KATHERINE WALTER dot COM

A MidWestern transgender woman trying to survive in the real life.

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Identity, Biology, and the End of “MTF”

By

On March 3, 2026

In reflection

Language has always felt personal to me, especially when it comes to how I describe my own life. Words like “transgender woman,” “transgender female,” and “MTF” are often treated as interchangeable, but they do not feel interchangeable from the inside. Each one carries a slightly different emphasis, and over time I have become more intentional about which I use and why.

I call myself a transgender woman because that is the role I occupy in society. It reflects how I move through the world, how I am perceived, and how I understand my place in social space. The word woman matters to me. It names my gender, not my medical history. “Transgender” simply describes the path I took to live authentically. When I say I am a transgender woman, I am asserting that I am a woman—fully—and that my past does not disqualify me from that category.

At the same time, I recognize that “transgender female” can be an accurate description of my embodied reality. I rarely use it, because it sounds clinical. It feels like language pulled from a medical chart rather than from lived experience. Still, accuracy matters to me. My hormone levels are typical of a cisgender female. I do not produce testosterone. I no longer have testicles. While I do not have a vagina, my endocrine profile and much of my physiology align with female norms. In a biological sense, something real and measurable has shifted. My transition was not only social; it was physiological.

That is why I no longer relate to the term “MTF,” or male-to-female. It suggests movement. It suggests that I am in transit, or that I carry maleness forward into the present as an active descriptor. I do not experience myself that way. “Male” was an assignment imposed on me at birth, not an identity I inhabited in any meaningful sense. My transition is not an ongoing crossing from one category into another. It was a process with a direction, yes—but it is not my current state of being. I do not feel like I am male-to-female. I feel like I am female, and socially, a woman.

For me, the distinction between gender and sex is not abstract. “Woman” describes my gender role, my social identity, and my place in cultural structures. “Female” describes aspects of my body as it exists now, after years of medical transition. I rarely lead with the latter because I do not want to reduce myself to anatomy or hormone panels. I am not a medical case study. I am a person. Still, I will not deny that my biology has changed in profound ways. To pretend otherwise would feel dishonest.

What matters most is that I am not in a perpetual state of becoming. I am not suspended between categories. I have lived in this body, in this identity, for years. My transition feels complete to me. The language I choose reflects that sense of arrival.

So I call myself a transgender woman because it captures my lived reality in society. I acknowledge that “transgender female” can describe my physiology, even if I rarely use it in everyday conversation. And I leave “MTF” in the past, where it belongs—as a description of a journey that has already reached its destination.

Sex Toys on the Court: Misogyny in the WNBA

By

On August 10, 2025

In Women's National Basketball Association

COLLEGE PARK, GEORGIA – JULY 29: Jordin Canada #3 of the Atlanta Dream drives against Carla Leite #0 of the Golden State Valkyries during the second quarter at Gateway Center Arena on July 29, 2025 in College Park, Georgia. (Photo by Kevin C. Cox/Getty Images)

During several WNBA games in the summer of 2025, a disturbing trend emerged: spectators began throwing sex toys onto the court, disrupting play and creating unsafe and degrading conditions for players and fans. The first widely reported incident occurred on July 29, 2025, during a matchup between the Atlanta Dream and the Golden State Valkyries, when a lime-green dildo landed on the court and halted the game (Glamour, 2025; Washington Post, 2025). In the weeks that followed, similar disruptions occurred in Chicago, Los Angeles, Phoenix, and New York, with at least six games affected despite arrests and increased security measures (Andscape, 2025). One incident in New York nearly struck a 12-year-old spectator, underscoring the physical danger posed by these objects (New York Post, 2025).

Law enforcement identified and arrested several individuals connected to the incidents. Delbert Carver, 23, was arrested in connection with the initial Atlanta game disruption, while 18-year-old Kaden Lopez was arrested in Phoenix after striking a man and his 9-year-old niece with a thrown sex toy (Washington Post, 2025; Them, 2025). Both claimed their actions were impulsive pranks. Later, a cryptocurrency meme-coin group took credit for orchestrating the stunts as a promotional gimmick for “Green Dildo Coin” (ESPN, 2025).

While some online commentators framed the events as harmless or absurd, such interpretations ignore the deeper implications. WNBA athletes already contend with systemic bias and underrepresentation in sports media. By introducing an explicitly sexual object into their workplace, these incidents reinforce the sexualization of female athletes and minimize their professional achievements, reducing them to objects of ridicule and harassment. Cheryl Reeve, coach of the Minnesota Lynx, criticized the acts as “the latest version” of the ongoing sexualization of women in sports (Global News, 2025). Andscape’s coverage was even more direct, framing the behavior as a perpetuation of rape culture, noting that a man throwing a phallic object at a women’s sporting event is not comedy but an assertion of dominance (Andscape, 2025).

The incidents also illustrate the interplay between misogyny, viral marketing, and meme culture. In an era where online clout often outweighs human decency, such stunts are engineered for virality rather than protest, turning women’s sports into backdrops for digital spectacle (The Guardian, 2025). As the WNBA experiences rising popularity and visibility, with athletes like Sophie Cunningham drawing growing attention, the behavior can also be seen as a reactionary attempt to undermine women’s empowerment (Glamour, 2025).

Ultimately, these disruptions are not harmless pranks but acts of harassment that threaten both the safety and dignity of athletes and spectators. They signal the persistence of a culture that devalues women’s athletic accomplishments and views women’s bodies as fair game for public ridicule. Respect for female athletes must be non-negotiable, and addressing this behavior requires a collective response from leagues, security personnel, media, and fans to ensure that the court remains a space for competition, not degradation.

References

Andscape. (2025, August 8). Sex toys on the court? This is about more than the WNBA. Andscape. https://andscape.com/features/wnba-sex-toys-on-court/

ESPN. (2025, August 7). Crypto group says it orchestrated WNBA sex toy tosses. ESPN. https://www.espn.com/wnba/story/_/id/45923322/crypto-group-says-orchestrated-sex-toy-tosses-wnba-games

Glamour. (2025, August 8). Throwing dildos at WNBA games has become a trend. We need to talk about it. Glamour. https://www.glamour.com/story/throwing-dildos-wnba-games-trend

Global News. (2025, August 9). WNBA sex toys thrown on court: Coach calls it latest sexualization of women. Global News. https://globalnews.ca/news/11323758/wnba-sex-toys-thrown-on-court-crypto/

New York Post. (2025, August 8). More sex toys thrown during Sky-Dream game despite recent arrests: “It’s dumb.” New York Post. https://nypost.com/2025/08/08/sports/more-sex-toys-thrown-during-sky-dream-game-despite-recent-arrests/

The Guardian. (2025, August 8). WNBA sex toy throwing shows meme culture’s shameful collapse. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2025/aug/08/wnba-sex-toy-throwing-meme-culture-shame-collapse

Them. (2025, August 6). Man arrested after throwing sex toy at WNBA game. Them. https://www.them.us/story/wnba-dildo-atlanta-dream

Washington Post. (2025, August 9). How a sex toy meme-coin hijacked the WNBA. The Washington Post. https://www.washingtonpost.com/sports/2025/08/09/wnba-sex-toys-crypto-meme-coin-timeline/

The Legacy I Hope to Leave Behind

By

On July 1, 2025

In reflection

Image: ChatGPT

Legacy is not built all at once. It takes shape over time—quietly, unevenly—through the choices we make, the truths we speak, and the lives we touch. I don’t imagine mine will be written in bold headlines or etched into stone. But I hope it will be felt in subtler, more enduring ways. In the freedom someone claims because I once stood up. In the insight sparked by something I taught or wrote. In the love that lingers in the spaces I leave behind.

I’ve lived many chapters in this life—some of them linear, others far more tangled. I began as a student of anthropology, drawn to the study of culture, meaning, and human complexity. It taught me to listen deeply, to question what seems natural, and to honor what is often ignored or devalued. Anthropology gave me not just tools for understanding others—it gave me a way to understand myself. As a transgender woman, as a spiritual seeker, as someone shaped by forces both seen and hidden, I learned to situate my life within broader currents of history and identity. That perspective never left me.

Eventually, I put my education into service in a different way—as a SNAP program specialist with the USDA. There, I saw how policy lives not in abstract theories but in the faces of people trying to feed their families. I worked at the intersection of administration and survival. It gave me a profound respect for the dignity of everyday life, and a deepened sense of duty to advocate for those so often silenced by red tape and economic cruelty. That role grounded me in the real: in food, in need, in systems and the people caught within them.

But even before all of that, I served my country in uniform. I am a U.S. Navy veteran. I served as a submariner and fought in Desert Storm. It was a life of discipline, of structure, of submerged tension—both literal and emotional. That chapter gave me a close relationship with mortality, with silence, with sacrifice. And later, it gave me the courage to live my truth. Because once you’ve survived war, you learn how little time there really is for pretending.

Though my time teaching in a classroom was brief, it was profoundly meaningful. Education, I believe, is one of the most radical forms of love and hope. I did not stay long enough to become a fixture, but I hope I was a spark. I hope that somewhere, a student remembers me not as perfect, but as present. As someone who saw them clearly, challenged them to think differently, and held space for who they were becoming.

Throughout it all, I’ve remained a writer, a creator, a witness. I write not just to tell stories, but to make space—for desire, for defiance, for complex and beautiful lives that rarely make it into the mainstream. I write for those on the margins, for the ones building new worlds from the ruins of the old, and for the future selves who need proof that we were here.

If I am remembered, I hope it is as someone who lived with fierce honesty. Who loved without shame. Who fought for justice, even when she was exhausted. Who stood in her womanhood and her queerness not as burdens, but as blessings.

I hope my legacy is not one of perfection, but of permission. Permission to live. To change. To desire. To dream beyond the roles assigned at birth or by circumstance. I hope I leave behind courage in those who need it. Gentleness in those taught to harden. Fire in those told to shrink.

And if some future soul—browsing an archive, reading a quote, hearing a story—finds a piece of me and thinks, “Because she lived, I feel less alone,” then that is all the immortality I will ever need.

What I Believe About Relationships

By

On June 28, 2025

In relationships

Image: ChatGPT

Relationships are among the most intimate and transformative parts of life—but for me, they don’t follow the traditional script. I’ve spent a long time unlearning what the world tells us relationships are “supposed” to be and discovering what they can be instead. I want to share what I believe about love, connection, sex, and partnership—not because I have all the answers, but because my truth might help others feel less alone in their own journey.

I am aromantic. I don’t experience romantic attraction the way most people do. I don’t crave romantic courtship, fairy-tale declarations, or being someone’s “everything.” That’s never been how my heart moves. For a long time, I felt out of sync with a world that insists on romance as the highest form of human connection. But in time, I came to understand that my way of relating isn’t less—it’s just different. I still love. I still build deep, meaningful connections. I still crave touch, intimacy, laughter, and mutual growth. But I don’t desire romance, and I don’t build my life around it.

I also identify as polyamorous. I believe that love, affection, and connection are abundant and not meant to be confined to one person at a time. I reject the idea that exclusivity is the only—or the highest—form of commitment. I find beauty in the ways people can show up for each other in different capacities. Each relationship is its own living thing, with its own needs, rhythms, and dynamics. I don’t want to own or be owned. I want connection that is chosen, not claimed.

My sexual orientation is best described as heteroflexible. I tend to be drawn to masculine energy, but attraction is fluid and often defies tidy labels. What matters most to me is authenticity—how someone exists in their body and their spirit, how they treat others, how they engage with joy, and how they handle complexity. Gender and sexuality, for me, are far more expansive than the categories we’re taught to stay within.

As a transgender woman, I bring my full self into every relationship. My womanhood is not conditional, and I refuse to enter into any dynamic where I am expected to explain or defend my identity. My transness has shaped me. It has taught me resilience, self-determination, and the sacred power of transformation. I offer all of that—openly and vulnerably—to the people I care about.

I also embrace a fully sex-positive philosophy. I believe sex is sacred, playful, healing, and liberating. I do not see sexuality as something to be ashamed of or hidden away. Whether I’m expressing desire through kink, physical intimacy, fantasy, or open conversation, I treat it as something that should be approached with joy, creativity, and care. Being aromantic doesn’t mean being asexual—though both identities are valid. For me, it means I can enjoy sexual and emotional intimacy without it needing to be filtered through a romantic lens.

What I want from relationships is truth. I want honesty without cruelty, intimacy without entitlement, and care without pretense. I don’t need people to fit into categories like “partner,” “lover,” or “friend.” I need them to show up as their full selves, and to let me do the same. I want to build chosen family. I want conversations that last for hours, shared silence that feels like home, mutual support in the chaos, and connection that expands rather than restricts.

I believe that love is not a single, fixed thing. It’s a spectrum, a mosaic, a process. It doesn’t always follow a script. It doesn’t have to end in a wedding or a shared mortgage to be real. It doesn’t have to be romantic to be profound. And it certainly doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s version of love.

Being aromantic means that I love differently. Not less. Not worse. Just differently. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we need more room in this world for different ways of loving. I want people to know that there are many valid ways to connect—and that living outside the traditional narrative can be not just fulfilling, but joyful, liberating, and deeply human.

So this is me, being honest about what I believe: in love without possession, sex without shame, intimacy without obligation, and relationships that are defined not by convention, but by care. If you’ve ever felt like the world’s idea of love doesn’t fit you—know that you are not broken. You are simply someone who deserves to love, and be loved, on your own terms.

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