When I was a little girl I tried very hard to fit in, to be like other girls in every way I could. But yet it was somehow obvious that I wasn’t. I don’t think I can say what it was, but in a way I was different.

I grew older, my body began to change and in school we learned about the first period and the reproductive system. I think I began to develop about the same time as most girls, but when others had their first period I didn’t have any. Of course that worried me a little, what if I wasn’t normal? But on the other hand, every book said it was normal to have your first period later on.

Some years later, new questions arose. What does it mean to be a woman? How come I am not interested in boys? Perhaps I am interested in girls, but how could I be - I am not a homosexual! Or am I? I fell in love with a girl at school. Not that she ever noticed me, but I began to find words for what I felt. I was a lesbian, and maybe that didn’t have to be such a dreadful thing to be after all.

Sixteen years old, a new school and new classmates. The school nurse finds it a bit strange that I don’t menstruate. “Maybe you should eat more food to gain some weight”, she suggests. She thinks I should wait a year or so, and then if I still don’t have a period I should see a physician.

The year passes, and I go to see a gynecologist. Lots of tests are performed. I don’t even know what’s the need for a chromosome test, but I don’t ask either. Finally the results are sent back and I’m forced to grasp all this information about myself, more than I can handle. “You have no womb, no vagina, won’t ever have children, but the good news is that you have female chromosomes and you have ovaries. “

Then I was left on my own trying to sort all of this out for myself. Why was it a good thing I had ovaries, and what about the chromosomes, did that mean I could have had male chromosomes? I felt like I had lost everything else of my identity as a woman, so why did it matter that I could have been even more abnormal?

I try to find out what to do with the pieces left of my shattered identity. My newfound identity as a lesbian vanishes, after all how can I be a lesbian if I don’t even know if I am a woman. The problem seems overwhelming; if I’m not a woman, what am I?

Trying to sort out all those questions, I am forced to find answers to questions of a completely different spectrum. Do I want a surgery or not? That I want to is more or less presumed. The doctor confidently assures me that after surgery I will be “sexually functional”.

Sexually functional … In my mind I try to sort out what that is supposed to mean. Am I not sexually functional the way I am? And what exactly does he mean with that phrase, heterosexual intercourse? Well, if that’s what’s meant, I’m not interested!

So I decided not to have surgery. But yet, I had the feeling I was terribly wrong. Would I ever find someone who would love me despite the way my body looked, and what if I would be rejected because of it?

I still feel that way sometimes, but I do have a little more confidence nowadays. Eventually I will meet someone who will accept me for who I am. If I meet someone who can’t accept me, well then it’s not much I can do anyway, except to move on.

When it comes to identity, I guess one could say that most of the time I feel like a woman but sometimes not. I’m perceived as a woman by my surroundings, and I can’t label myself as something else. But on the other hand, I do feel different from other women in some ways. Maybe it’s just because I’ve had to question my femininity that I can’t see gender as something black and white. But that is not really a problem. All I want is to be myself, and if that self is labeled female or something else does not really matter at all.