Between Fortress & Flow: Finding Wholeness After Transition
What if the masculinity isn’t a cage?
The immense privilege of getting to live as two genders in one lifetime is not lost on me. From my 25 years as a woman, I gained profound insights and experiences that will always be a part of the very fabric of who I am, stored deep within the bones of the man I am today.
For years, my body whispered—and then shouted—what it needed. Transitioning wasn’t just a choice; it was an inevitability. The moment I answered that call, my life transformed forever. And after how much happier I’ve become since transitioning, it’s hard to imagine I could ever doubt my body’s wisdom again.
I always knew there would be levels to reintegrating my femininity post-transition. Society awards staying within traditional gender roles, and now that I’m passing as male, those roles have been reversed. But what has been left behind?
Performing in Dreams, Performing in Life
Last night in my dream, I stepped on stage to sing, to perform, as a woman. Wearing my (previous life’s signature) skin tight, shiny red American Apparel pants (anyone remember those?) and a flowing sheer blue top, my movements emerged with fluidity and ease, embodying the grace of someone who knew their femininity was a welcome aspect. I felt celebrated and free to be.
See, a gay man like me holds trans privilege. I grew up flouncing around in princess dresses and “clicky shoes” (as I liked to call the kitten heals my mom gave me as a child). I spent years spiralling in circles, watching in wonder as generous fabric billowed about my hips. No one batted an eyelash. No one turned away in discomfort. I experienced no rejection. I had permission to be myself, as girly (and gay) as I pleased.
On stage in waking life, I now feel the weight of hesitation. I’ve intuitively stopped performing over the past 6 months, feeling stunted by the traditional performance setting of bars and clubs, the hierarchy of the stage, the one-sided interaction. And - I’m just now realizing - part of this pause has been in response to the dormant questions locking up my body under the bright lights:
How femme is too femme for me to still be seen as who I am? What if my body’s impulses betray me, yanking out from under me the very manhood I’ve gone through so much to secure? What if, in my body’s authentic abandon, I’m seen as too flamboyant to be a “real” man - especially as one of trans experience?
I search for more questions to free my body, to unlock the next door to belonging, like: How do I merge my hard-earned manhood with my freedom, my right, to be feminine? How do I transmute these fears of rejection? (Will I be safe?) And further…What new levels of euphoria might be waiting for me on the other side of this?
The Pedestal of my Past
A part of me puts my past life on a pedestal. In my mind, the girl I was lays frozen in time, her youth and beauty forever preserved within the rose-coloured nostalgia of my aging male hindsight. She, on the other hand, will never age, will never live but through the seamless softness of her slender form. It’s as though a part of me still measures myself against her, the unattainable standards of flawless femininity somehow still burned into my aesthetic expectations for Self. Even my voice pre-transition, its ease and access, is something I at times long for as I continue adjusting to my new, rougher singing tone.
Amidst this idolization, I am served to remember the sadness, anxiety, and instability that dripped from that feminine form though, too. Her smallness was a cage too tight for my soul, her lightness was not just bright, but frail, and there I lay inside it all, choking - as if the air held no oxygen, as if I was just miming to breathe.
But as a man, the walls of my body have become the walls of my home, strong enough to contain all of my inner children, steady enough to hold all the spaces they need to thrive. And when they collapse, as they inevitably do, I can still stand strong around them, holding it all together.
As I embody my own inner father, I no longer lean on boyfriends and husbands to care-take for these inner little ones. I have become the man who takes care of whatever I need. I have become the man who protects me from the unknowns of this earth, steady within my surroundings, providing the safety and security I crave. My body, my form, my grounding now protects me; a cocoon, a tree trunk, a fortress against the wild and whipping winds of this world. I am safe inside myself at last.
Perhaps I’m afraid that, to reintegrate my femininity once again - to move with flamboyance, fluidity, and flow - could feel like shattering this fortress I’ve so carefully carved out of my body. To break the rules of manhood, to embody my queerness with abandon…would my newfound and precious safety remain?
Beyond Performance: The Freedom to Be
Perhaps my next invitation is not to choose between the fortress and the flow, but to recognize that they are not opposing forces at all. My masculinity was never meant to be a cage, just as my femininity was never meant to be in exile. They are both parts of the same home, one that I am still learning how to live within.
If I allow myself to exist more freely—without overcorrection or masking—what new euphorias might emerge? What if true safety isn’t about building up walls or breaking them down, but about knowing, deeply, that I belong inside my own skin, however this “me” intuitively shows up?
I have been strong before, and I can do it again. My future is not just about holding onto what I’ve gained, but about expanding into everything I have yet to (re)claim. My journey isn’t about choosing between two selves; it’s about integrating them both, allowing every part of me to coexist without fear. Because true manhood—my manhood—isn’t about performance. It’s about remembering I am forever, innately, the real deal.
With love,
Forrest & UtopianGPT