My Transition Journal

It's been a long while since I've updated this blog. After the first year, I guess I was more interested in living than trying to analyze it so I could blog about it. Why writing a post now makes sense is because so many of the questions I had then now have answers, such as:  Q: Did I ever grow the boobs I wanted? A: Nope, my inability to gain weight plus the wrong genetic seeds plus a wide sternum led to nothing more than moobs. Fortunately, I was able to get 400cc implants in June of 2023. I love them so... except my left lady has settled poorly and developed a stage 3 capsular contracture, which means it isn't as soft and pushes the nipple to one side, making it slightly uneven. Barring a full Trump ban (God help us all), I will be getting a revision on that one breast sometime in the future. Unfortunately the risks that run with having to get fun bags from a doctor instead of natural ones from HRT. Q: Did my face feminize? A: Not nearly enough. The HRT softened certain ...

The story Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer tries to sell us is that the misfit toys have been abandoned or pushed to the edge of society. I instead like to see it as a collective choice was made. "We don't fit. So instead of trying to conform to shapes and functions that are expected by the powers that be, we'll celebrate our uniqueness alone from the world but together." This is my second time attending my local trans forum and it offers something not easily found in the outside world: universal understanding that we don't fit among the cookie cutter, the factory made, the already deemed acceptable. And what this produces is a group of people focused on lifting each other up above all else, a group void of ego and competition, a group that celebrates the small steps and the gargantuan. This is true equality and it only seems to exist on our little island. 

The life of a trans person is to hide. First to hide yourself from yourself (in my case) for the first 30 years of your life. And then to hide from those who don't understand, don't agree, don't feel comfortable.  Im not a person who likes to create waves. I don't enjoy arguing and stating my points unnecessarily. And I especially don't like being a constant topic of conversation. But I suppose it's what I was signed up for before I was ever born.  To the majority of those who no longer view trans people as people, we are now instead "that trans problem". That unsightly thing to hide, to avoid, to detest... to hate.  Many don't understand and don't put in the effort to even try. They see it as this political thing when in reality it as a human thing. A human thing many have not experienced or will ever have to. Growing up we learned the importance of trying to understand that life is not experienced the same way by all. Just because one experie...

Signs of trans dehumanization: 1. Personal questions no longer apply: "So, are you going to get bottom surgery?" or "Are you going to get a boob job?" or "What's sex like now?" These "curious" questions are the equivalent to someone visiting an old freak show walk through and prodding the specimens. If you were to flip it and ask a cis person about sex or genitals you would most likely be on the receiving end of a possible lawsuit. But trans people are different? Of course. We don't mind talking about our greatest reasons for dysphoria. No. We are eager to talk about such naked and private topics... Of course the wrong response to such questions would be "I can show you if you're curious" but it also would be an effective way to make them feel as uncomfortable as we do in that moment.  Why is dehumanization okay? Regardless of how one feels about the validity of a transgender person, we are still owed the dignity of having l...

In this, my first year of transitioning, my list of firsts, surprisingly are not all transition based. Or, not directly related to transitioning, at least. Back in one of my first posts I referenced the tar still left behind, the tar of learned masculinity, the tar of irrational aggression, etc... I broke my hand. Up until now I've lived 30.5 years without breaking any of my bones--and then the year I start to really embrace the woman I am, I break my hand in, annoyingly, the most male way possible: frustration at (and with) work made me punch a hard surface. I have a nondisplaced fracture of the base of my third Metacarpal on my right hand. In layman's terms: the bone that connects to my middle finger. Oh this tar. It still remains in places, and some of it has proved harder to get rid of than I initially expected. But this act of stupid aggression also led to a few very real moments of sobbing. Cathartic moments. Needed moments. It was probably naive of me to think thirty yea...

When you're trans, most people will only now focus on that about you. It's immediately definable and puts you in a category labelled 'I don't need to hear anymore'. Though we all have stories of how we reached this point, for most people trans is viewed as the beginning and the end. It is an island of a destination, separate from the established lands and will forever be treated that way. Male. Female. Other. Trans fit as Other, but how Other is seen is like scraps or shavings left behind. Our existence isn't seen as legitimate. People would rather you toil in the defined genders. It's what they understand. It's what they can accept. So even though the defined gender of birth is killing you, leaving it behind is a death sentence all its own.  When you tell people this is who you've always been, they then question if anything was real about you before. Was everything fake? Was everything a show? No. But everything was two dimensional: a simpler, less ...

Lots of little things have happened since my last entry. And yet I find myself grasping at straws with what to say. I don't really like talking about it daily; it's simply my reality. And though it's easier to look in the mirror now and far easier to shuffle through my wardrobe and find things I'm excited to wear, I also realize the enormous difficulty of this path.  I am someone who has never fit really any mold. In my Christianity, I wasn't conservative enough. In my personality, I wasn't simple enough. My complexity often has been my greatest disconnect from people. My view of the world, molded mostly by grief early on, has always left me feeling like an alien among earthlings. It's never been harder for me to write than it is right now. I hate just putting words down on paper to fill the space. There are updates I can give but there is no motivation to give them. I start to analyze something, decide to write on it, and then the factory stops. And suddenl...

Nine months today. I haven't regretted this decision for one moment. At times I have taken pause simply because of the enormity of it all. But I've never once truly considered stopping.  You see, Nathan was this, technically still alive, dead thing. So my process of shedding him has been the process of something you'd see in nature. For creatures that shed skin, they often have to use their environment to help the process, meaning it is often uncomfortable. But discomfort with a purpose has a different feeling.  In the last week or so I have started to really shed my skin in a more permanent way. At work, my nails are always painted and my hair is styled in more feminine ways. I wear headbands that have animal print on them and care very little how I am perceived.  I've never been a popular person. Though I feel I have a unique, quirky personality, few people connect with it. At my personal peak of popularity, I had a record breaking two friends. Now I am down to one. T...

The question I will ultimately have to answer ad nauseum is if I'm still saved. Some will say I'm lost, that I've fallen away from Christ entirely. My answer is simple: If that's true, I was never really at home with Him, even in the best of times. And if that's true, He was never actually holding me and He was never actually my Savior. Because if my transitioning means He no longer wants me, He never truly wanted me.   I am a child that has reached her hands up for the duration of my life, just looking for acceptance and safety and the unending, matchless love that Christ demonstrated by willingly dying on that cross for me. As a parent who has been blessed with three beautiful children, the sight of your child reaching their arms out to you does something profound within. You just want to grab them and hold them close and let them know they are safe in your arms. Even now that I am a full grown adult, I am still that child reaching her hands up, hoping to be held ...

The uphill climb of transition is very disheartening. I have five o clock shadow; I don't want five o clock shadow. And I found out today that to get rid of it permanently will cost just under $1300 for six sessions. We don't just have this money available, so now the prospect of having to save for it... Well life constantly happens. Trying to save for this amount of money is daunting. And it's not like I have any real help to do it. As it's always been, my wife and I will have to scrape things together to make any kind of end meet.  Many people will view this as cosmetic and unnecessary. These people couldn't possibly view it in the real light it fits in. It would be very similar if a cis woman woke up every morning to find her face was scratchy and not smooth, a shadow in place of what should be clear and soft skin. Finally being able to grow a beard was probably the physical highlight of my time as Nathan. But that faded and I was just as miserable and unfulfille...

Once you conclude you've never been a male, it's easy to look back at all the times in the past to see it with a different clarity. Whether it's the girls you couldn't keep or the groups you didn't belong in, the answers that have always eluded suddenly make so much sense. "So and so didn't like me because she was looking for a male, not just the shell of one." These little revelations make me feel like I was always given a losing deck. And actually finding a wife of the quality and selflessness of mine is truly a gift that can only be given by God. When I was growing up, the idea of living as a woman, though always present somewhere in my mind, something of a pinball always bouncing around, it never seemed like a real step I could take. It was a reality that was maybe playing out in another timeline but not this one. Definitely not this one. I was convinced of my spiritual importance and my position as an odd duck ultimately leading to bigger things. ...

I have officially entered a new phase: the detachment. Today another step was taken. I went to work with my nails painted. I didn't bring attention to it. And neither did anyone else. A second small, but not minuscule, step was walking with my kiddos around our block in girl mode today. Both of these acts require detachment. Detaching from care and letting yourself live above it, knowing that you will be on the receiving end of judgment and possible mockery, expecting it with every possible interraction.  What day will it be when "fag" is yelled from a passing car? It really doesn't matter because eventually it will happen, maybe not exactly as I envision, but some kind of similar offset. It will happen. And I'm as prepared for it as I can be because I am detached from it.  Will it still hurt to hear? Sure. But I've been on the receiving end of words like that many times in my past. It's now not so much taken as an insult as it's a stamp to wear proudl...

Big steps have been taken in the last few days. On my last day of work for the week, I talked to my boss about my transitioning and found out he is 100% in my corner and will defend me against anyone, if it were to come to that, which is an absolute answered prayer. And today I went to Walmart fully dressed, my mouth the only thing not showing because of my face mask. I've learned through my journey so far that enough little steps eventually lead to the places you once felt were unreachable. To think only a couple years ago I was worried how people would view me if I pierced my ears. At that time I had a pretty impressive beard and had my man act down to a T. So, the steps I have taken in the last year have amounted to a lot even though I haven't taken big steps, but instead a lot of little ones. And they have brought me to a place where I am inching closer daily to fully presenting as Vaela everywhere I go. Reaching the end of the road as your assigned at birth gender makes ha...

The trickle down effect has begun. At work 4 people (maybe 5) now know. Before that it was 2. When it was revealed to me today that my 'secret' was out because someone from work saw my female social media page, I didn't panic. Instead I started to prepare for the next steps. This was going to happen eventually. Obviously changing genders chemically, after a while, becomes quite noticeable. If you start to transition without daily preparing to face the music of your reality, you will be blindsided. The moment I took those first pills, I knew I was on a road that would eventually lead here. And knowing that, I have prepared for it daily.  Having said that, it doesn't mean I know exactly what to say or how to respond to the unknowns of this situation. Every person you know, until reality replaces expectation, is immediately an unknown. Most will work out the way you expect. Some will disappoint, and some will surprise in the best ways possible. Trying to prepare for hypoth...

Why do we, as a collective society, find it bold and outgoing for a man to tell a woman what she wants, what she likes, etc... Now you'll find many people who speak against it, men and women alike, but still these are the types of boys/men who are most popular in school and most sought after: the top of the totem pole. Even if a woman is looking for something different, the immediate attraction is to the one who is most typical and masculine. It is sewn into the fabric of society, an unbreakable thread. For the few at the top, they experience all of the cliché things our fathers and other male figures push on us. For the rest of us, you are left somewhere in the middle, criticized for all the faults you have and compared to the top of the totem pole. If, as a man, you try and respect women and show them that we are equal in position and importance, suddenly the question becomes "Why don't you man up? Take charge of her and show her who's boss. Show her why you wear the...

In general, internalized phobias are societal brainwashing. It's something where, through constant exposure to preset narratives, you come to fear, dread, or even hate fundamental truths about yourself. A closeted gay man, for example, may target gay men to attack and assault, all as an overcompensation for how he truly feels. Or, a woman born in a man's body (me for this example) may spend more than two decades fighting and denying while at the same time overcompensating by judging those "not strong enough" to keep fighting. Sadly and frustratingly, most of the years of my life before I turned thirty, I was stuck somewhere between envy and disgust. Disgust that I wasn't strong enough. Disgust that I consistently fell short of my calling. Disgust that I was "one of them"... Reading it now, I cringe at the terminology I once used without hesitance or once thought was fine or appropriate. I devalued people from a group I have always belonged to. Why? Why w...

As is true of most cases, I only listen to someone's wisdom on a topic if they have firsthand experience with it. I carry this same principle over especially when it comes to what has been my lifelong struggle. People can so flippantly disregard an issue when it doesn't affect them. I hope to help cultivate a Christian outlook that seeks to listen first and talk later, an outlook where people first pray before speaking, an outlook where The Holy Spirit's leading is valued over our basic understanding. Not enough people care to see someone for what lies below the surface, what has colored in the details of life, and what has ultimately led to the road they now walk on. Instead all of life is viewed through this strict and small perspective by those within the faith. Though God is unknowable, and incomprehensible, and vast beyond description, people so often speak for Him in such small and contained ways. Who are we, as mere creation, to say what disqualifies entrance to the ...

Now that school has started for my oldest, she has been exposed to the norm. And the norm is a mom and a dad picking up kids from school. The norm is beards, and baby-beerguts and socially acceptable gender roles. And sure enough, seeing this norm has made her wish it was the same for her. I believe she misses the idea of it but not the reality, because the reality was a father who was detaching from life, a father who was not present with my children, a husband who could only handle bare minimum effort with my wife; and with that came an atmosphere that was often strife filled, and tense, with fights that got loud and heated and oftentimes were very emotionally damaging.  My daughter misses the idea of a person she imagines. My reality as her father was far different. I'm not saying I was a particularly bad father. A better explanation is simply I was an overwhelmed father. And being overwhelmed by my dysphoria and battle had drained me of all my best qualities, leaving behind thi...

Not long enough ago, I was of the opinion that parents who let their kids explore gender, etc... were not fulfilling the role of a parent. For a parent is to steer and set boundaries. I wish I had the understanding I have now back then. I believe it is still true that a parent is supposed to steer and set boundaries, but if the steering is in complete opposition to a fundamental reality of the child, it will only lead to what I am now experiencing: transitioning later in life, now with a wife and three kids. Possibly blowing up a built life because the fight was killing me. I believe there is still a way to let your child find who they are while keeping them within certain boundaries. If transgenderism (even crossdressing) wasn't considered such a dirty, freak thing by so many, especially those in the Christian community, a child who feels they were born in the wrong body should be allowed a safe space to explore that.  I wonder what my memory of my childhood would be if I had been...

Pressure to stop transitioning can come from the most unexpected places. Mine has been work. Now being a manager and possibly setting myself up to have some kind of growable future, I can't help but want to slink away. Grow back that hard fought beard and look the part of someone who is satisfied with things and has it all together. When you break this idea down, I wouldn't stop transitioning for any healthy reasons. I would mostly stop to better fit in at my job, meaning my at-home life would drop off as the burden of pretending would wear me down to nothing once again. There will come a point where I can't pretend anymore and I worry it will drop me from "promising new manager" to "the inexperience has now become problematic".  Although my company claims to have no discrimination, the kind I worry about is the beneath-the-surface kind, the kind that doesn't come from a company but individual bigotry.