The One Year Traniversary

One year ago today, I was busily cracking my egg and coming to terms with where I found myself. And where I found myself was, basically, "Oh shit, I'm trans!"

The journey since then has been exuberant and rocky and quietly thrilling and deeply depressing, and mostly quite calming. In the times before my Trans Epiphany, when I was so actively questioning my gender, and rearranging my brain to make space for the thought, I was also rocking a fair-sized dose of anxiety. Did it possibly make sense to give up the life of relative comfort and privilege I had, to willingly take on a social status which was actively being villified and demonized? Was this a choice I could make? Was I really cool with this?

The answer, of course, is that I was, and I could, and I did. At the beginning, I thought it was a case of moving from grey blandness to full-color glory. I've since revised my thinking: I now recognize that my old life was lived in a constant state of ignoring myself and trying to pretend everything was ok, without actually dealing with anything. I had coached myself into believing that going through the right motions was the thing to do, since that seemed to be the only way. I'd learned to suppress any feminine tendencies from such an early age that I had no memory of doing it (and still don't -- I've had to interpolate it from a bunch of disconnected memories and sense impressions, so that it's still frustratingly vague and hard to see).

However, the later memories are there, and now they finally start to make sense. That urge to put on my friend's sister's bra, that time I signed onto the BBS as Fatima and role-played as a girl, all the time I found myself falling for lesbians without understanding why, the instinctive distrust of men, the increasingly urgent desire to understand what women were experiencing in a way the men around me didn't. In isolation, none of those things made sense. With this new understanding, I don't get it becomes Ah, I see it now..

I am, in trans terms, still extremely young, but also gaining a sort of 1st-level elder status as I approach one year on hormone replacement therapy. I'm still very actively working on almost every aspect of the trans experience: I still routinely think of myself as male, or by my old name; I only occasionally see a feminine form in the mirror, and usually only when I'm not trying; my experience of dating, formerly what I would describe as "very limited," I now think of as non-existent, the question of my sexuality practically unexplored. My closet is full, but I'm not comfortable with makeup. My voice, though I have worked on it fairly diligently, is still uncertain, and feels fake to me. I have not made any decisions on whether I want to pursue any of the available surgeries trans women commonly get.

However, events have clustered around my one-year anniversary which make me feel like I'm making real progress toward the still-nebulous goals I have in mind. I filed my petition for name change a few weeks ago, and had the hearing last week, with various government IDs updated and winging their way my direction in the next 10-14 business days. After numerous failed sorties to Nordstrom Rack to find shoes, I hit the motherlode last night, and found five pair that not only fit, but were a style I would consider wearing, and actually looked good. They all followed me home. I just got back from my first-ever pedicure (a non-gendered activity that nevertheless feels very feminine to me). I switched from estradiol patches to injections on Tuesday. All, in their way, little markers of progress.

When I look back on the past year, it's kind of astounding how much I've accomplished. Within a week of figuring myself out, I had signed up for voice lessons, and found a new GP who would be much more supportive of my transition than my old one. One month and one day after I cracked, I started HRT, slapping the first patch on my butt just after midnight on April Fools' Day. I packed my closet with women's clothing, and haven't gone boymode for even a moment since I got back from a previously planned trip that took me through the American deep south last summer. My hair grew long enough that I was able to get it substantially cut a few weeks ago and end up more femme than it was before the cut. I've finished most of a course of laser hair removal that's left my upper body much more hair-free than I ever thought it would be. HRT has transformed my skin utterly, and having breasts is now my daily reality. My new name is legally registered and will soon be current across all the important accounts.

But most importantly, I have been taking care of myself in a way that was almost unthinkable a year ago. I pay attention to my mental health. I keep myself clean and groomed much more carefully. I eat much better, and prioritize myself, instead of only finding self-worth in helping others.

I still face substantial challenges, of course. Dysphoria is a constant companion, somehow seeing the gnarled old man in the mirror instead of the strangely youthful woman I've glimpsed once or twice. Generalized anxiety is also an ongoing state, as I watch my right to exist as a human being eliminated in state after state (for a comprehensive ban on gender affirming medical care is effectively the same thing as a death sentence, particularly for the trans folks who are trapped in those states, for whom the idea of detransitioning is so abhorrent they would rather end their life than face it). Even from my place of comparative privilege, being securely housed with a good job and no money worries, my life feels much less secure than it did a few years ago. I gave serious thought to a plan to emmigrate to Europe last night, because suddenly buying a one-way ticket to Germany when President Desantis is sworn in is a very bad plan, basically not a plan at all.

However, some of the challenges I feared I might face have not manifested themselves. I have not faced anyone decrying me as a monster. No one has crossed the street to avoid me. I didn't lose any friends (other than to the enforced isolation of covid, but that's a separate issue). No one in my family has disowned me, and they're all supportive. My workplace has handled it with grace, and everyone just uses my correct name after one or two mistakes. The world is substantially more trans-friendly than the news would have you believe.

As I look forward to the next year, I foresee making firm decisions on at least one surgery (orchiectomy), and just generally relaxing into the new shape of my life. Releasing the tension and fear of the unknown that characterized my recalibration phase and early transition. I don't know where I'll be in a year, but I hope it's even better than where I am now.