Reflecting On My Boyish Adolescence

Today, I want to tell you a piece of my story.

The story of a little girl… who, often times, seemed more like a boy.

I Dressed “Like A Boy”

From the time I was old enough to dress myself, up until I hit my sweet 16, I much preferred my brother’s clothes to my own.

I mean, I’d wear a dress on Sunday (I liked to dress up now and again, and besides… it was house rules). And there was that one time I proudly wore my first pair of flared jeans and a new pair of boots to go see The Princess Diaries, and daaaaannnngggg was I killing it. I was convinced every 8 year old boy I walked by was madly in love with me and floored by my beauty.

And yet… those were honestly rare occasions.

There were many, many more days that I ended up in long baggy shorts and a t-shirt.

As a pre-schooler, I loved walking around, flexing my muscles, and proclaiming in my deepest voice, “I’m a man!”

I often wore my brothers hand me downs. For awhile there, if you saw us at a glance, you might have thought we were brothers.

See, I was always a solid chunk of cute, but sometimes the clothes in the girl’s section weren’t super accommodating to that fact. Boy jeans and shorts were a comfier fit, not to mention a more modest option in the seemingly never ending season of booty shorts.

Add to that a haircut gone horribly wrong that took years to grow out… and well, you get the picture.

By my pre-teens/early teens my hair had grown out (I swore I’d never cut it again), and I became a bit more shapely. Still, I somehow felt it was a cute/cool look to continue wearing my brothers clothes. His t-shirts, his jeans, his cargo shorts, and… do you remember that early 2,000’s trend where the guys would wear a sweat band mid way up their forearm just for the heck of it? Yep, I grabbed that one and ran with it.

Now, my mom was never legalistic about femininity but she’d always encourage me to do something, no matter how small, that would outwardly embrace the God given gift of girlhood. So, to balance things out and add a feminine touch, I’d often throw on a pair of those big ole hoop earrings that were so “in” at the time. Classy, right?

All in all, for many of my formative years, my wardrobe landed somewhere between the boys and girls section of any given department store.

I Played “Like A Boy”

And it wasn’t only my clothes that leaned more in the masculine direction. While I enjoyed some common girlhood pass times of a feminine nature like dress up and dolls, I often found myself not quite so interested in many things my friends were. I had very few barbies, I felt awkward trying to sway my hips in the water when they wanted to play mermaids, and I just never could work up that pre-teen love for horses and “The Saddle Club” that nearly every girl seemed to go through.

I tried dance and cheerleading and beauty pageants… but I was never the most graceful of creatures (I’m still not) and I quickly found it wasn’t my forte.

Athletically, my interests and talents seemed to rest on the sports where a ball was involved. I played t-ball, soccer, and basketball. And there was a period of time where I would hear the cheers from the stands: “Look at that boy go!” Not that I could really blame them… I was a solidly built 6 year old with simple features and a pixie-cut gone wrong.

In my early teens I switched my athletic focus from rec sports to being the solo female referee at my local recreational soccer league as well as the only girl to take part in the pick up basketball games with the boys in my neighborhood. And, truth be told… I wasn’t half bad at it.

Many of my friends were girls but I also had the ability to hang out and sorta be “one of the guys” when I wanted to be.

I Carried Myself “Like A Boy”

Add to all this the fact that I often sat, walked, ran and played without a bit of grace or decorum. My mother had to remind me time after time after time to not sit with my legs spread, that I didn’t have to run everywhere I went, and that high heels were off limits until I could slow down. (Choosing between sprinting and cute shoes was a tough one for me).

I’d often look at my friends who were a bit thinner, daintier, or prettier (which was most of them) and I’d wonder what I was missing. It was never hard to see someone doing the girl thing with a bit more grace than I was. While my friends knew how to throw out a hip and look cute… I’d stand there, feet apart, solidly planted and grinning big.

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So, Here’s A Secret For You…

I might have been a boyish little girl… but I wasn’t a boy.

I wasn’t meant to be a boy.

I never really even wanted to be a boy.

I was a child, just like many, trying to understand who I was and where I fit. I was a little girl who idolized my big brother and spent my childhood trying to emulate him. I was often convinced that boys had more fun, and all I really needed was a little more time to see the beauty of both sides.

I was an impressionable, moldable child who needed to be guided in truth.

Here’s What’s Scary

I’ve always been easily influenced and I’ve always been a people pleaser.

Do you know what it would have done to me to be told that I might have been born in the wrong body? That I should consider changing my name? My clothes? My pronouns? My very identity?

Do you know how easily I could have fallen for those lies and how deeply it could have affected me?

I can think of a handful of times I was told I looked like “butch” or was asked if I was “gay” or if I “liked girls”, and it always left me confused and frustrated.

The exact age that I struggled to embrace my femininity is the exact age that this generation’s children are being so heavily influenced to ask those same questions. I’ve seen so many stories lately of adults who transitioned as children and are now living with deep regret.

It’s terribly sad and I know that under the same influences, that certainly could have been me.

But By God’s Grace…

He blessed me with parents who loved me, guided me, and offered me the truth I needed.

They didn’t offer me the chance to be a boy, because I couldn’t be, I wasn’t made to be, and God had great plans for me as his daughter. They also didn’t force legalistic expectations on me. They laid out the expectations of my loving Creator. Nothing more and nothing less.

They told me I was fearfully and wonderfully made. (Psalm 139)

They reminded me that God made men and women on purpose. (Genesis 1:27)

They told me stories of women throughout scripture and time itself who served God greatly just by being what he created them to be.

They reminded me to find ways to embrace my God given differences as a woman. (Deuteronomy 22:5)

They taught me what true womanhood looked like, outside of any worldly expectation. (1 Peter 3, Proverbs 31, etc.)

Above all, they gave me the Gospel, so that I wouldn’t just know who I was but whose I was.

To Close…

And so that little girl grew up.

Slowly, I began to care more how I carried myself and my fashion choices evolved into something decently more palatable.

I began to feel like the women I saw around me and felt more comfortable in my own skin. I think we all do as we grow in age and confidence.

I didn’t need a gender transition. I didn’t need to be told I was born in the wrong body.

I simply needed time… I needed guidance… I needed truth… I needed grace.

And when I was given all of those things, embracing womanhood came naturally.

I’m still not the “girliest” girl you’ll ever meet, but I love being a woman and everything that comes with it. I love the beauty of the calling. I love reaching out to other women. I loved getting married and being married. I love bearing children and raising children. I love seeing the inner strength God gives to women. I love seeing how men and women need each other, and that it’s not a competition, it’s a beautifully necessary relationship. I love the opportunity to strive to be all that God has called women to be in His word.

It’s an amazing gift ,a fulfilling purpose, and a beautiful opportunity.

And now I see… I was made for this.