Freiya Benson

DIFFERENT TIMES, DIFFERENT LIVES

Change has been a theme throughout writer Freiya Benson’s life to date, and she’s still full of questions as to the future.

The first time I transitioned I was in my early 20s. I say transitioned here, but what I really mean is attempted to transition. It didn’t work out at the time, not because I wasn’t trans, but more just because the world was a different place back then – back then being in the early 1990s. I often think about that time, especially now that I'm older. It’s hard not to think about what would have been different if I’d persevered rather than giving up, because it was so hard. I transitioned again, this time for good, in my early 30s, which isn’t old exactly but, still, you can’t help but think, what if I did this earlier?

It’s a funny thing, this ageing. For me it almost feels like I’ve lived two lives, both valid, but also both very different. I try to look at the period before my transition as my time for laying the groundwork, or foundation, for the person I am today. It was hard for sure, and it took a very long time – sometimes it feels like too long – but equally I wouldn’t be who I am today without that time spent. It’s sort of like a bittersweet pill, because now I’m living authentically as who I should have been from the start, but also there’s a deep sadness for the things I’ll never experience, the rites of passage that were missed and the alternate life I didn’t get to have. These things though can haunt us and never let go, so I try not to dwell on them. Loss is one of those complex emotions, so it’s not always easy, but learning to acknowledge and mourn while still making space to live is important. Time keeps on going forward, and we flow with it, keeping on keeping on. I love so much about where and how we are now though. I love all the new words we have to describe ourselves: trans, genderqueer, genderfluid, non-binary, demi. It’s remarkable for me, coming from a time when the only word used regularly was transsexual. Having the language to describe yourself in more detail, to find words that fit, be they older terms or newer ones, is empowering and gives you ownership over who you are. Labels are so often thrust upon us by others, so to choose what you use, if anything, is important in claiming back who we are. There’s been so much change too. I’m well on my way to being 50 now, and it warms my heart to see so many of us out there, all doing our thing. It’s powerful and amazing to know you’re not alone. When I was younger I was convinced I was the only person in the world who was trans. I didn’t know anyone else who had the feelings I had about my gender identity. No one spoke about it – not my friends, my family, my teachers, no one. Not having a frame of reference for who you are is tough as a young person. Feelings of being different to everyone else are pretty universal, but thinking that you’re different and then having it confirmed because there’s no one else like you is a heavy thing to carry, even if it turns out it’s just your perspective at the time.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve discovered I’m not alone, that there are others out there like me, and that in turn has become the spark that helps me to try to live my best life, trying to be as kind as I can, despite the negative things I come up against. It sometimes feels like there are a lot of people out there telling us that we don’t exist, that we’re all delusional or trenders. They base their assumptions about us on their experiences, believing that their privilege as the majority makes what they know the truth. You can’t be real, they say, because we’ve never experienced what you’re saying to be your truth.

“It’s a funny thing, this ageing. For me it almost feels like I’ve lived two lives, both valid, but also both very different”

They struggle to see that identity is personal and unique to each individual, that it’s not something to be homogenised or crushed because it’s different. We’re seen as this new and dangerous thing, to be pushed back against, even though we’ve always been here, right from the beginning, it’s just that we weren’t seen before. Being seen can be powerful, but it can also be exposing, and as a trans person who has lived through this change, from zero visibility to almost overexposure, it sometimes feels so complex to get my head round. As I get older I think about this stuff a lot. Will we become so visible that we become just another aspect of what it means to be human? What will being trans look like in 20 years’ time? More importantly, what will I look like in 20 years' time? I wonder if the melancholia I sometimes feel, about getting older, about being trans, will ever fully integrate with the peace and underlying joy I also feel about these things. Again, I also wonder if this is just me feeling this as well. I think why, despite ticking off all the things on my imaginary trans to-do list, do I still feel sad sometimes? Is this a trans thing, an age thing, or just a life thing?

I’m not sure of the answers to these questions, although I’m hoping really striking white hair features in one of them (think Daenerys Targaryen, but old and trans). What I do know is that it doesn’t really matter what age you are, there will always be questions, some with answers, some without, and all we can really do is keep on being true to ourselves, living our best lives and being as kind as we are able.

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