By Chloe Amelia Lapper
I was never a girly boy. I always liked writing stories and making up dances and singing songs – so I guess if you think about it some might have guessed. But no one ever did. I’ve always painted my toenails, ever since I was little, because it was the only thing I could hide easily that gave me a sense of comfort. From the age of about five, I would sit on my windowsill and pray that there was someone out there who would make me wake up a little girl. Mum knew that something was up when I would wake up every morning distressed that my dream never came true. She thought it was just a phase.
It was the eighties and there wasn’t anywhere near the same support as there is now so I ended up repressing my identity for years and years. I moved to London aged 18 and got scouted my a modelling agency whilst I was walking around on Carnaby Street in London. I’d always loved fashion, so I decided to go for it and sign up to the agency. Suddenly, I was all too aware of my body and the disgust that I felt in my own skin. I was always lucky to be able to eat what I want and never gain too much weight, but it wasn’t weight that bothered me so much. Everywhere I looked was the image of what I had longed for but knew I could never have. I remember going to watch catwalk shows and loving the snobbery; the glamour; but always troubled by a deep sense of pain.
After a couple of years I quit the industry and tried to face my demons. I made some new friends and finally plucked up the courage to go out in public as a woman. I shit my pants. It was so scary that I ran home, got changed and didn’t do it again for another two years. I got myself involved in a relationship with a woman and suppressed my gender identity even further below the surface of my consciousness. When the relationship eventually ended – I couldn’t hide who I was any longer – I moved back home and decided to try living my life as me. The real me.
It was tough, and it took a world of patience – but it was worth the wait. At first, I had to have about a year of therapy and regular appointments with a specialist to assess my mental state, before I could even start hormone treatment. At the time I was angry that the process took so long, but in hindsight I’m grateful – it gave me enough time to know that I was definitely making the right decision. It took about six months for the hormones to regulate, during which time I was legit crazy. I was moody, anxious, angry – I’d completely lose it with someone in a restaurant if I could hear them eating; everything made me angry.
Then came all the bullshit. Everyone goes through some sense of shame and rejection when it comes to their body and the way that they look, but for transgender people, it’s horrific. Once, I was in a pub in Surrey and I was desperate for the toilet. The owner took one look at me and told me I wasn’t allowed to use the women’s toilets. It was horrible, but I wasn’t going to let him win. I stormed into the men’s toilet only to find most of them offer me comfort and words of kindness. To my surprise, they were just as horrified as I was.
As soon as I began to transition I just wanted to get all the male stuff out of me. I just wanted to be someone else. The pressure in life is bad enough but being transgender makes it worse. I look at the bikini bodies on Instagram; the ‘perfect’ figures on TV and everytime it kills that, despite how hard I try, I can never look even remotely similar. I’ve had to learn everything from scratch to fit in with my gender. It’s a psychological minefield. I’ve trained myself to hold my shoulders back (women do it naturally) when talking to people, and walk and talk in a way that appears more feminine. I’m constantly self conscious.
Chloe, putting our selfies to shame
If you are born a girl, you grow up socialised into your role as a young women. In theory, it becomes natural. But imagine doing everything from scratch. Deep down, you know that no matter what (unless surgery is involved – I’ve been on a waiting list for two years) you can not ever achieve it. No matter how much my mind shifts or my body changes, I will always feel deeply uncomfortable in my body. That is why the rate of suicide in trans people is so high. That is why therapy is so, so important during the process of transitioning.
Then there’s the risk of being fetishised, there are millions of websites featuring men who are looking for a transgender woman to hook up with. Plenty of people I know have willingly signed up to these sites; it’s easy money. But why should we have to?! Some of the pressure comes from the community itself – I don’t always want to wear a face full of make-up, wear heels and dress up smart. Sometimes I just want to wear my hair in a bun or stick on a tracksuit, but there’s pressure to pursue this ‘ultra fem’ look all the time. This is why I have distanced myself from the community. I’ve stopped trying to be a woman and instead, I just am one.
Thankfully, my dissatisfaction with my body has never had a huge impact on what I eat. I continue to love my food and eat with the same peace as I always have done. I love meat, I love a bacon sandwich and you won’t catch me turning Vegan. But nothing will take away that deep feeling of existing in a body that is alien to my mind. All I can hope for is that, given time, the world will come to accept us for who we are and eventually, I’ll be free to be…me.
As told to Eve Simmons
Check out Chloe’s food blog at chloeeatsboutique.wordpress.com
