Looking in the Mirror

An elephant named Happy stands in front of a mirror.

She is part of the small group of animals that can pass a peculiar test. Researchers place a small mark on the forehead somewhere she cannot normally see. They wait for the results.

She investigates the reflection. She moves. The reflection moves. But eventually she notices the small mark on the reflection. She reaches toward her own face. Not the elephant in the mirror. She touches HER face.

Scientists call this the Mirror Self-Recognition Test.

I cannot stop thinking about it.

I am interested in the moment an animal or person realizes that is me.

Not a stranger, not another.

It's me.

How long does it take to recognize yourself as yourself? How much time do you have to spend looking in the mirror?

I am not sure how much time an average person spends looking at themselves in the mirror. I don't know what other people think as they look at themselves. I only became curious when I found that I gazed on my reflection unusually. I have copied the motions of others, those visible. But when I compare my inner-workings to others, I have found I am unusual.

As a younger person, I remember not liking to look at myself in the mirror.

Maybe a few seconds.

Only in the morning.

As I wet my hair.

As I put gel in it.

Comb it to the side.

Comb it back for a period.

Shake it into spikes.

I don't remember looking at my face with any particular goal.

It's there.

It's a face.

As a teenager, I remember going to the Esplanade with my cousin and her girlfriends who adopted me into their friend group without a single hint of pity.

Following their lead allowed me to look around the girl departments. Their company allowed me to pick out the perfect outfit for me and recommend it to them. I remember them trying on clothes in front of mirrors. They would stand and gaze with intense focus and care. They would jump pulling up their pants, sucking in their tummies before pushing out full round bellies. They would pat their stomach like they had eaten a delicious dinner, filled up on gender affirming cuisine.

They were evaluating fine details, femininity emerging, and becoming something real. They were trying on and feeling the outfits in their body. Or maybe probably gender.

Gender in their body.

I watched all of this with fascination.

I knew something important was happening.

I just did not know what.

This all begins to make more sense if I explain to you what I thought being a guy was, and how it wasn't about feeling your body.

I thought gender was a letter.

One of two.

M or F.

That's all.

It didn't mean anything.

It only gave you information about which department and stores you could buy clothes in and what kinds of haircuts you could get.

I was told I was an M.

But growing up with two brothers, I also knew that I was certainly not an M like either of them were M.

I was teased for being an odd M, different than others who were M.

I felt everyone wanted me to feel bad that I did being M wrong. I sensed I needed to change and figure out being M better.

I was weird.

I knew it.

But nobody thought to ask me if maybe that meant something.

Everyone seemed set on telling me I was different. But nobody ever sat down with me to investigate if it was true, and not just goofy mistakes I made.

Looking back I see it clearly now.

But it would take lifetimes for that young person to figure it out.

Years later, a dear trans masculine friend told me he felt gender in his body. He explained where in his body. He explained where the gender was part of his movement. He said it like a fact we all had known all along, but I was confused.

"You feel it?"

"Yes. I do."

"Wait. You feel it in your body?"

"Yes."

"You mean, like you know it? In your head?"

"No. I feel it in my body. It has nothing to do with knowing."

I remember being stunned. I did not know you were supposed to feel gender. I thought gender was a letter. A category. I thought everyone was doing what I was doing. Following instructions. Trying their best. Being whatever they had been told they were.

But my friend was describing something entirely different.

He wasn't talking about gender as information. He was talking about gender as sensation.

As something living inside him.

As something real.

The conversation followed me around. What did he mean he felt it? Where was I supposed to feel it? How would I know if I found it?

Early in my transition, I committed to looking at myself in the mirror. At first it went exactly as you might expect. My ADHD wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. My attention ran toward easier things. More interesting things.

Anything but me.

Looking at myself felt uncomfortable, boring, and strangely threatening.

Keep moving. There was nothing to see here.

So I started setting a timer.

One minute.

My mind fought me. It wandered. Complained. Escaped.

One minute.

Then another.

Then another.

Eventually I stayed long enough to really look. I noticed the heaviness of my face. The sharp angles. Brow bones protruding.

The beard shadow beneath my skin. I could see it blue and green. The sharp black slivers cutting through my skin.

It gave me chills.

Yuck.

I looked and looked and looked. Something felt wrong, uneasy. Not because I finally saw myself. Because I couldn't. I was paying attention for the first time in my life, and the person in the mirror still did not feel congruent with the person inside my body.

I had finally stopped looking away.

The mystery remained.

An elephant named Happy reaches toward the small mark on her own face because she understands the reflection belongs to her. She sees the mark in the mirror and knows where to find it. Not the elephant in the reflection. Her own face.

Looking back, I wonder if I spent years standing in front of mirrors without knowing where to reach. I could see my face. I could describe it. I could tell you what was there. But recognition feels different than observation. Happy reached for her own face. I wonder when I started reaching for mine. I wonder when I started being real. I wonder if becoming yourself is less about finding answers and more about finally knowing how to feel.

Knowing where to look.