The Day I Put Down the Hammer

How do you make a square peg fit in a round hole?

I spent 43 years beating on that son of a bitch with the biggest hammer I could find, trying to force it. Convinced that if I just hit it hard enough, long enough, it would eventually go.

It didn’t.

And that’s the part nobody tells you—some things aren’t meant to be forced.

Growing up, the mold was already laid out for me.

Who I was supposed to be.

How I was supposed to act.

What a “man” was.

And I tried.

God, I tried.

I followed the script all the way down to the fine print. Married my high school sweetheart. Had three kids. Built a life that, from the outside, looked exactly like what it was supposed to.

And I don’t regret any of it. Not a single piece.

That life gave me things I wouldn’t trade for anything.

But it still wasn’t me.

I was raised to be the “manly man.”

Tough. Quiet.

Boys don’t cry.

Suck it up.

Rub some dirt on it.

Walk it off.

Boys don’t play with dolls.

Dresses are pink.

Men work outside, with their hands.

So that’s what I did.

Blue-collar.

Farm work.

Welding.

Mechanic work.

Running equipment.

All the jobs you see on the posters—the ones that define what a man is “supposed” to be.

I even wanted to join the military. That was the pinnacle in my mind.

But old high school football injuries took that option away.

So I did what I thought came next.

I tried to drink my twenties away.

Because somewhere in my head, I thought maybe if I drowned it all enough…

maybe that square peg would finally fit into that round hole.

It didn’t.

It just made the hammer heavier.

Now here I am.

Almost 43 years on this earth.

And I finally understand something that should’ve been obvious all along:

You don’t force the peg to fit the hole.

You change the peg.

I recently started HRT.

And the beauty of it… is that it doesn’t force anything.

It doesn’t beat you into shape.

It reshapes you.

Softens the edges.

Adds curves where there were none.

Brings definition where things always felt off.

It takes that square, rigid version of yourself…

and slowly, patiently… makes it into something that finally fits.

So no—

I didn’t make the square peg fit the round hole.

I stopped trying to break myself to match the world…

…and started becoming the version of me that was meant to exist in it.