On September 14 2023, I had masculinizing top-surgery. Meaning I had my breasts amputated. I haven't written about it here previously, because I haven't felt the need. On one hand, it feels so incredibly natural. The way my chest has always been, really. On the other hand, that observation is done with a certain distance. I don't think I've emotionally really dealt with this yet. There's been a binder, and wound care, and small infections, and scabs that look pretty nasty still... I can't really touch all of myself. And what I can't touch, doesn't really exist.
That's actually what I wanted to write about today. Not the top-surgery, but recognition. Acknowledgment. Acceptance. You see, Novice can't handle my body at all these days. There's three different ways this is apparent, all for different reasons, but the sum is that they can't deal with my body. When I'm around them, I need to close the doors, cover up, and not be touched. And that hurts.
I know Novice doesn't want to hurt me. I don't suspect malicious intent, not at all. That doesn't take the hurt away, though. The rejection of what I physically am.
Here's the thing: A couple of days before my top-surgery, Novice told me they would probably have issues touching me or looking at me after the surgery. They get queasy at the sight, and though, of anything penetrating or parting the skin. Blood tests are really difficult for them, for example. So they told me, two days before my surgery, that they probably wouldn't be able to look at me at first.
I had a lot on my mind (as you do, two days before major surgery), and didn't really process the true meaning of this at the time...
Now, it's been two and a half weeks. The bruises are almost gone. The stiches and surgical staples are out. Except for two small areas, the long wounds where my breasts were removed, are all closed up. The tiny wounds that are left are very shallow, and getting better every day. My nipples are still scabbing and look pretty bad, but they're always covered up anyway, so they aren't visible or in any danger.
I'm pretty much healed now, and Novice still hasn't seen my naked chest. Still hasn't really acknowledged what I've done. Still haven't touch any part of me between my lower rib and my neck. And I feel so incredibly hurt by this. Rejected. Unloved. Much more than I thought I would.
One part of it is that I wasn't prepared for it. Springing "by the way, I won't be able to touch you or even look at you for weeks and weeks" two days before... That's not sufficient preparation for me, even had I understood what they really meant back then (which I didn't). If I'd known before booking the surgery, I'd probably postponed it. Not indefinitely, I would still want top-surgery pretty soon.. But the well-being of my partners is always incredibly important to me. So I'd probably want to think this through again, maybe make slightly different choices.
The most important aspect is the trauma, though. Because even though I wanted this, it's still a trauma: I've had parts of my body amputated. 560g and 650g respectively. I've had the shape of my chest radically changed. My silhouette will never be the same. This had radically changed my gender presentation, when naked or in form fitting tops. And I'm afraid.
Not for me. I know I wanted it. But I'm afraid this makes me undesirable. Unlovable. That I really am what the terfs call us: Mutilated. Disgusting.
Novice doesn't seem to see, or think, about aesthetics the way I do. Nor do they use words like I do. They never call my appearance beautiful, or handsome, or sexy, or anything else really. So while I know what I would do if the person I loved suddenly had big scars across their body, I can't expect the same from them. I can't expect words of affirmation telling me that I'm still beautiful, still desirable. I can't expect them to tell me that they love my scars, love me with my scars, love how my new chest looks. I desperately want that, need that, but I know it's not coming.
However, up until recently, they did convey some of that same meaning through touch. They were always touching me, reaching out to me, as their way of showing love. Their way of telling me that they accept me, that my body is acceptable to them, that they want to touch me. So while I don't get the words, at least I would get the physical touch.
But now I'm not touched. I'm not seen. I can't even lie skin-to-skin against them. It's like that part of my body, from my lower ribs to my neck, doesn't exist. What you don't touch, don't acknowledge, doesn't really exist in your eyes. It's something disgusting, shameful, something to be hidden away, ignored. It certainly isn't worthy of love.
