There’s something I’ve been scared to say—something that’s followed me for a while now. Even as I’ve learned, grown, and tried to become more myself. White male privilege. It’s still there. Still clinging to me in ways I don’t always see, but definitely feel. And honestly? I’ve been afraid to talk about it.

I know how it shaped my life. I know how it still shapes how people see me. And deep down, I’ve always worried that some folks—especially women—might look at me and think:

Oh. Another white guy playing dress-up. Enjoying femininity when it’s fun, then slipping back into comfort the second it’s not.

That thought stings. But it’s real. And if I’m gonna keep showing up here honestly, I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter.

White Male Privilege Doesn’t Disappear with Makeup

Let’s start here: I was raised as a white man. That came with real, tangible privilege. I didn’t earn it. I didn’t ask for it. But I benefited from it anyway.

I moved through the world with ease. I got listened to more. Interrupted less. I didn’t have to second-guess my safety every time I walked into a room.

That’s the thing about white male privilege. It’s invisible when you have it, and obvious when you try to step outside of it. And I don’t get to act like mine vanished the second I started calling myself Michelle.

It didn’t.

I Don’t “Go Back” Because It’s Comfortable

This is where it gets more complicated.

I’m not flipping between boy mode and girl mode for fun. If anything, the back-and-forth shreds me. But I have a family. A partner. A life full of roles I didn’t choose but still care about. And for now, stepping fully into Michelle means letting go of things I’m not ready—or able—to lose.

So no, I don’t “go back” because it’s easier. I go back because it’s expected.
Because being Michelle still costs me things I’m not always in a position to pay.

That doesn’t mean I’m hiding.
It means I’m navigating the wreckage of two conflicting lives.

How White Male Privilege Still Shows Up—Even When I Don’t Want It To

I know how this looks. I really do.

From the outside, it might seem like I’m picking the sweet, safe parts of femininity and skipping the hard stuff. I’m not dealing with misogyny at work. I’m not being sexualized every time I post a photo. And when things get hard, I can “disappear” into a version of myself that the world still accepts.

That’s white male privilege, whether I want it or not.
And I have to own that—even when it makes me cringe.

I don’t want to take anything from anyone.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not seen that way sometimes.

This Isn’t Performance. It’s Survival.

Being Michelle isn’t a role I’m playing. It’s a version of me I’ve spent years trying to uncover. And when I finally show up as her—even in small ways—it doesn’t feel like dress-up. It feels like relief.

But I also know that intention doesn’t cancel impact.

If someone sees me expressing femininity and feels uncomfortable, I want to understand that—not dismiss it. If someone feels like my visibility makes them feel erased, I want to hear that—even when it stings.

Because white male privilege taught me how to take up space.
Now I’m learning how to make room for others too.

I’m Still Learning How to Do This with Care

This blog? It isn’t about proving anything.
It’s about asking harder questions. Sitting with complicated truths. Trying to figure out how to be more myself without stepping on someone else in the process.

I’m not perfect. But I want to be honest.
And I want to grow—especially when it’s hard.

So if you’ve ever looked at someone like me and felt that tension, I hear you. And I’m open to the conversation.


Have you had to navigate white male privilege in your own identity?
Or wrestled with how others see you—especially when it’s not the whole story?

Let’s talk. I’m still figuring this out too. 💜


2 Comments

Jeanie · July 27, 2025 at 9:46 am

I do cling to male privileges to the point that I don’t wish I was born a cis-female. Especially one born in the late ’60s.

If I woke up s some beautiful women I would feel vulnerable being smaller and weaker. I would not like the pressure to maintain the high standard of beauty I’d miss the “gravitas” that one gets by default by being a male. Especially one who is a least 6 ft tall.

I feel like I am trying to have my cake and eat it too. Maintaining male privileges while desiring the feminine freedom of expression.

    Michelle · July 29, 2025 at 8:39 am

    I’ve had that same internal debate more times than I can count. I’m not out publicly, so I still move through the world with all the privileges that come with being seen as a tall, white guy. And part of me knows exactly what I’d be giving up if that ever changed.

    It’s not that I’m afraid to let go—it’s that I know what stepping into this more fully might cost me. And even though I want it, even though it feels more right than anything else, I still have to weigh that against everything else in my life. That doesn’t make it less real. Just harder to navigate.

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