeling that something is not right. It can lead to deep depression and in many cases suicidal thoughts and self-harm. Gender dysphoria is a sense that despite your birth assigned sex, be it male or female, your subconscious sex (your internal sense of gender) does not match the physical body that you were born with. Most of us, in fact around 98% of the global population of this planet, never question their gender. It isn’t something the average person ever really considers. Ask yourself this question: have you ever woken up doubting your internal sense of gender, or your physical sex? Does it feel alien to imagine yourself as the opposite sex? If you are a man who’s happy being a man can you easily imagine living your life as a woman? If you’re not transgender, these questions may seem very odd and maybe even a little uncomfortable. The possibility that you don’t understand or even connect with your own body because your brain feels different causes frustration, anxiety and despair every single day. It must be a terrible mistake, but you’re too scared to tell anyone because they won’t believe you or they won’t understand and may even reject you for telling them. Gender dysphoria is with you from the moment you awake to the moment you go to sleep. It creeps into your thoughts when you should be concentrating on your work, or your exams, or listening to a distraught friend who’s telling you their troubles. It occupies your dreams; it offers no escape or respite, it is relentless.
I do have some good news though, unlike the coronavirus that has ravaged our planet, gender dysphoria, and consequently being transgender, is not contagious. You will be fine. You can’t catch it because of an ill fitted mask or because someone coughed on you on the bus. You’re either born with it or you’re not. I cannot stress this enough – and I’m resisting the urge to write this in bold and underline it – this is not about choice. Nobody chooses to be transgender any more than a person would choose to be asthmatic or diabetic. It’s just something some of us were born with, like a third nipple or a birth mark in the shape of Belgium. The only real choice involved in a transgender person’s life is whether they decide to transition to their correct gender to ease the pain of dysphoria, or try to find a way to live their life in a way that supresses their gender dysphoria sufficiently. If they choose to transition, will they be safe? Will they lose everything? It’s shocking to realise that some people are killed just because they are trans, murdered in cold blood in horrific and brutal ways. In over seventy countries worldwide, it is illegal to be openly gay or present yourself in a gender other than that assigned at birth. In around fourteen of those countries, the penalty can be death. Thankfully, here in Britain, life for the average transgender person isn’t quite so extreme but I’ve had rental agreements cancelled, job applications turned down and offers of help withdrawn once the person became aware that I was transgender. Friends of mine have been verbally and physically attacked in the street while minding their own business, and one was spat at in her workplace by a member of the public in full view of everyone. Society may well be waking up to the fact that transgender people exist, but we are far from seeing widescale acceptance and equal rights and opportunities for trans and gender diverse people. I’ve heard many people say they’ve never met a trans person before speaking to me, but don’t be so sure. Not everyone who is trans has transitioned. It can be that they just haven’t figured it out yet or they have too much to lose if they transition – their children, family, spouse or career. I kept my secret for forty-two years and no one in my life suspected that I was transgender. After years of trying my hardest to fit in, to be a man, I chose to transition because it was that or suicide.
Why am I writing this? Why now? Transition is in my rear-view mirror and my life has now begun again, and it’s a good life. I can’t erase the past and I wouldn’t want to. It wasn’t all bad and the memories I hold are also the memories of my friends, family and former colleagues. To completely obliterate my former life would be sad but also disrespectful to those who shared it with me. Instead, I’d like to take you with me on my journey, to share with you how it felt to grow up knowing I was different, hiding the pain of my lie behind a smile more fake than David Dickinson’s tan. I want you to laugh with me, cry with me, feel the array of emotions that I experienced as I grew, matured and eventually transitioned into this beautiful catwalk supermodel (deluded) that I am today. I hope that this book will show that trans and gender diverse people are just like anyone else and not something to be feared or prejudiced towards. Perhaps you have a friend, a relative, or even your own child has come out as transgender. In any case, a better understanding of trans and gender diverse people can only be a good thing.
This book is not a Haynes manual on transgender people. It won’t show you how to change a trans person’s head gasket or check their oil. It isn’t a copy of Practical Knitting either, it won’t teach you how to knit one in twelve easy steps. This is my story, in my words, some happy, some sad, some funny, some not so funny. Everyone’s transition is different because it is personal to them. I’m not offering advice to those who think they may be transgender, or a guide on how to successfully transition. Frankly, I’m not qualified to do that and there are many people far better equipped to help than I am. This book is an insight into my life, an open, honest account of what transition is really like, what being transgender is really like. At the end of this book, I hope that I will have dispelled many of the myths associated with what being transgender means, because despite what you may have heard, we’re not scary monsters.
Excerpt from the Amy Kate Carter LGBTQ+ Biography book, now available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle formats via this link: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09HKXGWNZ
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