< Translator’s note: The original formatting of the stories has been preserved. The translations aim to remain as close as possible to each author's original wording and expression.

 

I have always leaned toward masculinity in my self-presentation, but I didn’t realize how negatively society treats masculine women without any clear reason. Here are three examples from my life — from more to less “light.”

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I am 17. My parents took me to an acquaintance, a gastroenterologist, because my stomach condition worsened due to stress. At first, she thought I was a boy, and after talking about my health, she took me to a separate room for an examination. When she finished, she blocked our way in the room where we were alone while my parents were waiting in another room. The doctor sternly asked why I looked like a boy and made a remark to me, only then allowing me to leave.

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I am about 20. I went to a supposedly very good gynecologist at a private clinic. I have polycystic ovary syndrome, which causes elevated testosterone and irregular periods. The doctor examined me and then started verbally criticizing me for what I wear and how I look, as if hinting at a connection between my diagnosis and my appearance. She said I have very beautiful legs that I for some reason choose not to show, and that “boys would fall for them.” She added that she doesn’t want to think that I’m “one of those,” hinting at lesbians, and brought me to tears without apologizing.

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I am 19, a student, and I was completing a final assignment for the highest grade. I had to interview an artist from our lecturer’s contacts. My groupmate, with whom I was friends and lived in a dorm, went to this artist, and they supposedly had a good conversation, after which he said he was looking for an assistant (apparently for managing his social media). I dreamed of finding work in art circles, so I went with my groupmate to his studio for an “interview.”

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It ended with him getting drunk, starting to talk nonsense, harassing m my friend verbally and then physically. I started backing away, and he groped me and asked why I was hiding “such a figure” under those clothes. As a “goodbye,” he grabbed my breast and squeezed it very painfully.  We ran away from there at the speed of light. I don’t know why we didn’t tell the lecturer — probably we were afraid, since we went there the second time without any real need.

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Lesia, butch lesbian, 26; story shared in 2025 as part of the campaign “16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence.”