You're right. I was thinking of those with some degree of dysphoria.
It's not like I'm a fount of lesbian knowledge, of course.
I really like what Natkat said. Seemed pretty insightful, as a sort of general guideline.
When I went back into the closet, I tried not to define myself at all--I stopped reading and thinking about transsexuality. But I still had the male name and the male presentation and my past identification as trans. I still introduced myself to students as "Mr." A few called me "he" in evals, and one or two asked what pronoun I preferred. Looking back, I guess it was a pretty surreal way to live.
At a certain point, I wanted to do a certain activity that involved a personal statement, and I identified myself as a masculine woman. I didn't know what else to do because I was in such denial. But it felt horrible to label myself that way, and I blocked it out until I stumbled across the personal statement years later. I had literally no memory of writing it and was aghast.
One of my defining moments came when I was 44 and staring into the mirror in the women's bathroom across from my office. I saw a hair that might have been gray or really really blond, and I thought, "Oh, my god, I'm going to die a woman."
I buried the thought for a few more years while my dysphoria got worse and worse. But that moment--the true and concrete realization that if I continued to do nothing, I would be living as a woman for the rest of my existence--filled me with such horror. Not because people tend to respect women less or because women tend to earn less or any of that--it was just the BEINGNESS that I couldn't deal with. That's not who I am, that's not who I am.
And yet I saw a woman staring back at me in the mirror. I venture to guess that such weirdly Kurtzian moments do not happen to butch women.