I hold all my tension in my shoulders. I’ve had a desk job for years which means a lot of slouching in front of a computer. I used to hunch a little, push my shoulders inward slightly so that my fleshy chest wasn’t as noticeable. Don’t forget there was the binder as well. The tension, the hunching, the inability to take a full breath, the sweat and subsequent rashes and acne from the damp fabric, the load your lower back carries  — came together in a very painful experience.

I got used to it. I worked out my upper body while wearing it even though I read plenty of articles that said I shouldn’t because I was obsessed with having substantial enough muscle for good top surgery results. I refused to let significant others and most friends see my chest or even my back. I was ashamed, embarrassed, and dealing with crippling chest dysphoria on the daily.

I didn’t stand tall, proud, chest forward.

Luckily (for any strangers who don’t know), I was fortunately able to undergo top surgery more than a year ago and have fully recovered. I don’t have to deal with binders anymore, I don’t slouch as much anymore, and because I’m no longer dealing with chest dysphoria, I can stand tall, proud, chest forward.

Not every trans person deals with chest dysphoria (or dysphoria in general) and not every trans person wants to undergo surgery. But there’s also trans people throughout the world who are 1) dealing with suicidal thoughts and ideation because of their chest dysphoria but 2) can’t afford top surgery mostly because of the United States healthcare system. Top surgery, and most if not all, trans surgeries are not deemed medically necessary and therefore, often aren’t covered by insurance.

Can you imagine what that feels like? Just take a moment and consider what it would feel like to feel so removed from your body that you avert your eyes when you glimpse your naked chest in the mirror. You feel so detached from your chest, you struggle into a piece of fabric that flattens it so well, you can’t breathe when you go for a jog. You abhor your chest so much you have to rely on a binder for any semblance of rightness, and yet you also cried when you couldn’t get it off a few times because of how wet it was from sweat; you couldn’t escape it. And when you can’t wear a binder? You would rather die.

One time, I went to an anime convention with some friends. I cosplayed as a punk version of Bucky Barnes because I’m lazy. We’d met up pretty early in the day and stayed longer than I had originally planned. It’s suggested that you wear a binder for up to 8 hours per day, no more, or face possible permenant damage to your back. I remember standing in a friend’s hotel room thinking about this, remembering the exact webpage I had read this information months before.

My friends told me, “It’s fine, just keep it on! We won’t be here much longer.”

They were right, it was late in the afternoon, almost night. I waffled on the issue for a while as we stood around, waiting for other friends to join us. Eventually, I vocally fretted about the issue so much, I decided to take it off. I was wearing a hoodie. Maybe no one would notice. Those thoughts were buried under a fast-moving avalanche knocked loose by a much greater thought screaming: Everyone will notice.

When I first ordered my binder, I was elated; a happiness so great I don’t know if I could really articulate it. The magic wasn’t putting it on and seeing my binder-covered chest in the mirror. It was buttoning a dark blue denim shirt over it and not feeling any pull when I moved my arms. It was fumbling with the buttons to get that shirt off and try a t-shirt. It was going to Tom’s Daiquiri that night and walking up to the chest height bar and not feeling the heaviness of my chest on the bar-top.

Suspenders were still a problem. The binder that really flattened my chest enough was a skin color, full binder which means that it also flattened the fat around my hips so I wouldn’t look so curvy. The effect was preferable for me but when I looked at myself in pictures, I still looked too feminine, my chest still slightly rounded and clearly not due to muscles.

I just want people to understand that even though I had a binder and even though it provided me some happiness, it wasn’t enough for me. I couldn’t feel connected to my body until I underwent top surgery. I’m grateful every day for the support of my friends that helped me reach the full price of surgery since my insurance couldn’t cover it. If they hadn’t donated to my GoFundMe, I honestly might not be here. It’s thanks to them I can comfortably wear suspenders, button-downs, t-shirts, no swim top. It’s thanks to them I can now stand tall.