Changing from female to male, Jamie Machotka is in the beginning stages of transition—a journey IN Los Angeles will follow him on.

by Jamie Machotka

I have always wanted to be a boy.

When playing house, I insisted on playing the father or brother. I was always called a tomboy. And those around me (myself included) thought it was just another phase — something to grow out of. Instead, I wore a tuxedo to my bat mitzvah and shaved the underside of my head.

Growing up in a gated, predominately Jewish community in the Chicago suburbs, my family seemed to ignore the idea that I might not be your average girl.

While in high school, I came out as a lesbian—a butch one at that. I cut off all my hair in favor of a short, spiky crew-cut, and for a while, I felt liberated.

I spent much of my adult life claiming the title of the biggest, baddest, butchest lesbian activist. I became a well-known public speaker on LGBT issues; I even won a scholarship from the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network for my activism. After years of hard work and perseverance, I felt defeated when I faced my gender issues and had to get through yet another “coming out” process—this one turned out to be far more difficult.

Transitioning was not an easy decision: It took me 10 years to admit to myself I was trans. In part, I was scared—there can be such a lack of education and understanding of trans people. The media often represents us as cross-dressers or prostitutes for sexually deviant johns.

The entire process seemed so overwhelming: How would I explain it to my family? How much would it cost? How would I get legal documents changed? Who would I date? Straight women? Lesbians? Do I come out with some kind of disclaimer about my genitalia on a first date? Could I still be a public speaker?

When I graduated from college last spring, I traveled to Europe and then moved to Los Angeles. And I decided it was finally time to face my fears about transitioning. At 25, I had given being a butch lesbian my best shot.

After searching online, I found a therapist who specializes in gender issues—in fact, she transitioned from male to female a few years ago. After the required six months of talk therapy, I started hormone therapy on March 26. The regimen involves injecting myself with testosterone twice a month. Insurance doesn’t cover the testosterone or the cost of needles, and with the weekly therapy sessions, the price tag to transition right now is about $400 a month.

In addition to the financial burden, coming out trans was much harder than coming out as gay. My mom didn’t deal well with me being gay. When I told her I was trans, she couldn’t grasp it. As far as she is concerned, I am a girl. She told me if I took hormones, to lose her number—it has been a month since we’ve spoken.

My sister, however, is capable and willing to accept me as her brother—she continues to call everyday and treat me like I am who I’ve always been: her sibling.

My closest friends are also supportive, but there are those who don’t understand. Some think I’m just confused or uncomfortable being a lesbian. I wish the gay world could see trans the same way they see gay: It’s not a choice.

My girlfriend has been amazing. I met Christine when I was a “butch lesbian,” during my senior year of college, and we started dating as a lesbian couple.

When I told her about my gender issues a couple of months into our relationship, I expected her to dump me immediately. Labels are important: Lesbians identify as lesbians because they like to date women. Christine still identifies as a lesbian, but also knows that she loves me. To her, I won’t be an ordinary man—I’ll be a man who experienced being a woman first.

I’d say my biggest obstacle now isn’t the actual transition, it’s being in between genders: I have stubble on my face, but I have big boobs. I wear men’s clothing and have short hair, but my voice is still high.

The “in betweenness” also impacts me professionally as I’ve been interviewing for corporate jobs. I have to switch between genders. During phone interviews, I’ve been female; during face-to-face interviews, I go as male.

My transition has just begun, and in six months I will pass as a man.

I’m looking forward to a square jaw line, a 5 o’clock shadow and muscles—especially pecs. I won’t miss any of my physical feminine characteristics—I’m anxious to have top surgery to remove my breasts, which could cost up to $4,000. Still, I hope my “feminine” side will stay with me. I want to keep my sensitivity, my ability to show affection and cry. I’m proud of these traits, whatever body I’m in.

I’ve waited a lifetime to transition, and I thought it would be all smiles and excitement. It’s not. I’ve been tested in ways I could not have imagined, but I need to stay true to who I am and see this journey through.

For more on Jamie Machotka’s story, check out his blog at transmandiaries.blogspot.com, and his YouTube videos under “Transman Diaries.”