For a long time I would've said that I didn't have dysphoria. I knew I wanted to transition. I knew that I wanted cross-hormones. But the anatomy I had didn't particularly distress me. I wasn't horrified by what I had, I was just frustrated by what I lacked. So, to me, this wasn't dysphoria. But, just as not every trans person fits neatly into the "standard trans narrative", not everyone with dysphoria experiences it in the same way.
For a description of dysphoria that more closely mirrors my own experience and resonates very strongly with me, I recommend checking out Sam Dylan Finch's blog. For me, it was less about feeling that I was "ugly" and more about not recognizing myself and not being able to figure out how to inhabit my own body. I could look at myself in the mirror and see that the reflection looking back at me wasn't ugly (and honestly, often quite aesthetically pleasing). I could see a face and an appearance that was perfectly lovely... it just wasn't me.
I've always hated having my photo taken. I would tell people that the reason was that I wasn't very photogenic. I didn't have any other words to describe it. The older I got, the less comfortable I felt with the idea of my image or voice being recorded. I rarely looked in the mirror. I never felt ugly, but I never saw myself either. So it was easier to just pilot my body and try to go about my business without thinking about how it looked. As long as I could stay away from mirrors and phographs and tape recorders, as long as I didn't think about it, I could try to ignore the fact that inhabiting my body felt like being a guest in someone else's home. It was a lovely home -- comfy beds and pretty walpaper and all that -- so it's not like it was a miserable place to live, but it wasn't mine.
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