A Different Tune

A skirt, a jumper, a pair of pants lay before me alongside my white polo, but I don't feel comfortable in the jumper. I feel even less secure in the skirt. I choose the pants because they fit me best.

I grew up going to Baptist church gatherings on the weekends with class and mass on the weekdays. At my Catholic school in first grade, I was told that girls were one way and boys were another. No mixing, crossing or changing. You did as you were instructed, prayed any unholy thoughts away and followed that path. But I often wondered if there was a limit to my happiness, or if finding my joy meant giving up pieces of myself to please those who didn't actually see me.

I never felt like a girl. I always opted for pants over anything freely and pleated. I would lay awake wondering why I couldn't just break away from the roles forced upon me

in the cold recreation hall, we have dance class, and I drag my feet to the end of the queue. Our instructor walks the lines, making sure we're separated, boys and girls, I found myself slipping into the boys line to even it up, met with a couple Snickers, a lot of eye rolls, I see the disdain clear on the instructor's face. She tells me she'll allow this for now, but that it's unnatural. She tells me you shouldn't get any ideas that you're a little boy.

But as we waltz through the rest of the class, I enjoy the feeling of not having to act 20 minutes of trans masculine joy. It's not even about dancing with girls or craving power to control and command the lead. I just knew it felt right

when the music stops, we move back apart. But I realize this is natural. This is more than a part time boys thing. This is me.

I know now that I can create my own destiny beyond the lines and structures laid before me. I carved out a space within myself to break free from the limitations imposed on me. I'm living authentically and on my own terms, rejecting lines that attempt to frame my experience of identity, embracing all that shaped me into the man I am today.