Testosterone is a Curse

Content Warning: Lots of people love testosterone, and that’s so valid.

I wrote this as one particular transfemme, to discuss unwelcome things testosterone did to me. I don’t represent anyone else in my views.

My first year on hormone replacement therapy (HRT) has been full of surprises coming both from within and from my environment.

The View From The Other Side

[spoilers for the NBC show This Is Us in the next paragraph]

The first time we meet Kate and Toby’s child is a scene with him as an adult, on stage, playing music, seeming happy and successful. This is the way lots of shows reassure the audience that all the scary traumatic things we’re about to see the character go through aren’t going to kill them. We can comfort ourselves and remember Baby Jack’s going to be okay while we watch him have a difficult birth and childhood.

This is the way I write many of my most revealing posts. I don’t stop writing while I’m in scary, hard times, but I generally don’t publish until I’m on the other side of the tunnel. Partially because I don’t want loved ones to worry about me more than they need to, but also because I want to find answers before I contribute to confusion.

Emotions are tunnels. You have to go all the way through the darkness to get to the light at the end.

Emily Nagoski
Come as You Are: The Surprising New Science that Will Transform Your Sex Life

The rest of this post is going to focus on realness. I’ve experienced things I don’t see many trans people talk about openly. I want to share those, but I wanted to make sure my readers know I’m very much okay.

Emotions

It’s famously difficult to differentiate nature from nurture. I tend to lean more into nurture because I believe we vastly underestimate the impacts of socialization, culture, propaganda, class, and criminalization on shaping our identities. It affects what we tolerate, rebel against, and accept as truth. Every generation has spawned new flavors of the same old eugenics and propaganda selling the idea of a superior bloodline.

No matter how much of the swill we spit out, we still tend to absorb some as we grow up surrounded by it. Generational trauma magnifies these impacts, encouraging us to hate beautiful parts of ourselves that don’t fit the mold. A mold the children of our ancestors’ oppressors often still maintain. By the time we begin our overly competitive education, we have plenty to unlearn before we can even begin to grow from a baseline more privileged kids start from.

While I understand both play a near-equal role, the last year has swung me in the nature direction a bit more. It’s hard to deny the impact my changing physiology has on what I feel and how intensely it affects me. My feelings change how I perceive the world and interact with others. They change who I am.

I thought I had trouble crying exclusively because I was indoctrinated with boys don’t cry. Crying meant weakness, irrationality, immaturity, or — heaven forbid — a desire for attention. Since my late twenties I’ve worked on shedding those ideas, but still had trouble crying outside of movies or other media I empathized with.

Anger came easy though. In my case, it’s likely linked to fight or flight responses from being bullied as a kid. Few ever questioned my expression of it up until then.

It wasn’t until I was living with a partner and she brought to my attention I was getting rather angry at strangers online when my competitive games didn’t go the way I wanted. Gamer salt is no new thing. I viewed my short outbursts of frustration with my mic muted as harmless venting, but it was triggering her post-traumatic responses to abrupt shouting.

I started making an effort to stop for her sake, and it made me more aware of anger in general. I learned my most intense anger was targeted inward and my outbursts were projections of it. I may get mad at feeding noobs, odious politicians, careless drivers, or loved ones occasionally, but I reserve a special uninhibited rage for myself. Working on forgiving myself and letting go of inherited judgment from critical figures in my childhood helps take the edge off.

Physical Feelings

Even as my skills for what to do with my anger when it arose improved, the physical feeling of anger continued to trigger frequently. If I stubbed my toe on my coffee table, I’d have this sudden burning fury at the inanimate object. I’ve damaged or destroyed my own property by lashing out at it as if it purposely jumped out in front of me as I walked by. Often hurting myself again in the process.

Then I’d feel stupid. Like some unevolved ape smashing anything I didn’t understand. My anger quickly turned inward and shamed me for being so clumsy, so out of control of my own body and emotions. I’ve always struggled with hand-eye coordination. I can usually triumph over it with effort, but my fairly frequent moments of brilliance only make my infrequent but spectacular failures more frustrating. Anger and self-hatred made me only see the latter, and I’m still working on being less ableist to myself.

Neglected Emotions

Perhaps the worst part was how anger masked every other emotion in its shadow. I knew my feelings were more complex than my immediate rushes, but I had to expend so much effort softening my anger responses that — like struggling to remember a dream minutes after waking — those other emotions slipped away before I could feel them.

A couple weeks after I began HRT, I smashed my toe on my high-top table. Worse than my usual, splitting my big toenail. My entire body shuddered with pain, and my knees buckled as I leaned into a fall into sitting position on my nearby couch. Tears poured freely and I felt so many things. Ashamed, embarrassed, startled, hurt, weak, and frustrated with myself.

After a few moments of crying, I started laughing. I felt joy, relief, and gratitude for being able to feel this version of shitty instead of the shitty way I used to. This was the moment I knew for sure HRT was right for me, and shortly after I thought to myself,

Testosterone is a curse.

I’m sure I’ll eventually tire of this new complexity. Once the novelty wears off I might be just as disenchanted with them as I was with anger. But I want to hold onto this perspective as long as I can. I have the gift of feeling two drastically different responses to things and a strong preference for one. Most people never get such a clear direct comparison.

I don’t remember where I first heard the fairly cliche ideas about how emotions and experiences come in many flavors, and a great dish has elements of several. How we can’t truly appreciate the sweet without the savory, the rich without the acidic. My emotional palate feels more refined now. I haven’t lost my anger, I’ve just tuned its balance with other parts of the human experience.

And in an age when anger is one of the strongest tools big tech uses to manipulate us, I see it as a timely gift to be less chemically beholden to it.

I don’t view this as a man-woman thing. I view this as a correction to a stifling hormonal balance and cultural inheritance. And it makes me wonder how many others would benefit from experimenting outside the binary themselves.

My General Mood

Before HRT, I’d say roughly half my days involved limiting my encounters with others. Usually wearing headphones, baseball caps, and hoodies to not only block out overstimulation and distraction, but also to avoid eye contact and Hey! How you doing?s from neighbors, coworkers, and fellow commuters.

Recently, even on my worst days, when I roll out of bed and semi-consciously trudge outside to walk my dog, I effortlessly smile and greet my neighbors. I’m not always energetic or pretty — my bed head is legendary and growing it long has reached an absurdity previously only dreamt of — but I’m cheerful.

I’ve worked on a lot in therapy of course. HRT isn’t doing all the work, but it’s changing how I feel inside far more than I expected. I’ve felt open to saying yes more often when friends invite me out. I get more excited about visiting family. Introducing myself to new people doesn’t come with as much anxiety anymore.

Outlook

It’s remarkable how much weight lifts from the shoulders to imagine oneself elderly and be excited. When I picture the weird old crunchy goth lady I’ll grow into, it brings me joy. I dreaded becoming an old man, and I still don’t really know why. There’s obvious clinical reasons in hindsight, but it’s not like it’s so bad to be an old white dude. It just hasn’t felt right for me.

Friends & Family

I haven’t had anyone close to me tell me outright they think what I’m doing is wrong. I don’t roll with the kinds of people who openly judge and reject each other over choices that don’t affect anyone else. But I’ve experienced a lot of ignorance, passive aggression, and condescension.

I’ve made it abundantly clear I welcome kind questions. (News flash: I love talking about myself.) I don’t hear many people tell stories like mine. When I do it’s in a niche corner of the internet I had to seek out. Even then, those are each only a tiny part of my overall experience. I feel a need and mission to share my own specifics and their interactions with each other too. Even if no one else feels the same way (my inbox assures me this is far from the case), I hope I’m at least entertaining.

I’ve written some articles I’m fond of based on kind questions I’ve received: How Do Old Photos Make You Feel?, How Out Are You At Work? I even enjoy answering the really personal ones guided by authentic curiosity. Many of these conversations led to me feeling more closely bonded with the person who asked. Some of them help me in my own process, guiding my exploration of self and how to communicate my perspective to others.

But then there’s unkind questions.

I’ve made some of these into blog posts too: Is Queerness Trendy?, Aren’t You Glad You Weren’t Aborted?, and Freelancing, Losing Friends, and “Have You Trieds”. These are useful perspective pieces, necessary for getting a full picture of my life and philosophy, but I mostly write them to vent frustration and deter people from repeating them to others.

They come from a place of bad faith and doubt. It’s impossible to miss the impression the asker suspects my choices are careless, hasty, or inauthentic. Whereas anyone who knows me is aware of how painstakingly I overthink nearly every decision I make, sometimes paralyzed to inaction until I can resolve it all. And I rarely make the popular or easy choice. Sometimes I wish I could turn it off, but no luck so far.

Storytime

One day, while visiting family in my home state, we were in the car on our way to an outdoor art exhibit. This was perhaps a year or so after I came out, and I was wearing clothing that’s more feminine than what people back home expected of me. We were cheerfully catching up and planning our strategy to see all the sculptures in the massive garden as the sea of trees that line most Jersey highways blurred past. Out of nowhere, one of them turned to look at me in the backseat and asked me (paraphrasing):

When you were a kid, did anyone ever molest or sexually assault you?

I couldn’t think of a good way to write a blog post about this one.

First was the shock.

What a dumbfounding lack of emotional intelligence. What if the answer was yes? Were we going to have a spontaneous amateur trauma therapy session in the 20 minutes we had left in the car ride? Were they expecting to wrap it up in time to stroll around an outdoor art museum for two hours? I wrestled with it from then until today, over a year later.

I kept trying to give them the benefit of doubt. It must be hard to have that worry on your mind about a younger family member you feel some responsibility for protecting. They might wonder “When is the right time to ask?” — and then my patience wears thin with this mental exercise. I’d expect any adult to know it’s when we’re all prepared for an open-ended serious talk in private. Not abruptly blurted out shortly before a full day of leisurely plans.

Because I can’t just let this hang without answering the question…

The answer wasn’t yes, but it wasn’t “definitely no” either. I grew up split between two church centered worlds after my parents’ divorce. Every church I’ve ever been to had at least one creep who wanted to chat with me without my parents within earshot. Usually to deride me for my least-possible-effort in the clergy, but sometimes for odd probing questions.

If kids got raped at Denny’s as often as they got raped at church, it would be illegal to take your kid to Denny’s.

The Return of Youth Pastor Watch – The Stranger

I don’t remember anything specific, but I remember being uncomfortable around some of them. I remember a few teachers who seemed to want me in detention and then treated it like a weird social meet. I remember heavy handed old men at church or coaches who took every opportunity to pat me on the back or playfully jab my arm. I knew I didn’t like it, but I don’t remember it being insidious. I was just labeled one of those weird kids who doesn’t like being touched, especially by surprise.

I was frequently alone or entrusted to adult strangers. My parents both worked full time, sometimes multiple jobs, so it took a village. I don’t consider myself neglected at all — I had more family attention than most of my classmates. It was just the reality of our economic class.

Those uncomfortable feelings probably impacted my views of adults and the environments where I was made to feel uncomfortable. I don’t think it has anything to do with my gender identity or why I was dressed the way I was.

Context

It’s impossible to look at this question outside its context. I was 40 years old and this relative is of the generation before mine. They’ve known me my entire life, yet that day was the first time they thought to ask me. They didn’t ask when I was a kid experiencing the churchgoers, teachers, and whoever else they suspected. They didn’t ask after I’d spent years in therapy and developed into a fairly functional adult.

There was no protective instinct here; just a clumsy investigation into what kind of trauma fucked me up. Or perhaps an attempt to assuage their guilt for letting me become this way. Pathologizing my identity like the media has been doing for years. I know this is an uncharitable reading, but it’s where I keep landing with all this person’s other behaviors.

Meanwhile everything I’ve been saying has been an attempt to show how I was fucked up before and now — against all odds — I’m finally becoming unfucked.

Self-Involvement

While watching Will & Harper, I noticed something — because it’s often easier to see things from third-person than when we’re directly involved.

While talking to Harper, multiple people start certain sentences with “For the record,” because folks are absorbed/anxious with how they’re perceived. I’ve heard this phrase a lot these last three years, especially from my former boss. As if I would sick Twitter on him if he didn’t have a DEI lawyer present. He mis-stepped constantly and never saw consequences — not because he didn’t deserve it, but because correcting people is exhausting.

Personal branding and PR is the focus rather than having a real human conversation or gaining a better mutual understanding. It’s disappointing. And it’s boring.

While it sucks when random strangers shout slurs at me on the street, it’s easy to brush them off once they drive off and I know that’s all they’re planning for me. The unkind questions and comments coming from people I expect or want to feel close with tend to strike deeper.

Judgment and Grief

I once thought this sad, sinking feeling was judgment. “This person’s not as cool as I thought they were.”

cool adj.
inclusive, open minded, willing to share vulnerability with others

Now I see the sinking feeling as a phase of grief. Judgment is only a tiny fraction of what’s happening. I’m mourning a relationship that isn’t what I hoped it was, and might never be.

I have a few blood relatives who I’m supposed to feel close and comfortable with, but rarely have. I’ve cut some off with clear reasoning. Abusive behavior toward me or others. Expressed feelings of obligation to my affection, attention, and time without doing anything to welcome it. Bringing up topics they know we disagree about with no intention of listening. Some stragglers have stuck around in a grey area of discomfort I’d struggled to define until recently.

It’s because they consistently disbelieve when I tell them who I am. Some of them haven’t believed me my whole life, even about little things. I started looking back at the entire time I’ve known them and felt an un-closeable distance between us. Whenever I’ve opened up and been real, they’ve kept me at arm’s length.

• “Stop being a baby and play sports.”
• “You don’t really hate school.”
• “Don’t be so dramatic about bullying. Kids will be kids.”
• “You don’t really hate church.”
• “It’s just a phase.”
• “You’re just not applying yourself.”
• “You’re not depressed.”
• “You’re going to regret these tattoos.”
• “Give up this whole wild hair thing.”
• “You’ll love being married someday.”
• “You’re too old for that hobby.”
• “You’re going to regret getting a vasectomy.”
• “You’re not really autistic.”
• “Don’t be so dramatic, it’s not like he’s going to win.”
• “You’re not trying hard enough.”
• “Oh, everyone feels that way. You’re not special.”
• “You’ve never been good with money.”
• “This trans thing is just a trend.”
• “Are you sure about this decision [you’ve researched for years and I’ve barely considered or asked you about]?”

Part of me thinks it’s a hierarchical thing. There are many ways we can take our grandparents or other relatives telling us “you’ll always be my baby” in their eyes. The phrase is virtuous when the speaker has previously and consistently validated our maturity, agency, and authority on matters of our own identity in actions and words. When they accept us as peers in adulthood. Without those other actions, it feels like an authority figure holding on to a position of power. And I don’t generally take kindly to that.

Acceptance

I thought I could give them the benefit of doubt. Answer the questions and comments in good faith and brush away their motives as things the older generation picks up by continuing to follow legacy media. The way they still think The New York Times is progressive (it’s not) or cable news is accurate (they’re not). While few in my family are truly in the Fox News hate bubble, many still take the garbage trans coverage they see filling the 24 hour news advertising cycle as more true than the trans person in front of them. I don’t think any number of thoroughly and thoughtfully answered questions can overcome that.

There’s an age range when we all start to come to terms with the likelihood this person is done growing. I hope to fend it off as long as I can. I know a few who defy the convention, but they seem the rare exception.

I held the hope I’d one day be able to feel as close to these relatives as I do with others tightly, but I’ve begun letting go. Like they seem to be thinking of me, I can accept them as they are, even if it falls short of who I hoped they’d become.

Since shifting to this mindset, I’ve felt less disappointed in their behavior, but I still mourn what might’ve been. I hope these cordial relationships aren’t too unbearably grating as I make my first return visit to New Jersey for Thanksgiving since coming out.

New People

As a habitual over-sharer who hates small talk, my social anxiety peaks at big parties. Every time I’ve considered revealing any of the many weird parts of myself to new people in my life, I’ve worried about them rejecting me. Sneaking under the radar into friendships before revealing them. Worrying about how honest I should be on dating profiles and first dates.

Confoundingly, I’ve also taken “just be yourself” advice too far, according to some.

For my first few decades I rode my brake pedal and eased people into seeing my true self. I had a few special friends here and there over the years who I could open up to one-on-one. Once I realized how cool and accepting my community in the Bay Area has become, I loosened up. As I worked toward hating myself less and less, I loosened up more. When the pandemic confronted all of us with the prospect of imminent death, I let off the brake entirely. Only then did I realize how tight my emotional muscles were from holding it down so long. Having the energy back feels amazing.

There were friends of mine who said “[Coming out] has narrowed the pool so much” and I said “No no no! It hasn’t. The pool for you has always been the same. You just now realize it. So when you realize that you’re kinky or whatever you are, you’re just realizing who you’re compatible with; who you’ve always been compatible with. So now you’re not going to waste time with the other 60% of the people who you thought you could actually pursue. It’s the only way forward to know yourself so you can see who you need to be with.

TheFunnyDom on Savage Lovecast episode 928 (Magnum version) 1:05:30 – 1:07:30

This has turned out to be true for me too. No matter how weird and overshare-y my dating profile gets, I seem to attract a steady flow of cool people. I have way fewer terrible first dates. They turn into friendships more often now too.

People approaching me at parties are cooler now. Authenticity attracts authenticity. Weird attracts weird. Interesting conversations abound while purveyors of small talk seem to filter themselves out. My social anxiety is still here, but I can press past it much more easily. It’s truly been all upside in this sense.

Work

I’ve been out at work for nearly as long as I came out here. It’s impossible to hide now, not that I want to. My appearance and wardrobe are different, my voice and mannerisms land somewhere between flaming and swishy, and anyone who looks me up will find decades of evidence for mental illness, disability, and queerness. I am out.

At a big rainbow-washed corporate gig, this was practically a non-issue. Anyone who wanted to discriminate against me would have to be remarkably subtle and cunning about it. Especially with my knowledge of HR discrimination policies and membership in the internal PRIDE org.

In over 100 interviews — yep, I analyzed my rejection letters — over my extended unemployment, I felt microaggressions and other suspicious hesitations from more than half of the interviewers who could see my face and clothing. Nothing provable, obviously.

I frequently struggled to find work before I came out, but 14 months is a ridiculous resume gap for me. And I’ve never heard less feedback from my rejections than this time. Even after three rounds of interviews. My mind left to fill in what could possibly have tipped the balance out of my favor.

The Pizza Joint

Once I got desperate [ahem] widened the scope of my job search, I interviewed for some front of house jobs in the service industry. With over 8 years experience waiting tables, tending bars, hosting, and a few years more in retail, I know how hard those jobs are. No one forgets it, even years after escaping. I know the expectations/challenges and how good/bad I’d be at each of them today.

I got through multiple interviews to be an assistant manager at one of my favorite local pizza places. They gave me a shift to see how I was on the floor. They took my W-4 info and sent me their employee handbook. I worked the shift and checked all their boxes. I was punctual, responsive, showed initiative, kept busy, learned everyone’s names and roles, and asked relevant questions of the right people at the right times. I received only positive feedback at the end of the day.

Then I was ghosted. I had to chase them down over repeated emails. Once I finally got a reply, all they gave was a generic “it’s not going to work for us” explanation. Part of me thinks, despite the rainbow logos on their seasonal merch, I was rejected for wearing a professional feminine outfit without passing as a woman. I’m not certain enough about it to name and shame, but I haven’t ordered from them since. At least they eventually paid me for the shift.

I won’t work with people who don’t respect me.

Statistics about how hiring managers respect trans folks have certainly changed recently, even in the Bay Area. It’s unnerving, but I’m not sacrificing my dignity to help bigots make more money.

My new job is great about my out-ness so far, but I make less than 1/3 of what I did in 2023. Correlation isn’t necessarily causation, but it’s hard not to feel this way.

The media certainly hasn’t been helping.

The Woke Mind Virus™

I was infected before we even knew the symptoms! 😱

People who vilify a tiny and powerless minority for political gain have a few catch phrases I’ve been inundated by regularly.

It’s Contagious

A common accusation of bigots and the power-hungry people who stir them up for clout is “transgenderism is contagious”.

There are brief moments when I even consider it. Did Trent Reznor make me queer!? Or maybe all the arts and theater my parents exposed me to as a kid? Perhaps it’s all the radical socialist literature I’ve been reading? 🤔

Because like attracts like, my community has a higher percentage of queer people than wider society does. It’s given me a skewed perception of how common we are, especially when more of us come out of the woodwork to each other as we feel safer to do so. It’s the same way white people who hang out with 99% other white people feel so comfortable saying racist shit.

If you’re not a car person and yours is working fine, you don’t really pay attention to what other cars are out there. When you need to buy one, all of a sudden you see so many options you never even thought about before. And once you pick one — even if you didn’t know that car existed before — you start seeing the same model everywhere.

Bethany’s Car Analogy

This is called the Baader–Meinhof phenomenon or Frequency Illusion. Enjoy going down that rabbit hole. 👉 *finger guns* 👉

Since coming out, I’ve had dozens of people reach out privately and relate to my experience. This isn’t uncommon when I write about taboo topics, but gender is the most common one I’ve heard from by far. It’s part of why I write about it so much.

Stigma is another motivating factor. I know many people who were stealth for years — and could probably remain so if they wanted — but came out because they care about visibility. Bi/pansexual cis people with opposite sex partners, passing trans folks, and enbies who were previously thought of as tomboys or soft men have flags now. They’re included in our rainbow, and have joined up to show solidarity for our cause: leave us alone and mind your own business, you weird theocratic fascists.

Being “Straight” Feels Narrower Every Day

The most common refrain I hear from people considering coming out as trans is because gatekeeping of masculinity and femininity have made manliness and womanhood such a narrow definition that more and more people are giving up trying to chase the unattainable. Everyone who does seems immediately happier.

I’ve also had my manhood or heterosexuality questioned for:

• Hanging out with girls
• Playing house w/ my friend’s sister
• Walking/running “like a girl”
• Listening to like half the music I like
• Showering with other boys after football practice
• Not wanting to shower with other boys after gym class
• Dodging tackles/blocks in football
• Using moisturizer
• Using conditioner
• Wearing colorful clothing
• Having special interests
• Dating women they don’t think are hot
• Not having sex with a woman when I didn’t want to
• Knowing the correct names of women’s anatomy
• Blogging
• Going to therapy
• Political activism
• Identifying as a feminist
• Calling out misogyny
• (pretty much anything while competitive gaming)

I don’t know any men who get a perfect score, but mine was certainly a failing grade, even on a curve.

If we truly wanted more cis people in the world (Do we? 🤔), we’d be more expansive in our definitions of the binary genders. That’s the only way to accomplish it without forcing outliers into compliance. Accepting gender diversity just seems easier and cheaper to me, of course.

Or is it actually just about the control and the cruelty? The fascism is the point of all this, as opposed to the unfortunate side effect it’s commonly marketed as.

Hostage Situation

Another common accusation is that trans people threaten we’ll commit suicide if society doesn’t “join in on our delusion” or pay for our medical bills. There’s so much stupid to unpack here.

First, we can address the easiest part.

This is America. No one gets free healthcare here.

We have to either spend 60 years paying half our income into taxes to eventually get Medicare (for now), or pay enormous fees so extortion companies can syphon our money to their shareholders for the privilege of being denied care.

Opponents of gender affirming care want insurance companies to have even more freedom to deny us for arbitrary discriminatory reasons. Those companies are more than happy to lobby with the bigots and fascists. Those who can afford to invest will profit, then fill their subsidized Viagra prescriptions, treat their “low T”, and get hair plugs — all covered by their insurer. But fuck gender-affirming care, right? 🙄

I’d rather not talk about suicide with hostile accountants.

Throughout my arduous battle with insurance companies to get medical care, they required me to recount my suicide stories constantly to be approved for coverage. Most doctors won’t diagnose gender dysphoria without a patient mentioning suicidal ideation. HRT, specialized therapy, surgery, and everything else is often denied without a dysphoria diagnosis. If someone’s symptoms aren’t as severe as mine — or if they’re not as tolerant of constantly sharing it with strangers — they get denied until those symptoms do become severe, if they survive. If I was being held hostage, it certainly wasn’t me holding the weapon.

Join the delusion.

I spent most of my life joining society’s delusion I was male, so I know deeply where the lies are. If the exclusive gender binary was real, why do conservatives feel the need to pass laws to enforce it? Why do they have to ban books and censor words? Why have scientists bent over backwards over the years to redefine observed behaviors to fit het-cis and patriarchal narratives?

Why do they demand queer people hide? Why do their “pray away the gay” re-education torture camps do little but drive more people toward suicide?

Conversion therapy refers to a range of dangerous and discredited practices aimed at changing one’s sexual orientation or gender identity. The study estimates that 508,892 LGBTQ youth in the U.S. were at risk of being subjected to conversion therapy last year, and that the direct cost of conversion therapy annually is an estimated $650 million. However, the study finds that the harms associated with the practice, such as substance abuse and negative mental health outcomes, including depression, anxiety, and suicide attempts, are significantly higher — an estimated $8.58 billion annually; bringing the total estimated cost of conversion therapy to $9.23 billion annually.

The Trevor Project, referring to the study: Humanistic and Economic Burden of Conversion Therapy Among LGBTQ Youths in the United States

We aren’t holding ourselves hostage. We’re being oppressed and tortured. We’re just asking our fellow citizens to protect us from people who seek to erase us through suppression, neglect, and murder. As with all matters of suicide at scale, it’s a clear sign of societal failure.

So that’s fun.

These are the topics I have to see everywhere. They seek me out and demand my attention directly all the time. Sometimes as a direct text message on my personal phone or shouted out a car window on the street. It’s super fun being a politicized minority during an election year amidst a seemingly endless culture war.

No one chooses their assigned gender.
The wrong one was inflicted upon me.
Can’t we just admit the mistake and move on?

Which is why the Is Queerness Trendy? question is SO. FUCKING. IRRITATING. I can’t wait to stop trending on Twitter, Reddit, Fox News, Facebook, and other open sewage pits of hate.

---

Alright. Let’s do a palate cleanse and hold up something conservatives fear like vampires fear sunlight.

Pronouns

My pronouns are still gender neutral. I prefer they/them and similar non-binary language when it’s available.

But there are words and entire languages without non-binary versions. For those, I’d rather be addressed with the feminine versions.

Soy una gringa

I feel it’s a fair compromise to at least acknowledge I’m not the male I was assigned at birth. I use they/she or they/ella in my profiles to indicate this, though it’s an uncommon configuration.

I’ve continued maintaining my spreadsheet of gendered terms, so reference it if you like: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1drp0SwYFe7FnBG73jMddbgLyYy7yem6PfLHIfvrVLfk/edit?usp=sharing

Pronouns & Strangers

Pronouns with strangers is a perpetually hot topic in the trans community. We argue about it every day. Some folks believe it’s fair to hand their emotional reins to a grocery store cashier who’s just trying to get through their shift.

While I understand as well as anyone how viscerally irritating it feels to be called “sir” or “mister” in any context, I don’t think it’s fair to expect strangers to know who we are. Do I believe it’s possible for the world to one day de-gender all the unnecessary ways we interact with each other? Absolutely. Do I expect it to happen in my lifetime in a world where nothing changes unless it directly makes rich people richer? *cackling laughter turns into dull sobbing*

But if you want to be the change and set a good example, I appreciate you. My ranking of gender assumptions from strangers:

1. Non-gendered terms
2. Asking — respectful, but unnecessary for quick one-time interactions
3. Confusion — understandable and actually quite affirming 😆
4. “Ma’am” — assuming female
5. “Sir” — assuming male

There’s no perfect solution for every interaction with strangers, but I believe using non-gendered terms for everyone is safest. If I recognize someone presents in a way that’s not cis normative, I might ask, but not everyone changes their outward presentation at all times. No one is a mind reader. I frequently forget people’s names within minutes of learning them.

Some people are even offended by non-gendered language — though these are mostly bigots with a persecution complex. Karens don’t need a legitimate complaint to make service workers’ lives hell, of course, so if they choose not to de-gender their language to dodge those interactions I can’t blame them.

We all have to be our own safe harbor. As much as I hate how resilient we’re expected to be at all stages of development in this world, I believe we should reserve our ire for people with power over us. The barista at our coffee shop is not oppressing us. They deserve as much grace as we can muster. The CEO of their company who lobbies with bigots against unions and minimum wage increases is the enemy for all of us.

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Now let’s get physical.

Hair & Nails

My previous post discussed the hair on my scalp in depth, so I’ll try not to repeat myself too much here. HRT has made my hair thicker and softer, which is lovely. I’m still learning how to style it (I just got my first blow dryer) but I love how it feels after about 4 years of growing out the middle. I’m in a long awkward stage of growing out my sides that probably won’t feel right to me until I can get it all into a ponytail at least a year from now, but it’s coming along.

Nails

It’s especially annoying because I prefer open-toed shoes and I’m clumsy. My toenails used to destroy the legs of my furniture and now the tables have turned. 🤓

My nails are significantly softer. I once used my thumb nail like a letter opener. I could even cut through packaging tape with it. Now I can only use it for paper envelopes. They crack easily, which is annoying when I cook with citrus and peppers all the time.

I don’t think there’s any upside to this one. I guess my toenails look less craggy, but I don’t know how noticeable it is, especially since they’re usually painted. But I consider this mostly a downgrade. 👎

Eyebrows

I’ve been getting my eyebrows professionally shaped every ~3 months for over a year now, and I like it. They’re not much different than before, but the edges are cleaner and they’re less scruffy in the middle.

I didn’t want to do anything drastic with their shape, but it’s still nice and clean. Not too expensive either, even at a specialist. I recommend it to anyone of any gender just to try it out. Especially if you already enjoy self care like mani-pedis. They say I should come back every 6 weeks, but I just make an appointment when I start noticing strays.

Below the Eyebrows

I could write a whole post just about hair removal, but I’ll summarize here before moving on to the long term solution I chose.

• I hate shaving. I hate my body hair more. Shaving was a necessary evil for a while.
• I liked my beard more than I liked my face. Now that I’m liking my face more, I don’t need it.

For my face, if I want the closest longest lasting shave, wet shaving with a decent safety razor is best. As nice as it is to do the full facial spa treatment once in a while, it’s tedious and time consuming when you just want to get out the door. So I prefer an electric for day-to-day. I’m not sure which I’ll prefer once I complete my face laser treatments. But I’ll have much less surface area to cover. 🎉

• Nair and other chemical solutions worked pretty well once or twice, but it’s definitely not time/money efficient and it seemed to get less effective each use. I also hear it works worse on others than it did on me, but it still wasn’t good enough for me.
• Waxing is fine, but it’s expensive. Doing it at home is not great either. It’s messy and time consuming and more painful. If I didn’t have laser, I’d probably do this in a salon post-HRT once my body hair got thinner. After about three years of regular waxing appointments, laser is cheaper though.
• [second-hand info] Electrolysis is effective, but painful and slow. Folks with lighter hair or darker skin (less contrast between them) who can’t make the best use of laser use this. It’s also the only long-term solution over tattoos.

The safety razor was the most cost effective method for my body, but I was spending an hour or more using it whenever I wanted to get full coverage. It requires bright lighting at all angles and creative mirror work to see what I’m doing. It was especially difficult when I was living with roommates or partners who I tried to spare from seeing the process.

Laser Hair Removal

Because I’m perpetually seeking novel new ways to suffer, I embarked on a painful mission of being permanently hairless from the nose down. I’m an excellent candidate for laser because I have dark hair, light skin, and a decent tolerance for sustained pain. I’m less excellent because tattoos are impossible to use laser on without injury and destruction of the work, but we can cover everywhere else.

Laser has been amazing for me. After just my first session on my lower half (yes, everything below the belt) I had something like 70% less hair. Some of it does grow back over time and people get touch-ups on occasion, but it’s way more manageable and I experience euphoria regularly when I touch my legs and realize I haven’t shaved in weeks but they’re still smooth.

“Pop Rocks Between My Cheeks”

Yup, it’s painful. If you have tattoos, it’s similar but faster. The laser feels sharp and intense, but it’s already over by the time your brain receives the message from your nerves. They also can’t go over the same spot more than once per session, so that’s a huge improvement over tattoos. On the whole, a single session of laser is much easier than getting a tattoo, but the pain levels I experienced were similar at their peaks.

If you don’t have tattoos, I’d compare it to waxing. It’s maybe 1.5x as painful and feels like mild sunburn for about a day after. And honestly if I’m knowingly going to be in momentary pain, I don’t see much difference between a 7 and a 9 on the pain scale. I’m gonna need the same aftercare either way: aloe, sugary drinks, and a CBD edible.

The easiest and hardest spots are also pretty similar to tattoos for me. Ranked most to least painful:

1. Upper Lip
2. Lower Lip
3. Chin
4. Brazilian bikini area (back)
5. Jawline
6. Brazilian bikini area (front)
7. Cheeks (face)
8. Sternum
9. Neck
10. Areolas
11. Collarbone
12. Spine
13. Knees (front)
14. Elbows (outer)
15. Anywhere Else

I’ve done 8 sessions below the belt, and I have one touch-up session in my account for whenever I want it — maybe next spring before swimsuit season. I’ve done 6/8 sessions for my upper body (neck to waist), and 2 out of my expected 8-10 sessions for my face. We wait about six weeks between each session to allow healing and regrowth.

I don’t have before and after photos for my body, but I do have them for my face because Kaiser required me to take them before agreeing to cover it. 🙄

I’ve only done two sessions so far, and I’m already showing progress.

If you want permanent hair removal and you’ve got a decent contrast between hair and skin color, I can’t recommend laser more. It’s so much easier to manage now and so affirming. Absolutely worth every penny (~$3,000 lower body, ~$2300 upper body, not sure about face because Kaiser pricing is opaque) and all the pain. I was able to jump through months of hoops to get my insurance to pay for most of it, but I would still have zero regrets if they denied me (which I expected until the checks arrived).

(LaserAway, the place I use for most of my body, has a Black Friday Sale every year, which is the best time to buy a package.)

Clothing

I want to say something absolutely critical before I talk about this: You can wear anything you want no matter how you identify. No matter what your high school bullies or random assholes online say, clothing has no gender. Do what you want with your one beautiful body. I love my new wardrobe, and I would’ve loved it long before I realized I just happen to also be transgender.

Many transfemmes I talk to started with clothing. One could view wearing clothing traditionally made for women as a gateway into the transgender pipeline, but I also know lots of cis men who love wearing the same clothes I do in private. And even more women who dress like men. These people love being cis (or at least have no interest in HRT or new pronouns) and they adore the way they feel in these clothes.

I want to create a welcoming environment for cis people to wear whatever they want, without others assuming it means anything else. Without feeling like they have to hide such a joyful experience.

Shoes

A lot of gay men get my thing for shoes. I have definite feminine qualities and a lot of gay men are incredibly masculine

Tom Hardy
Tom Hardy on His Masculinity — ‘I Seem Masculine, But I Don’t Feel It, I Feel Intrinsically Feminine’

I hate closed shoes. I have wide feet and they get sore quickly when I wear shoes. Even the softest, roomiest sneakers I own bother me after an hour or so. I have so many more options for footwear when presenting femme. I wear open-toed heels to the office, at formal occasions, and for interviews. I adore the freedom.

Most of the time I still wear my basic flat sandals for day-to-day comfort, but it’s so nice to skip the confines of shoes whenever it’s not too cold out. Of course, it’s tough to find cute girly sandals in size 13. 😅

I’m dreading packing so many socks for Thanksgiving in 30-40 degree temperatures, but I bought some outdoor-friendly camping slippers for the plane ride at least.

Dresses & Skirts

Dresses were an easy add to the pros column. They’re so comfy and easy to wear for anything except working out. But even then, a tennis skirt with shorts underneath is great. I love how free it feels with less fabric right up against my skin. I love the way they flow as I move or in the breeze. I just feel lighter.

I went to a friend’s wedding in May. I usually wore a suit for weddings in the past and just suffered through all day until I could immediately rip it all off when I got home, starting with the torture devices some call hard leather shoes.

And it was the most comfortable I’ve ever felt at a formal occasion, even with a bunch of old people glaring at me. It felt like a confirmation of what I believed when I was at my dad and stepmom’s wedding and I fumed with jealousy that my little cousin got to wear a dress while I had to wear a stupid suit. Something felt resolved.

It was a great party too, of course.

Jumpers & Overalls

Coming in a close second are jumpers and overalls. I can throw overalls over any old t-shirt and look hella cute at brunch or even at a casual summer wedding. Jumpers are so cool! They’re light or heavy as the material you pick for them. They usually have pockets and big splashy patterns that wouldn’t work on other garments.

(Better) Shorts

Short shorts (5-7″) are a huge victory for me. I came of age in the 90’s, so if anyone could see my knees I was called a faggot. It was one of the dozens of offenses used as an excuse to abuse me.

Wearing shorts that actually keep me cool and make my legs and overall body shape look nice is awesome. I hated how long shorts clung to my knees when I moved or bunched up behind them when sitting. And don’t even get me started on the long cargo shorts where whatever I put in those pockets would bang against my knees every step I took.

Underwear

I still wear boxer briefs most of the time. After experimenting with lots of different types of undies before/during transition, here’s my underwear ranking:

1. Boxer briefs and “boy shorts” — Comfy, stretch well, supportive without confining
2. Panties — Can be comfy, but too delicate and not good with sweat
3. Thongs — good for twerking and lingerie, but not all-day wear
4. Boxers — Bulky, wedgie prone, dulls the visual impact of the bootie
5. Quality Briefs — confining and sweaty, don’t always stretch well
6. Tighty whities — constricting at the thigh line, confining, sweaty, ugly

I need undies that stretch well because I’m fairly active and spontaneous. I have dogs and adventurous friends so I need to be prepared to break into a sprint or jump over things. I also need as little barrier as possible between me and doing my at-home exercise routines so I don’t distract or demotivate myself from doing them. Stretchy undies also just tend to last longer.

My favorite boxer briefs are the Bold series from Woxer (I used to rock Calvin Klein, but their quality dropped severely a few years ago). They’re sturdy, comfy, soft, and make my butt look cute. One of the best features of Woxer’s website is the little text on the photos that lets you see it in my size, so you can get the most accurate view of what you’re buying and how it’ll look on you.

When I wear some of my shortest shorts, boxer briefs sometimes peek out the bottom, so I have a few pairs of other undies that rise higher on the sides. Otherwise it’s usually these.

Bras

I’ve learned something sapphics have known forever:

It’s way easier to take someone else’s bra off than to put my own on.

My boobs are roughly 34B right now, and they’re only a little annoying when I work out. My torso is broad, so I don’t get a whole lot of lift out of a push-up yet. I have a few different bras so far, but the ones I wear most are either bralettes or sports bras.

Originally, I thought I’d post before and in-progress chest photos here. I’m not exactly shy, but it feels special to show people my chest now, in a weird but sweet-feeling way. I’m philosophically conflicted about this, but for now I’m savoring my newfound mystique. And I really love my two-piece bathing suit, despite thinking I’d be sad to “have to” wear a top to go swimming.

Before this I considered posting chest photos on Facebook regularly until they started banning or censoring me, as an experiment to see when I’m “officially endowed” with tits. But to hell with letting Meta think for even a moment it can tell me anything about myself. So I’m keeping the tit pics to myself for now.

I know, I know! Big disappointment after scrolling all the way down to this section hoping for them. Sorry. I figure once I have some cleavage I’ll probably show it off constantly, so I can pace myself till then. 😇

Weight gain is normal and expected with HRT. I was “overweight” before I started my regimen and I’m no newbie at being fat, so I can tell the difference between the way my chest looks now versus how it looked when I was +60 lbs. — I have to remind myself sometimes so I don’t worry I’m plateauing. Luckily, having some extra weight on me will benefit me when I do top surgery.

Makeup

I’m finally fairly confident doing my own makeup, but I still don’t enjoy it outside of special occasions. I couldn’t handle wearing it every day like some of y’all.

Several of my transfemme friends love makeup and find it one of the most affirming things about escaping the cis world. Many of the best makeup tutorials online are made by drag queens and trans women, after all.

But it’s just not for me. The sensory experience is off-putting. Especially with eyeliner, which is really a shame because I love the eyeliner look. I’m a lifer goth kid — who would’ve been called emo a few years later– after all. I even looked into getting eyeliner tattooed, but it seems to fade fast and need regular touch-ups. Many people with it tend to put more makeup over it anyway because it’s inconsistent.

So it seems like it’ll remain only an occasional endeavor for me.

My Voice

I’ve been experimenting with my voice most of my life. An avid fan of Robin Williams, I loved giving fun voices to my childhood toys or on stage for theater. In middle school chorus I sang as a bass but did solos as an alto or even falsetto. Today, my karaoke go-to song list is full of challenging singers with ranges all over the place.

Since coming out, I’ve experimented with my baseline speaking voice and it’s much different to change my unconscious speaking methods in a sustainable way than to switch on a different vocal range for one song or scene. I follow a few vocal training channels on YouTube to get started, but I haven’t worked too hard at it.

If these practices have done anything, they’ve made me more conscious of my speaking voice. I noticed my voice goes all over the place without me trying to do it. My first sentence in the morning often surprises me. Sometimes it’ll be high, light, and songful; other days a deep, gravelly baritone. Usually somewhere between. The first neighbor who says hi to me on my morning walk with Rogue is my test subject each day. It seems to be somewhat mood and audience-based but it also has an element of randomness I’ve yet to understand.

But I like that. Once again, coming out and unmasking has allowed my body to do what it wants without worrying about others’ expectations. Barely anyone has remarked on my voice (I wouldn’t mind if they did), so for all I know I’ve always talked like this. I may just be more in my head about it now.

Dancing

A zebra is not a defective horse.
It’s a zebra.

Dancing in my childhood living room to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper is one of my earliest memories. Since then most memories about dancing are anxious, humiliating, and just generally uncomfortable. I’ve recently tried to piece together what happened to flip things so drastically and my best guess is:

• Teasing and bullying from other kids who had dancing as part of their family cultures
• Mocking how white (derogatory – awkward, stilted) I moved whenever I tried
• Homophobic bullying for how unmasculine I was any time I loosened up physically

Some tell me that everyone went through stuff like this, and maybe that’s true, but even if my experience wasn’t unique, it seems to have affected and stuck with me more than it did for other kids.

School Dances

I’m having a hard time finding video examples — for probably obvious reasons in hindsight — of what I experienced as a middle schooler in the 90’s, but every school dance or party I went to with music and kids in my age range included dancing I can only describe as simulated sex acts.

As I’ve written about before, I lagged behind my peers in sexual and romantic development. I understood what sex was academically better than my classmates due to my mom teaching sex ed, but I had absolutely zero practical knowledge and none of the hormonal feelings of longing for said knowledge until years later. So while I can now look back and see a bunch of horny pre-teens grinding at every opportunity they could as plain as day, at the time I was told this was dancing.

I assume there was some subtle equivalent of a wink implied that I never picked up on as a kid. Because all I could think about was how many of these “dancing” kids didn’t keep rhythm with the music. They didn’t even change what they were doing when a new track came on! But nevertheless the other kids cheered them on.

With all the peer pressure to participate, I felt absurd trying to figure out what’s expected of me, so I started just refusing to dance and thus being dubbed a party pooper.

Choreography

Eventually I realized I could enjoy dancing when it was choreographed. I excelled in theater. A few of my high school girlfriends loved when I helped them practice their cheerleading routines. I have good rhythm from my musical background (both nature and nurture) and decent coordination when I have time to practice beforehand. I could do the electric slide at exactly the moment it went out of style. At my wedding, our first dance — we choreographed and practiced with a professional instructor for months — felt spectacular and I had a lot of fun doing it.

But it wasn’t until only a few years ago I could dance the way I saw others doing constantly. Improvised, free, and expressive.

I didn’t connect my aversion to dancing with my gender at all. I’m legitimately surprised it’s coming up in this part of my life. I thought it was all just social anxiety and not growing up in a family culture where we danced regularly.

My grandma danced with us a little bit, but those were… you know… grandma dances.

The Ugly Duckling

As a kid the message of The Ugly Duckling was sold to me as something like “Don’t worry if you’re having a hard time now. When you get older, you’ll hit your stride and it’ll all snap into place.”

When I struggled with school, making friends, mental/emotional stability as a kid I tried to just be patient as if some magical growth spurt would fix me and everything would finally make sense. Patience isn’t a bad lesson of course, and I think it does work for many kids to dissuade them from rushing too quickly into maturity and adulthood, but patience didn’t fix my problems.

Note: Struggling with things doesn’t mean I didn’t pass my classes, have friends, and function. It meant I felt like it was harder for me than it was for other kids.

As puberty arrived, I got taller but never tall. I welcomed my voice deepening because it increased my range for chorus and doing voices. The body hair, severe acne, and increased sweating all frustrated me. Around this time, I also had to get braces. My depression deepened. I felt far from swan-like while watching other kids my age blossom gracefully.

Then I thought maybe it would come with turning 18 and the instantaneous upgrade we’d all suddenly feel with legal adulthood. Maybe 21 with the privileges of alcohol and nightlife access — a privilege girls seemed to get around age 16, which was extremely gross but also made me jealous. Then graduating college. Then getting married. I kept moving the goal post every time I reached what I was told were benchmarks of maturity, never feeling like a swan.

Until my egg finally burst open. 🐣

Disinhibition

Suddenly I felt uninhibited in my body. I could look at myself naked — yes, I only recently learned how to be naked by myself without averting my eyes or covering up. I could let myself do all the mannerisms and vocal quirks I was bullied for as a kid. And I could do what everyone told me I should when I tried to learn to dance: let the music flow directly through me without thinking too much about how it moves my body.

The first time I danced after coming out was at a dark abundance themed wedding where I only knew a few people. I wore a skirt, vest, collared shirt with an unbuttoned collar and no tie, heels, and more jewelry than I usually wore before.

I was surrounded by strangers of all ages and music far from my preferences, but dancing felt good. I still had my usual social anxiety, but it didn’t stop me from getting loose and enjoying myself. Without hesitation, I incorporated motions I’d either been told or somehow internally rationalized as feminine. Where before I had to power through before, I let go of whatever judgments others might have. There was this natural harmonious feeling I’d never felt around so many people before.

I understand the story of The Ugly Duckling far better now.
It’s not just about growing up. It’s about realizing you were being measured against the wrong standards all along. It’s about feeling comfortable and uninhibited in your own body.

A few months ago, a friend invited me to their dance studio for a special Pride-themed session. It was exclusive to women and femme-presenting people, so I felt honored to be accepted there and I had a blast. I had zero interest in anything like that before coming out.

Now I sometimes find myself dancing on my own. I’ve frequently sung as an expression of spontaneous joy, but dance is a rediscovered outlet for me — new since Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. I’ve unlocked something primal. A human birthright was taken and held from me for nearly forty years by a culture that made no room for me. Now to make up for lost time.

Speaking of moving more freely than ever in my own body brings me to…

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Sex

If you’d like to skip mentions of sex and erogenous zones, scroll down to the next section after the kitten picture and divider line. There won’t be any more after that.

For many years, I’ve opened my mind about what sex means to me. I could write about this stuff forever, but I’ll attempt some quick bullet points here:

• “Foreplay begins immediately after the last orgasm.” — Esther Perel
• Sex is play. Its primary purpose is to share fun, joy, and intimacy between participants. It’s not an exam, interview, or recital.
  • “If you’re anxious or depressed, you are less curious about novelty and are more interested in being in a comfortable, familiar environment.” — Emily Nagoski
• Sex is much more than penetration. This is a defiance of a dysfunctional traditional mindset.
  • “Define sex broadly = more and better sex. Define cheating narrowly = more resilient relationships.” — Dan Savage

After years of battling performance anxiety, growing my understanding of my demisexuality, and having varied (both great and not-so-great) success at maintaining sexual passion in long term relationships, these three points have been among the most helpful for me.

That foundational work took place before I even considered transition, but it’s helping me re-learn what a fulfilling sex life means for me.

Testosterone

Having reduced testosterone has significantly reduced my sex drive, which I consider a mostly welcome change. I’d sometimes have a mismatched physical thirst for release while the rest of me — my emotions, my circumstances, my environment — screamed no.

I’d feel a swelling burden I’ve labored to describe. To me, it felt like a corrosive, hot fluid coursing through my veins. I suspect this is what men refer to as blue balls but it had nothing to do with stopping anything in motion. It was a toxin I had to release every few days or I’d become a grumpy, tight-jawed shell of myself.

The closest way I’ve found to illustrate how it feels is how reluctant vampires are often depicted. It’s an incredibly powerful compulsion, driven by a chemical need and not always a mindful desire. Many people love that on both sides of an encounter, and I certainly enjoyed many of the times it overtook me, but I also hated it. Especially as my feelings about love, romance, and sex grew more complex.

Control

When I had partners who insisted masturbation was cheating (the ridiculous idea still pops up on social media sometimes), this meant I had to go to them exclusively for release. Even after they did something to upset me, or I had a rough day and just needed to relax. I was no cheater.

I eventually learned these ideas are incompatible with me. They were methods of control these partners — who were, to be fair, also learning about this stuff for themselves — held me under. Sometimes they’d tell me they were withholding sex because they wanted it to build up a desperation in me which thrilled them when it drove me to pursue.

Because it bears clarifying, I have never held the notion anyone owes sex or physical intimacy to anyone else. Orgasm denial is a well known kink, but through these experiences I learned I’m not into it.

But even after breaking free of this losing streak and establishing these red flags in my dating practices, my anxiety continued to build.

Performance Anxiety

In hindsight it’s obvious. Having a negative internal driver (thirst) determine when I “want sex” had an entropic effect on my sexual desire over time. Each time I had sex I didn’t fully want just for the release made sex with that person less desirable. It built subconscious resentment. I sometimes externalized these problems in regrettable ways including blaming my partners, thinking it meant the relationship was failing, or I was falling out of love.

Once I redefined what I want from sex in my life (play), I slowly began enjoying it more. It took some pressure off my performance and allowed me to learn all kinds of expansive ways to have fun in the bedroom.

But the burden remained. I was managing the thirst myself mostly, having minimally satisfying solo sessions a couple times per week to supplement enjoyable partnered sex. This helped ensure I wanted the sex I was having in body and mind.

My Changing Body

Within a week of my first T blocker and Estradiol pill combo, the corrosive feeling began to fade. Within a month it was gone. I no longer need to release the acid every few days. It may sound melodramatic to anyone who hasn’t experienced this, but I mean it ten toes down: I’m free.

When I want, it’s with full control. Led by love, comfort, excitement, aesthetics, playfulness, or other wholesome motivations. Never just thirst. It’s less rushed and without the tunnel vision of a singular goal. It feels incredible.

Penises 🍆

I also no longer get the random erections people with dominant testosterone get. I wake up neither hot nor bothered. Not something I was upset about before, but cool. Except those random tents we pitch are how penises maintain their shape and flexibility.

Get the giggles out. This is the only section where I’ll talk about it, so skip it if you want.

If I want to maintain my shape, I have to make a conscious effort to get erections regularly. Which… I don’t really want to do. I have a busy life and I’m barely able to get everything else I want to do in a day done before I run out of energy and motivation. And I don’t really care, especially when I’m finally no longer compelled to release regularly by other biological needs.

And it’s weird. For most of my life, the idea of my dick getting smaller would’ve horrified me. Ideally, I’d like to keep it as it was pre-HRT, but it’s not the catastrophic dealbreaker I feared. The size and shape really aren’t much different and the pros far outweigh the cons, so I’m letting it be whatever shape it’s going to be.

It still works fine for the most part. Orgasms don’t come with any fluid anymore, which is actually kind of nice. Sustained erections are a little painful at the moment, like doing deep stretches with a tight hamstring. It doesn’t stop enjoyment, but it’s distracting and it makes me not want it focused on for too long at a time.

Luckily, because I arrived at this stage prepared with a broader definition of sex and a more diverse menu of things I can enjoy playing with, my sex life has not suffered. It’s just changed.

Relearning Sex

Different things feel better than what was once my favorite, which is kind of awesome. I get to come into sex with a refreshed curiosity without losing all my experience and skills. Like New Game Plus!

Rather than feeling things intensely in a few spots, I’m feeling pleasurable sensations distributed more evenly across my erogenous zones. Sensations that would do nothing for me before are suddenly thrilling. Not just downstairs, but on my thighs and developing chest too. I’m diversified.

I’m still pretty early in figuring this out. My body is still changing, but I’m excited for the new world I’m figuring out. One of the main things I wanted when I came out was to shed the burdens of gendered expectations, and it feels like I’m achieving it in my physical intimacy now too.

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We are now past the sexual details of this post. 🍆

What’s Next? (Physically)

Let’s consult the checklist:

• 🗹 Wardrobe transition
• 🗹 Lower Body Laser Hair Removal
• 🗹 Upper Body Laser Hair Removal
• 🗹 Makeup tutorials
• 🗹 Start HRT
• 🗹 Face Laser Hair Removal
• ☐ Be on HRT for 2+ Years
• ☐ Chest Feminization Surgery
• ☐ (not sure about yet) Facial Feminization Surgery
• ☐ (not sure about yet) Professional Voice Training
• ☐ (probably not) Bottom Surgery

Chest Feminization Surgery

The duration of E2 therapy necessary to induce maximal breast development has not been well established. A 1986 study of the longitudinal effects of E2 administration in conjunction with anti-androgens showed significant breast growth by 2 years of continuous therapy. Wierckx et al. further corroborated this with another MTF cohort, concluding that maximal growth occurs by the end of 2 years of E2 HRT. A few other studies have shown that growth may continue for up to 3 years of continuous therapy, which aligns more with the timeframe that breast growth is observed in peripubertal cisgender females.

Chest Feminization in Male-to-Female Transgender Patients: A Review of Options

Based on this and the recommendations of my doctors, I’ve decided to begin the process of chest feminization surgery after my final facial laser hair removal session and at least two years into HRT. I expect to need 8 sessions total and I skip summer months so I can enjoy my favorite season outdoors. This likely places it around winter 2025, giving me time to heal up for swimsuit season.

I didn’t think I wanted large breasts, but I’ve learned from bra size fittings my size and broad upper body makes large suit my silhouette, so I’ll probably aim for the DD range. I’m hoping to grow my own as best as I can, but I’ll probably need a little boost and reshaping once I plateau. (That’s the difference between chest feminization and basic breast implants, by the way.)

Bottom Surgery

This is the question I get most about my medical journey, mostly from every bureaucratic hoop I’ve had to leap through with insurers, doctors, HR reps, and other gatekeepers. They were asking me about this at the very beginning when all I was asking for was hair removal.

These questions are invasive and suspicious. I think these insurers and providers are documenting excuses to deny care if they decide I’m not “fully committed” to a binary transition. Many trans women (which I don’t claim to be) don’t get bottom surgery, and all genders deserve access to affirming care.

I’m still not planning bottom surgery. Those parts make me feel less dysphoric than the features everyone can see. They don’t get in the way of feeling like myself, especially not with my reduced T levels. And, if I’m painfully honest with myself, I’m scared to go through the procedures. I know lots of people who’ve done it and none regret it, but it looks really hard. I’ve had to do physical rehab therapy twice in my life already, and while I know age disables us all eventually, I dread going through it again.

According to reviews: [Temporarily] painful, debilitating, and physically difficult. But [permanently] fulfilling, invigorating, and 100% worth it.

Am I like them? I don’t know. Every step I’ve taken on this journey has made me happier so far. Once I get up the courage to even begin researching this, I know I’ll make the right choice. So far, I’ve never been wrong about permanent body modifications — both the yeses and no’s. And I have lots of practice.

Am I a Woman?

Short Answer: No. Non-binary suits me best, no matter how my appearance changes or what I can potentially pass as.

Long Answer: It depends how politics evolve, which is a truly chilling answer. If we continue to live in a country/world where I’m in danger based on how I fill out my forms and act in public, I may start trying harder to pass. Once I finish everything I want to do with my body, it’ll be easier to try and pass as a woman than to go off HRT and attempt to pass as a severely depressed man who now knows what will make him happier, but can’t have it. All because of bigotry, corruption, and indifference.

Yes, I could survive without it. I did for 37 years. Will I want to? Hard to say. It was comparatively miserable while I still had the veil of ignorance. When I thought everyone felt that way (dysphoric) all the time and just worked through it like bracing against hurricane winds. I thought I was weak for not being able to handle what everyone else could. Now I know somewhere between 95-99% of y’all have no wind. And I’m supposed to step back out into the storm knowingly? I’d rather take my chances at passing.

Dare I hope my fears of Project 2025 are as naive and overblown as conservatives’ fears Obama would take all their guns away?

Privilege

Some view women as a privileged class, for dozens of mostly problematic and a few valid reasons. I’m happy to unpack this as its own post someday, but for now I’ll offer a distillation of an extremely complex point of view I hold:

Womanhood is only privileged in societal acceptance of cis-ness.

1. Being a woman is much harder than being a man.
2. Being trans is much harder than being cis.

If we look toward the way dominant conservative messaging talks about us, their (BS) hierarchy considers trans people lower than women. They present themselves on the surface as reverent of womanhood — especially motherhood — while designing policy around state ownership of their bodies for a woman’s utility as devalued labor, childrearing, status symbols, and sex objects. The value of a cis woman to them is already disgustingly low, and most don’t agree with who’s doing the measuring.

And they view me as lesser still.

Passing

Passing as a woman could be a small upgrade from my true position in their hierarchy. De-transition back to pretending to be a cis man would be an even bigger leap. I have little faith in my ability to do either convincingly. I’m not looking to climb socially unless I need to do it to survive.

I only passed as a cis man in the past by acting irrationally and abusively to people I loved. It’s no excuse, but each moment I rebelled brought up questions of my manhood. I was only aware of this in the tiniest of ways at the time, but if I attempted to go back I’d have no ignorance to hide behind. I’d be fully cognizant of every lie I told and harm I inflicted.

If I have to wear makeup and take other steps to leave my home safely, I’d rather do that than go back to unmedicated depression. Because, for me, testosterone is a curse. And while HRT comes with its own sacrifices, I consider it the greatest blessing I’ve found that’s not a human connection.

I Need to Wrap This Up

I’ve been working on this article for months and I keep going down tangents all over the place, so let’s summarize the cutting room floor:

• I feel even more strongly about how shame and internalized misogyny drive homophobia and transphobia. I now believe most haters are repressed queers, and their environment prevents them from ever actualizing it even if they wake up one day and realize it. It’s a hell of their own construction they set in motion long ago and now just have to tow the line.
• I was also going to write a whole article about transmisogyny, but Devon Price did it for me (and way better than I would’ve). I recommend it!
• Gender affirming care is for everyone, obviously. I’d take it a step further and say everyone should have access to an endocrinologist and safely experiment with their hormonal balance. Either once they reach adulthood or earlier if they feel the need.
• Getting insurance to cover gender affirming is a nightmare, even in California where we have more protections than anywhere else. Even working for progressive companies who explicitly support gender affirming care in their policies, and paying for the highest available tier of coverage. They delay us every step of the way and make us repeat our traumatic history, our extremely private details, and consult with random doctors who’ve never met us to validate what we say about our own bodies and minds. And after this election, this may be as good as I ever have it.
• I’m jealous of people who get to start this process earlier in life. I hope that’s not just a momentary glimpse of liberation.
• I received the Trans Survival Guide from A4TE and I’m taking some of the steps outlined there. What are you doing?

Let me know — in the comments, in person, or any other way really — if you’d like me to talk about any of these tangents I’m stopping myself from delving into today. As always, kind questions are welcome.