Where Are All the Trans Men?

They have always been here. We just never learned to see them.

I am going to be completely honest with you. For years, when I thought about trans people, I thought about trans women. That was all I knew. The only trans people I had ever seen on television, in newspapers, in films, were trans women, and they were almost always portrayed in the most reductive, harmful ways imaginable. They were punchlines, curiosities, or cautionary tales. I did not know a single trans man. I did not even think about the possibility that trans men existed in the same numbers, with the same depth of experience, the same joy, the same pain.

It was not until I started working in gender medicine that I met trans men properly, heard their stories, and understood how completely invisible they had been made. That realisation changed everything for me, and it is one of the reasons I feel so strongly that we need to talk about this now.

A letter that stopped me in my tracks

I recently received a message from a trans man who follows my work, and I want to share parts of it with you because it says something important about what invisibility does to a person.

He told me that he had known he was male for as long as he could remember. He told his parents when he was four years old. They did not understand what being trans meant, but they let him express himself as best he could. He was a tomboy in his early years, and for a while, that was enough. Then puberty arrived, and as so many of you will know, that can be an incredibly difficult time when your body does not match who you are inside.

For a long time, he believed he was the only person in the world who felt this way. When he did eventually become aware of trans people, the only examples he ever saw were trans women, and they were almost always portrayed as freaks, victims, or predators. He could not see himself reflected anywhere.

He was 21 before he found the courage to ask his GP for help. The alternative, he said, was unthinkable. He simply could not see a way to continue as he was.

He was fortunate. His GP listened. He was referred, assessed, and finally placed on a path toward the life he needed. He is now over 50, happily married, a father, and he has not had a single second of regret. Not one.

His story is powerful, not because it is unusual, but because it is so common and yet so rarely heard.

Why are trans men so invisible?

I came across a really interesting perspective on this recently. Someone pointed out that trans men were raised as girls, and girls are raised to be polite, quiet, and accommodating. When you transition and the world starts treating you as male, you notice something startling: people respond to how you look, not who you are. Suddenly, when you say something, you are believed. There is a social authority that comes with being perceived as male, and it can be disorienting when you have spent your whole life without it.

Trans women, on the other hand, were raised as boys, and boys are raised to be bold, to speak up, to take up space. Perhaps that is part of the reason why trans women have historically been more visible in advocacy and public life. They carry with them the social conditioning that tells them their voice matters and should be heard.

There is another factor too. The physical results of transitioning from female to male are often remarkably effective. Testosterone is powerful. Many trans men, once they have been on hormones for a while, are simply not identifiable as trans. They blend in, they pass, and in doing so, they disappear from public view. Trans women who have been through a testosterone-driven puberty before transitioning often face greater challenges in this regard, and that visibility, whether wanted or not, keeps them in the spotlight.

So trans men become doubly invisible: raised to be quiet, and then physically unrecognisable as trans once they have transitioned. It is no wonder we do not hear their stories enough.

Visibility is not a luxury, it is a lifeline

When that man wrote to me and said he spent years believing he was the only person in the world who felt the way he did, my heart broke a little. Because nobody should ever have to feel that alone. Nobody should have to grow up without seeing a single person who reflects their experience back to them.

I know that some trans men might feel fortunate to be out of the current political crossfire. Trans women are bearing the brunt of the hostility, the legislation, the newspaper headlines, and the online abuse right now, and there is something to be said for not being in that particular spotlight. I understand that instinct.

Yet invisibility comes at a cost. If young people who are struggling with their gender identity never see a trans man living a full, happy, ordinary life, how will they know that it is possible? If the only trans people in the public eye are trans women, where does that leave the boys and young men who are trying to make sense of who they are?

Introducing a new mini-series: the lives of trans men

This is something I have been thinking about for a while, and I have decided it is time to do something about it. I am going to be running a mini-series right here, dedicated to exploring the experiences of trans men. Real stories, real lives, real conversations about what it means to grow up knowing you are male in a body the world tells you is female.

I want to explore identity, and what it feels like to know something about yourself so deeply and so early, even when nobody around you has the language for it. I want to talk about puberty, and the particular grief that comes with watching your body develop in a direction that feels fundamentally wrong. I want to talk about bodies, about the relationship trans men have with their physical selves before, during, and after transition. I want to explore relationships, love, intimacy, and what it means to be a partner and a parent as a trans man. I want to hear about what it is like to be raised as a girl and then to live as a man, and all the strange, funny, painful, and illuminating things that come with that shift in how the world sees you.

These are stories that deserve to be told, and I think they will help so many people, not just trans men themselves, but their families, their partners, their friends, and anyone who wants to understand this experience more deeply.

Thank you for being here

To the man who wrote to me, and to every trans man reading this: I see you. Your stories matter. Your lives matter. Your visibility could change everything for someone who is right now sitting alone, wondering if they are the only person in the world who feels the way they do.

You are not alone. You never were.

If you are a trans man and you would like to share your story as part of this series, I would love to hear from you. You can reach me through my Substack or at www.helenwebberley.com

If this piece resonated with you, please share it. The more people who read it, the more visible these stories become, and visibility is where change begins.

Dr Helen Webberley, gender specialist and medical educator.