Even without having undergone surgery –gender-related or otherwise– I have scars.
I have holes in my earlobes since birth, because since then I was seen as female and received piercings traditionally reserved for female bodies. I have a mark on my foot from wearing sandals a couple of years ago, my last attempt at dressing like a woman.
And now, after I bind my chest to create a more satisfying appearance, little pink lines remain on my skin; after a few hours they disappear.
I see these scars as a history of my life, more or less indelible on my body. They’re distinct points marking the femininity imposed on a baby that probably screamed and cried in defense of hir physical integrity, and and the attempt at femininity by a teenager who no longer complained because ze had internalized social norms. Now they’re lines that mark temporary bodily modification, and they’ll be lines that mark my will to undergo surgery.
Other choose to get tattoos to serve the same function; I choose to see my “tattoos” without resentment.