I have never thought that the primary influencer of my experiences is that I am trans. I know many other people who are trans who have approached the world in very different ways. In fact, I know of no other person who has experienced trans in the way that I have.
For a while I explored ADD as an issue. While I was moved by the recreations of the battles between kids and parents over the demand to fit in, and while I knew myself as a more mercurial than earthbound, it never seemed to be me. I do know that a few years later they would have drugged me down in school.
After glimpsing a TV interview, I found another category of books about Highly Sensitive, Spirited or Introverted children that resonates a bit. The problem is, of course, that finding books about children doesn’t help an adult who grew up going though the gauntlet of attempts at behavioral change that ignored their essence, spirit, or maybe even the biology of their brain.
By the time we get to middle age we are such a mish-mosh of experiences and essences that it’s impossible to trace any thread down and say “I am that!” no matter how comforting that fixed diagnosis/definition may sound to a society that believes purity is truth and ambiguity is lies.
But I have a map of my own scars, the ones that make things that are simple to others heavy lifing to me. And the messages in these books seem to have patterns I recognize.
Too bad, too late.