On Being a Woman

Jamie Roberts

When I was born, I was not assigned the sex of female, but was coercively assigned male. It wasn’t until I reached my mid-20s and gained quite a bit of independence (as well as a modest inheritance) that I began the process to correct that error of attribution one painful, gut-wrenching step at a time. Many times I was asked over the years how things are different now that I live my life authentically as a woman. The following are some of the ways.

The clothes, of course, have a lot more style and variety, but are more expensive. Having given myself the permission I secretly craved to create my own unique style, I found that same sizes vary among different retailers. A size 12 in Macy’s is not the same size as a 12 at Banana Republic, or Torrid for that matter. This also goes for shoes. 

Speaking of shoes, if men’s shoes are designed to comfort their feet, women’s shoes are meant to destroy them (as well as our knees, long term). While the fashion industry seems to fall over itself to make men comfortable, at the same time it tells women that “beauty hurts.”

A big lesson was experiencing just how much women are judged by their looks. When people compliment a woman, it’s usually for her beauty or feminine style/presentation and not so much her skill or intelligence. Despite all the pain and effort I put into my gender presentation, I still get read as Trans occasionally. Some people who don’t like me will mis-gender me. Others will give me the ‘up and down, reading you’ eyes or the side-eye. People who like me or want something from me will compliment my hair, my most feminine attribute, followed by my eyes. Also, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve been told to smile, I could buy an overpriced handbag or three.

The women in my family began policing my looks and my body. When my grandmother told me that I needed to lose weight, I felt both mortified and cognizant that I had arrived in my family as a woman. Where my mom used to offer measured advice only occasionally, she began to give me her unvarnished opinion about just about everything that I wear, say, or do. I felt appalled but, at the same time, I understood that she was now socializing me as a woman. Though my mom was somewhat distant in my childhood and all throughout adolescence, we’ve drawn much closer in the years since I transitioned.

Living as a woman brought home to me how much space men take up in a room and how little space women are expected to occupy. I felt for the first time how invisible I become in many spaces simply by being a woman. Men draw attention and establish territory without even thinking about it, saying whatever’s on their mind wherever they are without any real social consequence. When a man does a great job, other men believe it’s because of their innate talent. When a woman like me does a good job, it gets attributed to some external factor other than her own talent. That is, when her achievements are not being completely appropriated by the men around her.

I also learned how easy it is as a woman to pick up a stalker. Whether it’s former lovers who won’t accept that I don’t want to see them anymore, someone I shared my phone number with that I shouldn’t have, or someone who’s obsessed with me and likes to expose embarrassing details about me on social networks, it’s a special kind of creepiness I’ve only experienced since living full time as a woman. This is why I never answer phone calls from “anonymous” or “unknown” callers. It is similar to being stalked by bullies in the playgrounds of my childhood years and called names referring to my femininity, but played out in more subtle, sophisticated, and menacing ways. It’s also funny how the same sort of people who used to taunt me for being too effeminate now taunt me for being too masculine in some way. Seeing this happen to cisgender women as well is cold comfort.

Don’t get me wrong. I love being a woman! Fits me just fine, thanks. Despite all the headaches and heartaches that come with being a woman, the feeling of being at home in my own skin is priceless.