My experience of my body has radically shifted

As a Queer, non-binary, trans, Modern Orthodox, Mizrachi Jew, my relationship with my body has felt like a long and varied hike.

I’m not a fan of hiking. The lack of amenities? A major concern. And those tiny rocks that sneak into your shoes? A disturbing sensation. The uncertain terrain does wonders for my anxiety and 98% of the time, I find myself swatting mosquitoes and staring at my feet to avoid tripping over.

If you’re nodding along in solidarity, or shaking your head in disagreement, that’s perfectly fine. Just remember, everyone has their own hiking experience, just as everyone has their own body image journey. This one is uniquely mine.

Before I fully understood my Mizrachi heritage or my gender identity, I knew I looked and dressed differently. My hair was thick, dark, and entirely uninterested in conforming to the smooth ballet buns of my classmates. I refused to wear dresses or anything tight-fitting. I gravitated toward pants or my Batman costume, feeling more like myself in them.

Then there was my single eyebrow that set me apart from my fairer Ashkenazi friends. One of my earliest conscious memories involves a kid commenting on the aforementioned eyebrow, which brought up a mix of frustration and self-consciousness over appearing different. Determined to ‘fix it’, I went home and accidentally shaved half of it off, which ultimately led to my first trip to the beautician.

Since socially transitioning, my experience of my body has radically shifted. I’ve gone from presenting as female and internalising many of the expectations that come with that, to presenting more as male. It has been a significant psychological adjustment. Not only has my gender transition been affirming, but I’ve also felt a greater mental ease around my body image.

One core issue has been my changing experience of gaining weight. When I presented as female, my female friends often expressed surprise admiration for my ‘flat’ stomach – whenever I wore anything tighter than an oversized T-shirt. I felt satisfaction with the external approval of my body, and I dreaded gaining weight. Now that I am presenting as more male, I am more comfortable with increasing bulk.

In many ways, this dynamic makes sense. Society often expects women to have ‘flat’ stomachs, and if they go to the gym, it's primarily to 'tone' their bodies. Meanwhile, men are encouraged to ‘bulk up’ and increase their body mass. During my transition, my expectations for my body have evolved significantly. I shifted from thinking, "I need to keep my weight at X kg" to toying with the mindset that "every day is a bulk day because I can convert it into muscle".

It’s crucial to acknowledge that both experiences are laden with immense pressure to conform to societal beauty standards. It doesn’t necessarily change with gender; it just redirects focus.

During a Rosh Hashanah meal with my family, the older folks kept encouraging the younger ones to eat more food. You know, in a lovingly Jewish ethnic way. Out of nowhere, one guest felt compelled to offer just me– not my brother – unsolicited advice: “Speedy, whatever you do, don’t get fat”. Keep in mind, I’m on testosterone, so naturally, I’m gaining a bit of mass.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the comment. A second after it registered, I felt a sad gratitude that it was directed at me and not my 17-year-old sister.

My response surprised me. A few years ago, I might have bit back or initiated a Q&A about the effects of testosterone and offered every intimate detail about my own body transformation. I felt like I needed to educate and defend not just myself, but all those who share or might share my journey in the future – whether it was my wardrobe choices, the life-affirming decision of top surgery (the best decision I've ever made), my haircut or my pronouns.

Recently, I’ve shifted how I navigate certain conversations and spaces. I prioritise protecting my energy by choosing when and where to engage, allowing myself the safety to enjoy the view while walking my own trail.

Perhaps if our Jewish community could continue to talk more openly about topics such as body image and relationships, we could find solace in each other. But I’ve noticed how fear of judgement pushes us to hide the real parts of our lives. Worse, it leads us to shield the honest, authentic lives of our loved ones, all in an effort to avoid whispers of "shame".

I want to thank you, reader, for taking the time to read a pebble’s worth of my story. And if you happen to be someone who receives unsolicited advice over hamin or cholent, consider this your official permission to share a small but important tidbit:

You don’t owe anyone an explanation for your body. Wear what you feel most confident in, whether at your Jewish community job, synagogue, or Shabbat dinner. Let yourself grow your hair or cut it short.

The alternative? To live a lifehiking in the wrong direction with rocks in your shoes and mosquitoes buzzing in your ear.