More about the pressure to be “the right kind of trans.”
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You don’t wake up thinking: Today I’ll be especially trans! But at some point during the day you’re signaled that you are either not trans enough or too much. Maybe during a therapy session: “Are you sure this isn’t just a phase? You don’t really seem like it.” Or during an appointment at a government office, when the woman behind the counter looks you up and down before asking: “Do you have a court order?” Or on social media, where you read that “real trans people” should notice this or that, ideally at age four. And that transitioning is only “justified” when the dysphoria is extreme. Or not at all.
You learn: You are never just trans. You are always benchmarked. Against a stereotype. Against others. Against a standard no one can define, yet everyone somehow expects. You are a walking contradiction. If you change “too much” — surgeries, hormones, your name and pronouns — you hear: “Why can’t you just accept yourself?” If you don’t change enough, they say: “Are you really trans, or just exploring?” If you’re masculine, you’re “too radical.” If you’re feminine, you’re “not passing.” If you’re in between, you’re “confusing.” If you say nothing, you’re a “coward.” If you say too much, you’re “seeking attention.”
So you start checking yourself. Daily. In the mirror. In your thoughts. Am I trans enough? Does this look right? Have I suffered enough? Is my dysphoria sufficient? Am I authentic without justifying myself, but also not too loud? In your head, you start drafting your trans certificate:
I already felt different as a child
My body seems alien to me
It’s been a long and painful journey
I’ve thought about this a lot
A lot. Too much. And at some point you realize: you’re no longer yourself. You are an application. A dossier. A piece of evidence. The pain? It’s not just that people on the outside don’t believe you. It’s that you start doubting yourself. Because this constant defensive posture wears you down. Because eventually you no longer know whether you’re saying what you feel or what people want to hear from you.
And even in so‑called safe spaces, it just won’t stop. In queer spaces. In forums. In conversations. Gatekeeping exists everywhere, just more subtle and sometimes disguised as concern.
“You are nonbinary? You need to show that!”
“You are trans but don’t want hormones? That’s just internalized transphobia.”
“You are trans masc but like your breasts? Ew.”
And you want to scream: Let me just exist! But instead, you explain yourself. Again. And again. And eventually, explaining becomes a second skin. Transparent. But so tight you can barely breathe.
What no one sees: how quiet the fight actually is. How often you stay silent, even though you have so much to say. How much energy it takes just to show up. How deeply you long for a moment in which no one asks, “Are you sure?”
And maybe, just maybe, you begin to rewrite that sentence for yourself. It no longer reads Am I trans enough but Am I enough to myself? And the answer isn’t loud. It’s not heroic. Not final. But it’s there. Soft. Tender. Yes. You are.
Excerpt from “The Signature Trans Experience.” © 2026 by Jessica Krämer and Liz Anders. All rights reserved.