Jasper’s Story

It can be quite rough to live in a world that does not see you for who you are, and makes you feel guilt and shame for merely existing. A world that questions your every move, your every decision, not only in what you do, but also in what you do not do. A world of comparison, a world of “all-or-nothing”, a world of binaries, of “haves” and “have-nots”.

It is even rougher when all these things are foreign to you. When you not only do not neatly fit in a box, but openly refuse to be put in one, with some being “noisier” about the refusal than others. But what if all you were raised in, all you knew your whole entire life, were those strict binaries? What if you knew, deep inside, you do not fit in the box you were forced in by your parents, your community, and the society you were raised in, but forced yourself into the box anyways, damaging yourself, but not really knowing any better?

That was me for the longest time. I was raised in a Christian household for as long as I can remember. While the religion did encourage some positive attributes, such as showing respect and compassion for others, giving to the less fortunate, and encouraging people to find something beyond themselves, there was a more negative part of the religion that I was too young to recognize at the time. Despite preaching about love and tolerance on paper, I would eventually find out that going against the beliefs imposed by the church, or even the mere questioning of beliefs, was not only discouraged, but frowned upon. Anyone who showed any opposition to the doctrine, or even curiosity towards how all the rules came to be, was bound to eventually be treated as an outcast.

I remember being very young, and internally, I felt interest in both boy’s stuff and girl’s stuff: most of the time, I liked girl’s stuff for the sake of conformity, but oftentimes, the things that appealed to boys were what genuinely appealed to me. I remember sneakily trying to watch shows like “Sonic the Hedgehog” as a kid. I know now that there was nothing wrong with liking something geared towards young boys, but at the time, it felt forbidden, and I wanted to save face from a potentially awkward conversation. I knew it was “wrong” but did not know why.
As I continued to live my childhood, that appeal I felt towards “boy stuff” only increased. I noticed the clothes my peers would wear, and I wanted a cool video game shirt so badly, but I knew what my family would feel about it. Given my family’s culture of origin, the idea of having a child who felt happier in clothes that did not match their sex assigned at birth was something scary because they were raised to believe that having a gender-nonconforming child means they did “something wrong” while parenting me. However, I was lucky that in American culture, I could “mask” my queerness for a bit longer, and “pass” as a tomboy. But that would not last for very long…

Eventually, we moved to Brazil. That was a very big cultural shift for me. Although the US did still have somewhat strict binaries when I was younger, Brazil was even more strict about gender norms. Especially as I began to live my pre-teen and teen years immersed in a culture that forced me to be girl, and that only promised to see me as a woman as I experienced changes that were completely against my will, I felt like my only option was to “grin and bear it”, even though the expectations that were put on me felt unfair and unrealistic to the way I envisioned my future. It was conflicting to call a body that betrayed me “home”. Especially considering the messages I got from the church and my father, I felt conflicted, defeated, and alienated. “You need to give me grandkids because you are a woman, and that is what women do.” “Your body is to please your husband.” “Be careful with those rainbow people. You don’t want to end up in hell like them.” I felt very grossed out not only by how my body and my being was being framed and discussed, but also how judgmental the comments about other people’s bodies and lives were. If my role models were willing to be so judgemental of people just because they refuse to live up to their ideas, what would they say of me if I happened to deviate from these ideals, even if it was in order to invest in something I believed in?

There were a lot of negative comments about bodies in the churches I went through throughout my years. I would hear a lot about the idea of the body being a “temple”, while also ironically using that as an excuse to deprive the body of what it needs. It seems like an oxymoron to me when I think about it now. Even though the goal of church was, at least to outsiders, to be a place to find a “born again” version of yourself, there was so much judgement, not only put on me, but also onto other church members. Who looked thinner, who had the nicest dress, who was “letting themselves go”… Even the sermons occasionally had jokes that, now, as a recovered individual, I notice have roots in body image insecurities, and that disrespects the plethora of bodies that exist. I found this focus on bodies, and this obsession with appearance, to be an oxymoron. The idea of assigning one’s worth to how one’s body looks, while ignoring the spirit that inhabits the body, is something I could never understand. What use is it to look “perfect” at the cost of feeling unfulfilled? Why spend so much time hurting others based on their appearance, and instead spend that time to uplift others?

When coming back to the US as a female-passing teen, things were very different than when I was here as a ten-year-old. I hid away a lot of my insecurities about a body that was betraying me, and the lack of education on how to protect myself by playing video games.

People can be very judgmental: video games served as my safe haven for as long as I can remember. My father was (and still is) against gaming as a hobby: he claims video games are “demonic”. But the environments I got to play in provided more solace than I had ever experienced- more so than the churches I was raised in! I could be whoever I wanted, create my own stories. I even explored my sexuality a bit through gaming, although I was quite hesitant of exploring relationships beyond the average “girl loves boy” archetype at that time.

However, I did get quite ridiculed by some people for my hobby, most of them from my father’s family, and the church. Plus, the concept of a “gamer girl” was something I personally did not like because it implied that what games I was into was based on my sex assigned at birth, when the reality was that even gaming could not keep me safe from the gender binary. I felt like a sort of outcast. Especially during the rocky period of my parents’ divorce, the spiraling of my father’s mental health, and his fall towards extremist religious beliefs, I felt lost. I needed to conform to my gender assigned at birth in order to have any approval from my community, and this message was sent both implicity and explicitly. I also tried to find more masculine hobbies that may “pass” under my family’s radar. For a while, exercise was a good way to spend the time that felt like forever waiting for the lawyer to get us the apartment so that my mother and I no longer had to deal with my father’s cruel words and behavior. It was a distraction and way to numb myself from the feelings I could not comprehend at the time; what I would never fathom is how what was initially a coping mechanism would quickly become a weapon against me.

Eventually, things got out of control for me. My father would make a lot of comments about my body, about the clothes I wore, about my food choices. He would unload his biases on sexuality, particularly his hatred of LGBTQ+ people, on me. I would often wait for him to leave the house, which could take hours, to go about my everyday routine. I recall a day where he was verbally abusive to me and my sister, and it was winter vacation. We ended up locking ourselves in a room until he left for work at one; I had not had anything to eat until after he left, since I knew he would judge whatever food choice I would make.

I went through a lot, and due to the culture I was raised in, I refused to ask for help. In both cultures I was raised in, my body type was one that was valued, praised, and even coveted; I didn’t “look sick”. I didn’t look like I needed help. To outsiders, we were a “perfect” family… However, we only looked good on paper; the reality was there was a lot going on. My father, a religious fanatic, was having his mental health spiral out of control. He lost a long-time job for discriminating against a gay man, and the worse part was the silence my family had on the matter, as I only truly found out about the truth about my father’s termination as an adult. My mother, who also suffered with this difficult situation, filed for a divorce, but we still had to endure a lot of abuse from my father. We were only able to move out of my father’s house six months after starting the divorce process, and even so, the culture of not talking about my father’s abusive behavior was both harmful and hurtful to me; the concept of maintaining a relationship with my father, despite his abusive behavior, did not help, either.
I felt so afraid. Despite my ED’s deadly effects on my body, it did grant me an androgynous look. I did not look feminine at all and having to “go back” to be read as a woman felt like a horrible tradeoff. However, I did not have the language to express that at the time. I did not know how to express how I felt about the incongruence I felt, especially considering how hated and taboo it was in the culture I was raised in. I also felt “turned off” by the coping mechanisms that could be healing during my recovery- most namely the video games- after hearing it being associated with so many negative things over the years.

I did not trust my medical team at the time because it was always my family calling the shots; the medical team would talk at me, but never with me. They were more concerned about what my parents wanted than what I needed, which made it difficult for me to talk about my concerns, and for them to have potentially step in to provide help to my mother and me.

The medical team only showed concern for me when I was deep in the trench, and, honestly, it felt like they merely threw me and my mother to the wolves than providing us with true assistance. They simply gave us referrals to ED clinics and sent us off to figure it out on our own. I, especially, felt betrayed, both then and now, for different reasons. Back then, I hated that they were calling the shots, I thought there was nothing “wrong”, but now, not only do I realize that I could not recognize the severity of my condition due to how entrenched the ED is, but I also could have used help much earlier, with nothing to show for it. It was especially unfair for my mother to navigate such a difficult area of healthcare all on her own, while also having to navigate her own beliefs as it applied to my recovery.

What I did not realize is that the environment I was raised in was far from a positive, uplifting one- as it often claimed it was by the religion I was raised in, and the culture I was raised in. In reality, there was a lot of judgement based on the conflict of who I felt I was vs. who they wanted me to be. Now, I needed to separate what I wanted vs. what the ED wanted.
In order to do so, separating my ED from me was helpful. I named my ED Jader. Much like my father, he is abusive, a “black-or-white” thinker, and, ultimately, wants what gives him the advantage, but frames it as if his desires are what I “want”.

During that time, I realized that, similarly to a video game, Jader was merely a dungeon master of sorts. The real “boss” was Odette, the hyperfeminine embodiment of my gender dysphoria. I did not know about Odette prior to Jader’s appearance, but she was there for a very long time, long before Jader, even. She was the one who would judge me alongside Jader. Although the two bicker and agree-to-disagree quite a lot, they both share their destructiveness in common.

After being able to flag Odette as the main villain of concern, overcoming Jader became easier. Knowing that there were terms to express my feelings about my identity was an enlightening and healing experience for me, and it helped me explain how I felt about my body, and how to provide myself with more euphoric experiences as a person who wanted to live their truth and be their authentic self. By speaking with my recovery coaches, reading LGBTQ+ books, interacting with other LGBTQ+ patients recovering and living through situations like mine, and sharing stories and experiences with other members of the LGBTQ+ community, I learned that many people have been through situations like mine, and that does not make them “less than”. Instead of feeling shame and guilt, I have learned to better understand my recovery as a part of finding myself amid a chaotic environment. There was nothing “wrong” with me owning my truth. It is my truth and my experience that have made me the man I am today. Some days were definitely better than others. As I found tools to help myself, like pronouns, a name change, binders, and affirming clothes, it felt easier to silence both Jader and Odette. The real sucker punch to Odette and Jader was finding out the boon that was top surgery- as long as I was committed to recovery, I could eventually be rid of one of a painful reminder of being in a body that was not mind, and a common taunt used both by Odette, and the binary-obsessed society we live in.

Especially after coming out to my family after treatment, things briefly got very rough. I had never imagined that the day I had my family appointment with my psychologist, all hell would break loose; at that time my mother went from “I will make you go to therapy for your ED” to “I want nothing to do with you getting gender-affirming treatment”. I felt both puzzled and betrayed. The church I was in also seemed to tag along and try to indirectly taunt me, going as far as running a “healthy identity camp” for teens of the church- simply a polished version of a conversion therapy camp. My mother also sought the church’s “healthy sexuality” camp as an attempt to “fix” me. But the reality was that I did not need to be “fixed”. I was wonderful just the way I was. After interacting with so many awesome people in the LGBTQ+ community, both online and in person, I realized my transness allowed me to be more empathetic to myself and others. Much like having a secret garden within myself that was forbidden from being accessed for the longest time, my sexuality, with all of its kinks, quirks, and queerness, was a gift for myself, and a gift to people who I determined were worthy of finding out about this special piece of myself. It was nothing to be ashamed or afraid of, and to hide it would be a disservice to myself.

I wanted to better understand my “new” self, which had really been there all along, waiting for me to take ownership of it. I slowly traded the shame and misunderstanding I had about my identity for understanding, appreciation, and, of course, pride! I looked for sex-positive and LGBTQ-positive spaces and more information on how to best defend myself after being abused by my father and experiencing threats at home based upon my gender identity. I was able to learn that there are no binaries. To have to force oneself into a binary ignores all the hues that exist in the world. We are more than black or white. I learned about consent, something nobody taught me growing up. I can create boundaries for my safety. I remember being forced to express physical affection to my father in order to “do so with my future husband”; as an inexperienced young person, I did not realize how damaging that was to me. It sent me the message that, yet again, my body is not indeed mine. Learning about consent allowed me to bring in people in my life who are constructive to my existence, my recovery, and my goals, and steer away people who may be detrimental to my life.

I eventually came to learn through my exploration of my sexuality, as well as reintroduction to hobbies with new goals and a new mindset, that my body is not an ornament or object, but rather a tool. I can choose what I want to do with it, what I want to allow it to feel and experience. If I found that something was not meant for me, I could step back, revisit it at a later time, or choose not to engage with something that is harming me at all. Finding joy and pleasure in things that interest me and make me feel comfortable or engaged is also nothing to be ashamed of, it is normal to enjoy things that I was told were “bad” growing up because what matters is whether something fits my ideals and beliefs, and not those that were dictated to me.

Of course, this process did not happen overnight. I have had rough patches, and “Odette days”. The pandemic lockdowns were yet another moment I felt like I hit an all-time low, spending a lot of time surrounded by a family that did not understand what I needed, and having no way to temporarily escape without my family having an objection against me seeking connection with other LGBTQ+ people and allies. Jader also tried to come back briefly, even if it were for a last time. I eventually found that although I could not do most of the activities I would before the pandemic, I could find new coping skills- yet again. I could volunteer and make more connections while contributing to causes I believe in. I could find awesome LGBTQ+ speakers, like Jamie Raines and Jessie Earl, to distract myself when Odette and Jader were the loudest. I could also call lifelines like The Trevor Project for help when I needed it most, despite my family’s objections. I learned to stand up for myself and advocate for my needs during the darkest times of my life.

The people in my life felt angry that I was “breaking” all their “rules”. But what they did not realize is that nobody needs to live under anybody’s restrictive “rules”. I am free to be whoever I want, to do what I want, to find what makes me feel happy and fulfilled. I can find meaning and communion amongst people who can love me for who I am, and not for what they want me to be. I can live up to my own values and principles, separate from those values and principles that are either detrimental to me, or in conflict with my beliefs. I can be completely different from the environment I was raised in, and from the roles I was assigned- and that is OK! The circumstances of your birth do not define you.

I had to find new circles to be around after leaving toxic circles that did not want anything to do with me only because I was trans. Alongside volunteering at a pantry, I found an LGBTQ+ center, and I eventually was able to form values of my own, separate from that of my family of origin, the church, and the culture I was raised in. I found out the value of community, helping others, learning how to listen, and fighting for the visibility and equality of others. I was able to let go of toxic belief systems imposed by the places I was raised in, including those associated with my ED, for beliefs that were constructive and that were based on what I wanted and what I believed in.

Quite honestly, the process of forging my own path was able to even inspire my mother. After the battles we have been together with the ED, we had drifted apart due to our conflicting beliefs, and me having to find ways to continue in recovery and finding my sense of self. I do acknowledge this was a lot to process for my mother, and this triggered a lot of different feelings that she has had to navigate over the past five years. I can understand that her anger at me was often out of fear of how others may react to her having a trans son who has recovered from an ED, especially in a world that often shows a reluctance to comprehend what it is to have a family like ours. We make mistakes, but we have learned with them over time; after dropping out of college during the pandemic due to a fear of family disapproval of my goals for the future, I eventually mustered the courage and motivation to go back. I graduated with my associate in Summer 2022, and I am predicted to graduate with a bachelor’s in health education this coming spring.

My mother has also chosen to follow in my footsteps, and has begun the process to obtain an associate degree. I have often provided her assistance, especially because English is not her native language! Surprisingly, she has recently taken a course in gender and sexuality, which has provided connection for the both of us, and opportunities for us both to think critically about our beliefs regarding gender. It often has felt like a three-legged race over the years, since we both have relied on each other so much. While we have both made mistakes over the years, we do show willingness to become better people, and to challenge ourselves every day, and having someone like my mother show willingness to better understand her son really means the world to me, even if it took a while for her to get there. According to the Family Acceptance Project, LGBTQ+ folks who have accepting family have higher self-esteem, better overall health, and more social support that LGBTQ+ folks who come from unaccepting families, which really drives the following point home: LGBTQ+ acceptance matters, and it is a way to prevent poor mental health, including EDs.

I am hoping to finally have issues off my chest this winter! I know the recovery from top surgery will suck, but I know I will have support from the ones who genuinely care about me, and who know how important this is to me. I am glad to have access to this important procedure, while many states unfortunately try to restrict procedures like mine, which can literally be lifesaving! Trans people are valid, and their ED recovery stories are a part of their journeys towards self-acceptance and self-love; unfortunately, according to The Trevor Project, 93% of transmasculine people feel dissatisfied with their bodies, and 33% of trans* men, and 35% of gender-expansive people assigned female at birth will battle an eating disorder at some point in their lives. ED care can be a part of gender-affirming care; banning gender-affirming care can jeopardize the safety of trans* patients seeking recovery from their ED. It is because of the promise and existence of top surgery that I am here today. My body has gotten me this far. I do not need to feel ashamed, or to worry about being judged, for wanting to upgrade it from an emergency shelter to a home. It may just be a body, but I can choose to decorate and renovate it as I deem fit, and that to me, is a form of self-love, and a way to push back against the belief systems that attempted to keep me captive for so long. I deserve to thrive. I can find out what I want. I can create new meaning in my life after leaving what is harming me. It is never too late to rediscover your true self. It is far from a walk in the park, but it is worth it in the end.