I traveled to Michigan this past weekend with my girlfriend and one of our other friends. We stayed at our friend’s family’s lakeside cottage. We had a lot of fun. I wore a bathing suit (top) in public for the first time ever. That was… that was an intense feeling. There were certain very familiar events during this vacation: Driving 8 hours both ways, spending days on the lake, watching fireworks, window shopping in tourist-filled towns; it all began to remind me of my own childhood vacations.

This bit of nostalgia, mixed with my usual bouts of anxiety, drove my mind and my mood into a negative space. This led to me becoming a little distant from my group in the final few days of vacation.

1005607_171693189670222_233183572_nIn the days since I’ve returned home, I’ve been giving more thought to what exactly was driving my mood and anxiety during the trip. The more I think about it, the more I come to this conclusion: So badly, I want to be a mother. So badly, I want to be able to give birth (though, I know this is impossible, given my lack of a uterus and whatnot). I want to take a son or daughter on vacations like that. When it comes down to it, I will never truly be a mother. I may someday be a parent, but would I ever have a kid that recognized me as their mother? I just… I just don’t think so.

I know for a fact that I could never be a father to a child, in the “doing father-type stuff” kind of way. If I have a kid, I want to be the best and most loving mother I could be. I want to shower my child with motherly love. I’m afraid that, even if I ended up parenting a child, I wouldn’t be treated as anything but a father or just awkward 2nd parent, and not truly a mother.

This worry is the same worry I have in regards to marriage. I cannot be a husband. I worry that, in the event that I get married, all the outdated wedding rituals (like “the man is supposed to propose“) and splits on who pays for what would default to me being “the husband.” Thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach.

These things just worry me. I’m just afraid that in some of the most intimate and important aspects of my life, I’ll never be viewed as a woman, but rather just a super-feminine man. That’s just… that’s not me. I’m not a super-feminine man. I’m a woman. I’m just as much of a woman as anyone else.

These thoughts came up as I approach the 9 month mark on hormone replacement therapy. As that’s the typical pregnancy length, I guess I had babies on the mind. Anyway, here’s a timeline I made.