Preface: this is something I have to write in order to get my thoughts down. I don’t know how well thought out it is, or how uplifting it’s going to be. I often talk about the lighter topics regard my transition–you may not believe it, but I do censor myself sometimes–and right now, I need to be brutally honest.
Before I came out as trans, I was confused, depressed, terrified, and felt completely alone. When I came out, I was ready to be my authentic self. However, they don’t tell you in trans boot camp that those emotions don’t just go away because you are out. No, coming out just takes all of those raw emotions and paints them all over you where everyone can see them, and trust me, everyone has an opinion on them. The hardest thing I have ever done in my life is transition.
I don’t know if anyone believed me at first. I mean, they acknowledged my short hair and masc dress, they mostly called me Linden, mostly used he/him pronouns. A lot of people told me they weren’t that surprised. Yet, when I talked about wanting to start testosterone, I couldn’t escape the lectures about how risky it was, or how I wouldn’t know if that’s what I would want when I’m older, or how I was putting myself in danger. It took months, three hospitalizations, and a doctor telling my parents that having me start T might be the final resort in a long line of treatments that might “fix me.”
I started T, I moved to college, and I started living truthfully. My skin started to thicken with new, stronger emotions on top of the raw insecurities. Then in November, one month before my scheduled date, my top surgery was delayed because of a hospital stay. Though I tried to plead that having the surgery would remove a layer of dysphoria so thick that I might actually be able to breathe again, the brakes came back on. There was an air of “You’ve already started hormones, do you really need this?” Doubts started peeling back my skin, terrifying me. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I could just be happy without top surgery.
Spoiler alert: I had top surgery. It’s been 7 months now, and I can honestly say I have never been happier with my body. And you know what? I’m still dysphoric. I’m still fighting all those emotions I’ve had for as long as I can remember.
I officially scheduled a hysterectomy a few days ago. Well, that’s not completely true. My mom did it. I can honestly say that two and a half years ago, when I came out, I did not plan on ever having a hysterectomy. But I’m trans, and sometimes I have to do things that I don’t plan on, or even really want that much, to cope with the shitty circumstances I’m in, simply because I was born in this body. I’m terrified about the hysterectomy. I’m confessing that with the knowledge that I’m painting the raw emotions back on my skin and I’m learning how to be ok with that. I have to be ok with that. Being scared is ok sometimes; being scared is ok all the time.
Transitions are scary. I don’t just mean transgender-y transitions. All transitions. Change is terrifying. Life is constant motion, and I’m still finding my footing. I’ll figure it out. Until then, I always have late night blog posts, huh?