Dysphoria Lockdown Blues
By: Janelle Annemarie Heideman
Tags: Transgender, LGBTQ, LGBT, Gender Dysphoria, Wellbeing

Dysphoria Lockdown Blues

Photo by Yuris Alhumaydy on Unsplash

I’m coming to realize that gender dysphoria is never completely banished. It can be managed, but never is it gone for good. It’s kind of like any other chronic condition I have — diabetes, depression. I can’t be caught napping or it will sneak up on me.

That has been especially true for me since we have had to stay home, social distance, etc. due to the Covid-19 pandemic.

First, for those of you who don’t know what it is, gender dysphoria is the pain and discomfort felt when one’s outward gender (generally the gender assigned at birth) does not match our actual gender identity. For transgender people like me, the prescribed treatment is transition — bringing the outward appearance in line with the inner identity.

I started transition over 9 years ago. For the most part, I don’t even think about or question my gender any more. But since the lockdown, I have been battling dysphoria much more than I expected I would when everything first hit the fan back in March.

When I’ve shared this with friends and members of my transgender support group, I have struggled to articulate what exactly is going on. So this story is my attempt to figure it out.

It’s Like Mirrors Everywhere.

I’ll start with what seems most obvious. I’ve never liked looking at pictures of myself. Pre-transition, I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what I didn’t like, I just didn’t like how I looked. Post-transition, I know what makes me uncomfortable: the features I see that still scream male. The wide (ish) jaw line. The high forehead. The widow’s peak leaving bare spots where most women have hair. Occasionally, although I had laser and some electrolysis years ago, I also see facial hair. Although all of my hair — on my body, on my head — is trending toward the grey, I still see dark hairs on my chin, above my lip, and on my neck. Those are the ones that make me want to scream and, well, pull my hair out. Yep, that would be counter-productive, unless I can pull out the hair on my chin instead the top of my head. Not likely.

So, seeing myself on camera, in the mirror, etc. is not always good for my dysphoria. As most people do, I see something completely different in those images than others see when they look at me. I am my own worst critic and bound to notice what no one else would. And beat myself up for it, of course.

Given this issue, it’s not a surprise that the current situation has had an effect on me. There is no way for me to get through my work day without having to communicate through online meetings. My workplace uses Webex, but I also have to use Zoom frequently. Both default to showing my face right there on the screen. I know I can turn off the camera sometimes, and often do, but sometimes I have to have it on.

I know I can also set it so that I don’t see myself on camera but others still see it. And that also brings up a morbid trait of mine. Show of hands: how many of us can’t help but pick at a pimple or sore once they’ve noticed it? Yeah, my hand is raised. Similarly, I can’t help but look at myself on camera. I start out seeing things I like, and generally thinking I look pretty good.

By the end of the conversation, though, I notice the things that bother me — the bald spots, the thick neck, and — since the lock down — the puffiness in my face that comes with the extra pounds from staying inside and eating too much junk food. I should probably just get in the habit of turning off the picture on my end, but there is that morbid obsession.

Sit. Eat. Repeat.

So the video conferences definitely are a large factor in my dysphoria. But there’s more, and it just feeds into the issue of seeing myself on camera. Not only does being stuck in the house working mean seeing myself on screen all the time, it also means being stuck in the house. Not going anywhere. Not getting exercise, with a side order of mindless eating, thanks to the accompanying depression.

Just the thought of staying in the house, leading a sedentary lifestyle, seems pretty unhealthy anyway. It leads to weight gain and general unhealthiness, which doesn’t help my mood any.

But the weight gain also contributes to my dysphoria, sometimes in unexpected ways. In addition to making me dread what I see in the mirror because of my puffy face, the weight gain has given my body curves in all the wrong places. My belly sticks out at least as far as my breasts. For someone who agonized over them and cheered them on when they were growing in, it is disheartening to see them seem to shrink in comparison to other local body parts. I also have “lovehandles,” and no matter how much I try to pass them off as wider hips, the slimmer hips and butt directly below them are a bit of a tipoff.

This is not a new thing — I’ve been overweight for a while — but before the lockdown I was on my way to walking a few miles a day and eating better. We had just moved and I was walking half an hour each way to and from the train to work every work day. Then suddenly I was working from home. Instead of walking to the train, and walking to my office on a college campus, walking around interacting with colleagues, I was now sitting at my desk in the spare room, staring at the computer screen for 9–10 hours straight. Remember, this was the start of the pandemic; the college I work for, like all schools at the time, were scrambling to help our faculty get online and able to teach their students remotely. My job is directly related to that, so I barely left my desk for days on end.

Why Do These Rooms Keep Getting Smaller?

So, the sedentary nature of the lockdown has not helped things one bit. The idea of being cooped up in the house doesn’t help, either. We have since been able to leave the house, and have even stayed overnight in a hotel a few times, but travel is still quite restricted. Early on, this meant mostly staying indoors.

My wife and I live in a two-bedroom apartment. While it is a lovely place, and we love it, it is still only so big. There are still four walls feeling like they are closing in most days. This claustrophobic situation doesn’t directly relate to dysphoria, but it isn’t healthy, and anything that makes me feel worse just gives the dysphoria room to breathe.

So, too with the sense of isolation that comes with being locked inside the house. Yes, there is Zoom, and I have spoken frequently with friends and family through Zoom, but it is not the same. It is different from when I can actually stand in front of someone and see them. Yes, it’s good to see people on Zoom that I would normally only see once a year, such as my family who live half the country away from me, but it still is not the same and that sense of isolation can weigh on me. Then it’s just another thing contributing to my general poor sense of well-being and giving dysphoria room to slip in and zing me.

Welcome, my “Old Friends.”

And speaking of isolation, guess what happens when someone who is prone to depression spends an unprecedented amount of time alone, indoors, with limited sunlight? You guessed it — depression. And when one of the side effects of my depression is mindless eating, we find ourselves coming full circle. Isolation leads to lack of activity leads to over eating leads to curves in all the wrong places, leads to not wanting to see myself on Zoom ever again (but morbidly watching anyway).

That brings me to self-esteem. All of these conditions have been hell for my self-esteem. It’s hard to keep a positive self-image when the images on screen seem contrary to what I want to see. I say seem — the objective reality of how I look is probably different, but that’s also a self-esteem issue. The other problem with self-esteem is that all the issues I’ve mentioned play into it somehow. If I feel sad and isolated, lethargic, then it’s hard to feel good about myself as well. The most insidious thing, though, is that low self-esteem and dysphoria tend to feed off one another, the lower my self-esteem gets the more pronounced my dysphoria.

What am I Doing About It? Fighting, That’s What.

So what’s the solution? What am doing about this unwelcome spike in dysphoria? The first order of business has been to be more active and to get out more. I try to walk every morning. It’s not as far as I walked when I was travelling 1.5 miles to and from the train station every day, but it’s a start. I am also trying to eat right. I don’t always hit that target, either, but I have been eating more green, leafy vegetables and fewer French fries.

Besides the walks, I try to get out of the house more, as well. My wife and I usually do the grocery shopping together, masked and social distancing, of course. We also try to get out to local parks. The woods, the edge of a lake, or the mouth of the Providence River are environments much more conducive to feeling good — about myself, about the world around me. And I will take all the help I can get.

If I can get myself to venture out during the day a bit more (and find the time and money), I plan to try a few other ideas. It’s been months since my hair was cut. It’s been almost as long since my nails have been done. I know a good haircut (maybe some hair color), and a cute manicure will go a long way toward making me happy about what I see on the screen when I am in a Webex or Zoom meeting. Who knows, I might even put on makeup. Well, that might be going too far, but it’s a thought.

So I have strategies and am fighting as best I can. I know I will make it through this thing in one piece. But it’s still a struggle.

A struggle that shows no sign of ending anytime soon.