The whole subject of breasts is so political for me. I feel like they are a great deal of how I am perceived in the world. So many female change rooms and washrooms would have been barred for me, had it not been for the fact that you can just ever so slightly discern that I've got a pair.
"Ok, go ahead." After being glanced over I get the nod to go in. Sometimes, if my back is turned too soon I get the "No, you can't go in... Oh. Go ahead."
This brings to mind a whole other discussion around washrooms, which other transpeople have discussed. Each of us has a goldmine of stories to share around such policing of toilet spaces.
But, back to the breast.
Mine developed so painfully slowly. I remember sitting around with some girls in my Grade 5 class. We were talking about shaving legs. I remember asking them why the heck they were shaving, when clearly they didn't have any hair? Suffice to say, it was more about the process - the womanly process of caring for oneself in that particular way that was relevant, not necessarily the removal of hair itself. The same went for training bras. Looking around at my peers it was plain to see that girls were developing rapidly. Some had a full pair before I even grew my nipples. They were discussing which bras they should fit into, when they moved from training bras to real bras, shopping, excitement.
I just remember feeling sheepish. I never felt like I was one of the girls and the idea that my body would somehow turn me into one confused me. I kept waiting. Waiting. Waiting, for the moment that my chest would spring forth and declare me a woman. It simply never happened.
By age 12, I had barely enough to qualify for training bra shopping at Zellers, and even so, I didn't know why I had bothered. This trend carried on through highschool, and finally my early twenties. I was like, "Is this it? Really?" I'm thirty(ish) now, and I barely feel like I've developed enough boob to have them fall roundly - ever stuck in the preadolescent development stage.
This is fine. Now. There was a time when I was heavily body building, still identified as straight, and was petrified to come into my masculinity as far as way of dress and hair styles go. So I was in this weird hetero-defined and inscribed role of woman, while developing substantial muscle mass and form. It had, in fact, occurred to me that I would somehow lose what little breasts I had and that I should take action to prevent this if they did disappear. The thought of implants crossed my mind - for a second. Thank god I never gave it a serious thought! And, no matter how hard I worked out or how little fat on my body there was, the tissue persisted. Not quite breasts remained.
Today, the question is, why do I hold onto them when I feel so uncomfortable in my body? Perhaps if they weren't so sexualized as a symbol of femaleness, I wouldn't have such a problem with my man boobs. They wouldn't be the dazzling, rippling pecs that I envision myself most comfortable with, but at least I wouldn't be so disturbed by them, perhaps. And yet, I hold onto them still because I'm not quite ready to move into that space. The space where I am no longer de facto politicized because I clearly don't fit into the binary.
Since so much of my identity since I was in diapers has been around fighting gender norms, the fact that I might be perceived steadily or readily as male somehow feels like a loss. The place I occupy now, where I may surprise someone in either direction - not quite a man, nor woman has been my home. That place of discomfort is inextricably intertwined with and has defined my gender identity.
What happens when I lose this?
