six-month hormoniversary, 22nd may 2013.
“gracefulness has been defined to be the outward expression of the inward harmony of the soul.”
— william hazlitt, english writer, critic and philosopher, 1778-1830
the highest compliment i’ve ever received is to be called graceful. that word, unlike any other, calls to mind so many of the qualities of character to which i aspire: kindness, elegance, sophistication, human sensitivity, charm, thoughtfulness in expression, mindfulness, self-awareness (but not self-importance), softness, gentleness in soul, and, yes, beauty.
i’ve tried to approach this major event in my life as gracefully as i know how. to believe in myself. to draw support from those who offer it, and to offer my help and my love in return. to keep an image of who i might be one day — who i hope to be one day — close to my heart.
but much of this past month has been dark in many ways, and it has been a challenge to see life in an optimistic light.
last month, my doctor doubled my hormone doses. i was (and am) thrilled for the increase, to ensure i continue down this path from a physical standpoint. i was, however, unprepared for what i must assume was an emotional effect from the higher dose. in fact, it came on so slowly, so quietly, that i didn’t realize what was happening.
starting about four weeks ago, everything suddenly seemed wrong. every time i looked in the mirror, i hated what i saw. it was far more intense than the simple dislike that i typically felt. every time i had to leave the house, i could barely look anyone in the eyes. when i was at home, i slept. a lot. for days. when i was awake, i was alone, lost in my thoughts and worries. i suddenly was convinced that i’d never “pass,” that the hormones wouldn’t work, that i’d never change beyond this little bit, that i’d forever be stuck somewhere in between male and female, and that i’d hate my life for it. it was an irrational thought at that point, with only five months of treatment so far, but i couldn’t get past it. my emotions — my fears — had me in a death grip. i couldn’t stop crying. i was starting to feel like i couldn’t live my life if this was how it was going to be forever. those are thoughts i’ve never had in my life, and they scared me.
my friends and family tried to be supportive. they told me they loved me, that i was beautiful. my transgender friends told me to be patient, that things would change but that it would take a long time. i knew that, of course, but it didn’t help at that point. a couple of people told me that i shouldn’t try to “be like everybody else” and to just accept myself for who i am — which only made me more inconsolable because it felt like they were saying, “give up. accept your fate.”
outside, duluth was cold and gray and wet while spring blossomed across the rest of minnesota. i spent more time than i care to admit under my comforter, listening to the rain, trying to block out the light coming in my bedroom windows.
and then, after a couple of weeks of unbearable dread and terror of the future, it all just … lifted. whatever cloud had enshrouded me suddenly dissipated. when i looked in the mirror, although nothing had changed, really, i could see someone i recognized again. a bit of confidence returned, and with it a bit of ambition to get on with life.
in the middle of this entire episode, i saw my gender therapist. we meet for about 50 minutes every month or six weeks, and there’s never enough time to talk about everything. that day, i could have filled up an entire afternoon telling the therapist how i was feeling — and then being skeptical of every suggestion she made to try and make me feel better. but there was one thing she did say that felt very profound to me.
i often have talked about how i am going through what amounts to a second puberty. to be sure, some things about my body suddenly are more akin to that of a 13-year-old girl than anyone else. things are tender, growing, changing shape. my moods are being affected. … but what i failed to consider, really, and what my therapist mentioned, is that in many ways this transition includes a second adolescence as well.
i was not prepared for this.
but it stands to reason, doesn’t it? all of the components are there: feeling uncomfortable in your awkward body. not wanting to stick out. worried about what other people will think of you, how they will judge you. trying to figure out exactly who you’re going to be when you’re done growing. looking to grown women who have been through this already for guidance. you get all of those feelings of awkwardness, of shyness, of teen angst. you want to isolate yourself in your room and listen to music and do whatever you can to feel better about yourself until you grow up and into your body, into the person you’ll become.
except you can’t do that, can you? because you’re 30, not 13. you have to go to work. you have to pay bills. you have to go grocery shopping. you have to live an adult life. you can’t just sit around and wait for things to pass. there are no parents in the next room to help you through this time around.
luckily, for the most part, times have changed since you were a teenager. skins are thicker. peers are less cruel. relationships are more sophisticated. but there is an element of that 13-year-old’s life in all of this. on the one hand, you’re lucky to have the advantage of having been through it all once, because you’re a different person than you were in 1995, and you know how to deal with things differently. on the other hand, even as that angsty 13-year-old, you had some vague notion that one day things would be different. one day you’d grow up; you’d come into your own and leave these worries behind. … but this time you’re not so sure. puberty is a different story at 30, and your body isn’t quite on the automatic pilot it was when you were a kid. you don’t exactly know how you’re going to turn out in the end.
i haven’t completely recovered from those two weeks of negativity. i have lingering thoughts of darkness, but at least now i can see those two weeks for what they were. and that makes it easier to prepare for something like that if it comes around again.
so, that’s what i wanted to talk about this month — the emotional fallout. physically, things are more or less unchanged from last month. my hair is a little bit longer; my chest might be a touch bigger. facial hair continues to be my major dysphoria trigger. (“facial hair Is ruining my life” and other short stories.) having to shave, having to do this most masculine of tasks, is bad enough, but it’s not even the facial hair that’s the worst part. i have so little that it barely even shows. it’s what having to remove it every morning does to the quality of my skin. i’ve always had nice, smooth, baby skin, and every time i have to drag a razor across it, i feel like it gets a little rougher. my third laser appointment is on the 7th of june. i am hopeful that i’ll see more definitive results after that.
i submitted my application for a name change on monday to the saint louis county clerk of courts. once a criminal background check is completed, i will get a letter with my court hearing date in the mail. it likely will be a monday morning in early to mid-june. i also received a letter from the state of minnesota granting my request to change the sex on my driver’s license to female. with that letter and the court order for my name change, i can go to the dmv and get a new, corrected license. i am very excited about that.
six months is a big milestone, and yet, it’s still quite early in terms of hormone treatment. i find myself sort of stuck in the present, waiting for things to happen, even as i think about the future.
i had a moment last night that made me smile like i haven’t smiled in weeks. my friend alex and i were chatting about all kinds of things, and we somehow got on the topic of wedding dresses, and what our dresses will look like, what colour they’ll be, what sorts of accessories we’ll include. even though the concept of a wedding in my future seems shaky at best, i was really excited about it — it wasn’t something i had ever had the chance to talk about before.
if that’s not a moment befitting a 13-year-old girl, i don’t know what is.