My father told me about a movie he saw many years ago where two male police officers, one white, one black, are riding together in a car. The black guy turns to the white guy and says, “Do you ever think about being white?”
“Of course not,” says the other guy. “Why would I?”
“Well,” the black man said, “I think about being black every day.”
I doubt that born women and men ever spend much time thinking about it. I’d do anything to be able to be that way. I’d do anything to have a uterus, ovaries, and periods. My many born-woman friends all think I’m totally nuts for wanting periods, but they don’t understand. When you’re outside this, it’s hard to comprehend what it really feels like.
I’m stuck spending my whole life looking over the fence, wishing I were on the inside. Sometimes it’s hard to believe all this struggle is worthwhile. But, again, I have little choice.