I am a boy.

I love reading about different trans experiences. I’m a trans guy and my boyfriend is also trans, and the way everyone I’ve met experiences being trans so different yet similar is fascinating. 

I didn’t realize I was a guy until semi recently, but I’ve never really been a girl. I just didn’t register “gender” when I was younger. I’ve always been feminine, so I believed “that means I’m a girl, right? I love being a girl!” But I didn’t love being a girl. I love being feminine. I love girly things and bright colors and flowers and skirts and dresses, but I don’t love being a girl. 

It was confusing to understand. I’ve never looked in the mirror and felt… proud, necessarily. I felt like I was staring at just… a person. It wasn’t me. It was just a girl. And it felt weird. My name also never felt like mine. I love the idea of my deadname. It’s a beautiful name. But it isn’t mine. I hate being perceived, but when I’m called Rowan? When I’m called he, and him, and pretty boy and handsome and masculine, I feel so happy. 

It’s funny, because my boyfriend sees his younger self as still being a boy. It’s always been him, a boy. But I see my younger self as an entirely different person, almost. I was a girl, yes. I was a girl, I was raised as one, I acted like one. But I grew up into a man. And it’s okay. Identity changes. And I’m coming to terms with it. I am a masculine man, and I love dresses and frills and pastels and stars and painting and video games and technology and fashion and swimming and skateboards and neon colors and running and reading and everything in between. 

What I love doesn’t affect my gender. And I (am learning to) love that I’m me.