Underneath my cover, I walk a straight line, returning salutes as I pass. A sergeant salutes and says, “Good morning, Sir.”

A warm glow flushes my cheeks, and I reply, “Good morning!” Closer to work a familiar face draws near and salutes; “Good morning, Ma’am.” A heavy feeling of discontent weighs on me, and I return the salute with the grudging reply, “Good morning.”

I am a transgender military officer. Outside of work, I live my life as a man. Once on post, I am female. My short hair and manly features present an androgynous and confusing appearance.

I grew up in Arkansas, and knew that many outsiders perceived women there as “barefoot and pregnant” rednecks. That stereotype drove me to move out of the state and join the Army. I wanted to be on an equal footing with men. I found new confidence along the way as my drive to exceed expectations helped me rise through the ranks. Yet, I always had the feeling of being a second class soldier because of my gender.

Males have confidence ingrained in them at an early age. Men are encouraged to stand up for themselves and speak their mind. When they don’t, they are often labeled effeminate or called derogatory terms such as faggot or princess. The “stereotypical male” role is enforced by men as well as women. A woman speaking to a man that seems effeminate will treat him differently.

I elicited slurs such as “tomboy” or “lesbian” because I was seen as a strong female. Although I wore these labels proudly, I never felt as if I measured up to the boys in my class. As a female, I was encouraged by my parents to play sports and follow my interests in math and science. They were very supportive and allowed me to pursue what I wanted. Society, on the other hand, looked down on my pursuit of more stereotypically male interests. After all, women are expected to want to marry and have children.

I always knew that I was not just a strong woman. I have known from an early age that one day I would grow up and be a man. It wasn’t until the past few years that I came to realize that I could do something about it.

Patriarchal dominance in society keeps women from reaching their highest potential. In the military, denying women roles in combat ensured men always held the positions of highest authority. Women were enshrined as something less, trapped beneath a glass ceiling. This is changing now with Secretary Panetta’s historical lifting of the ban of women in combat. However, the mindset of some will never change. Mitigating generations of dogma about women will take time and effort. Bringing young women up to see unlimited role models and opportunities will be a big part of ushering in the next generation of leading women.

As a trans man, I recognize the male privilege that surfaces when I am recognized as male. I am seen as knowledgeable about the mechanics of my truck even if I have no clue what is causing my starter to not turn over. I can buy a new car without having someone try to pull the wool over my eyes. I can call the plumber, and he speaks with me as an equal. Rebecca Solnit observed this too, and wrote:

“Men explain things to me, and to other women, whether or not they know what they’re talking about…every woman knows what I mean. It’s the presumption that makes it hard, at times, for any woman in any field; that keeps women from speaking up and from being heard when they dare; that crushes young women into silence by indicating, the way harassment on the street does, that this is not their world. It trains us in self-doubt and self-limitation just as it exercises men’s unsupported overconfidence.”

Internalized privilege generates the confidence that I exude when returning a salute after being called “sir.”  I have no preconceived lack of ability.  I can be called upon to run an operation without my superiors thinking I need help.  Sometimes, I think all of this may be just in my head. But then, I’ve seen this first-hand far too many times when male officers were chosen over me even though I was more qualified.

I did not transition to gain male privilege. Some lesbians, however, perceive me as a traitor.  Inheriting male privilege is a by-product of transitioning from female to male. Hopefully, one day the world will rid itself of the patriarchal mindset.  Women are different than men, but everyone should have the same opportunity to excel.  Misogyny has no place in our military, and I am gratified leadership is moving to affirm this.

In that moment where I am called “sir”, though, I feel like I can take on the world.

Losing My Past

 Explaining the past is difficult for anyone who is transgender. Stories of playing softball for your alma mater become blended with your brother’s experiences playing baseball so you don’t “out” yourself as transgender.  Explaining how you busted your knee in high school football becomes a story about playing a powderpuff pick-up game with friends.

Sports are largely separated by gender.  The same is true for the military.  This will slowly change with women being allowed to serve in combat roles. Today, however, if you went to Marine Corps boot camp in San Diego it labels you as male since no women are sent there for training.  You cannot talk about boot camp without exposing who you were – your gender assigned at birth – just as discussing your time on submarines or serving in the infantry would out you.

There are many transgender people serving in the military today.  We serve in silence.  Some of us go to great lengths to hide who we are while in the service.  Once out of the service, a lot of us go to great lengths to hide our new gender.  After transitioning, we do not want others to know of our past because we want others to accept us for our new gender.  But hiding our background creates a whole new set of fears and anxieties.

By gaining the male characteristics that I had always wanted, I lost my history as a woman.  It is as if I never existed before my transition. I can no longer share some of my most joyous moments that expose me as having once lived my life as a woman. When someone asks where my daughter’s mother is, I cringe and say it is complicated. I want to tell them that it was me that gave birth to them, but I choose to remain silent. In my silence, I feel guilty that I am doing a disservice to other transgender persons by remaining invisible and passing as male.

I do not voice my transgender status in my local community. It is a personal choice, and I have had to come to terms with it. It is not just me I have to think about; it is my family as well. Being transgender is still stigmatized in society. I know we need to change the hearts and minds of Americans, but the price to pay to make change happen is very steep. Since I am new to this town, I want to gain the community’s respect before I come out. Beyond the city limits, though, I want my voice as a trans man to be heard.

At my daughters’ school Valentine’s Day party, red and pink hearts, balloons and streamers dotted the classroom. My Valentine’s Day sweethearts are my twin daughters. I gave birth to them, yet I can no longer share that joyous moment with other mothers. While watching the kids pass out candy and cards, two mothers were talking about their pregnancy experiences. One spoke of how difficult her daughter was to deliver. The other said she had a pretty easy time. My thoughts raced; I wanted to connect with them, but how could I? I wanted to say having twins was amazing. Feeling both of them wrestle around inside me was such a strange sensation. I wanted to say I had a C-section. That they came early because the doctor accidentally induced early labor. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

I am Dad now. And nobody knows that I used to be their mother.

So instead, I said, “We had twins.” That was all I said and all I could say. From there, one mom said her sister had twins and that she used to breast feed them both at the same time. The other cut in and said she just doesn’t know how those mothers do it, and that she has the utmost respect for women who have twins. I wanted to be a part of that magic.

A trans woman veteran named Paula told me,

Those of us who are no longer serving in uniform have an obligation to tell our histories truthfully if we ever hope to change the regulations for those who are in uniform and can’t tell their truths. The public needs to know our stories and putting faces and real people on the issue of ‘transgender service’ will be vital to winning just as it was in repealing ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.’

However, outing yourself is complicated at best.

A friend of mine, an active duty trans man in the Army, tries to embrace his past in hopes that it will help others that are questioning their gender.

I’m trying to embrace myself and my past – both civilian and military. I tell people why I left [the military] and my story, and it outs me. But I want to come to terms with myself in every point of my life, and am hoping that my story helps other people someday…Overall, though, being honest and open seems to be my best bet. I’ve gotten nothing but respect in return…nothing malicious yet.

Explaining one’s past is a personal choice, but the decision nonetheless causes a great deal of anxiety. I am still conflicted about choosing to lose my history as a woman. Hopefully, I will overcome my fears and embrace my past so others can see the true me.