It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact moment I learned that who I am at my core wasn’t what the world wanted from someone born a boy. As far back as I can remember, I’ve been labeled feminine. How I walked, talked, moved, held a pencil, or even laughed seemed to invite commentary, ridicule, and insult. I understood very early on as a child that the things I naturally gravitated toward — softness, creativity, beauty — were considered for girls and therefore not meant for me. But for me, femininity didn’t feel soft. It felt powerful. I was mesmerized watching my mother transform with a fresh blowout, her makeup like war…