My mother expressed surprise that I knew I wanted to be a girl when I was five. I tired to explain that I didn’t know that I wanted to be a girl then, but that I thought being a girl would be easier for me; that it would make me happier. I still hope that.

When I was seeking a new gender counselor a few years ago, I visited one twice to evaluate how we clicked. On our second appointment, she drilled into me and found a nerve around my desire to be a woman. I started to cry. I knew she was right, that my desire was deep, repressed, and it terrified me that I had such a strong desire. I never went back.

Back when I was ‘just a crossdresser’, I longed for more, for the body to fit the clothes. I wanted to be a man with a vagina and breasts, but not be a transsexual.

The second gender counselor I saw in the late 1990’s offered to start me on hormones a few sessions in. I turned her down. I was too scared that I would like them and that I would have to transition if I did.

After I came out to my then-best friend around the same time, he told me he supported me and that I would make an ugly woman. His words stung, and the fear of being ugly and unlovable has stalked me and I still don’t feel safe from it.

I don’t know what I am or what I’m becoming and it terrifies and exhilarates me.

Transition will be the hardest easiest thing I’ve ever done, I’m sure of it; except when I’m afraid and then it looms as the hardest, dumbest thing I’ll ever do.

As I furtively tipped most of my clothes and shoes into a clothing donation station during a purge, I experienced a pang of regret that I chased away with the certitude that I was doing the right thing by exiting a phase of my life. (And the box of the best stuff that I saved helped ease the pain.)

Driving home from the support group meeting where I felt shocked to my core by the understanding that I was what I am–whatever it is–tears streamed down my face and I was wracked by sobs for the pain I knew I would have and that I would bring to those around me as I moved forward with transition.

I may be doing the wrong thing, transitioning, but I won’t know until I get there. I’ve been so unhappy for so long there’s nothing left to lose. (I have a lot of lose. I tell myself that I don’t, because otherwise it sometimes becomes too overwhelming.)


About cistotrans

A Seattle-area trans woman seeking a happy spot to stay at along the path of transition.
This entry was posted in observations, personal history, random, self-acceptance, transition and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Doubts

  1. georgiakevin says:

    ((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((hug))))))))))))))))))))))))))) your post made me soo emotional from the very beginning. As i read it i felt as though we could be close sisters as our feelings are soo close. My therapist told me the last time i saw her that i am a very unhappy person, when i told my family what she said every one agreed with her. I am not far behind you my dear. i wish that i had a support group to go with or a very best friend that i could heart to heart with. My best to you!


  2. I can relate. After my awkward coming out to my mother at 14 I let myself be convinced I wasn’t trans because it was easier. I was scared. It was easier to ignore it, blame other things. I accepted myself as a girly crossdresser at around age 20 after years of denial. Occasionally I would painfully remember coming out and the certainty of who I was and I would feel a flash of embarrassment and shame, I wanted to bury those feelings. It was only thanks to counselling, 5-6 years later, that I was able to say “I am transgender” and realise how much energy I’d put into convincing myself I wasn’t, all out of fear. Fear of having to go through transition, fear of being an “ugly” woman, fear of how my family would react… I take comfort now knowing that this was always the destination. I could kick and scream all I wanted but I was always heading in this direction, towards transitioning. I either do it now or I do it later, I don’t see any other choice.

    Liked by 1 person

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