3/3/21 — on being yourself, changing your mind, and hrt
On the evening of the third of March 2021 – a lucky date; 3rd day of the 3rd month and 2+1 from the
year add up to 3 as well – a family friend who’s a nurse came over to our house and taught me how to give myself an intramuscular shot of testosterone. It came in a little pink packet that stored five tiny glass vials with a thick, oily liquid inside each one. I was beyond excited, rushing to my room as soon as it was done to tell all my friends about how I just got my first t-shot and record a little video to keep track of the changes that would happen over the next months and years.
And I would repeat this ritual every two weeks – assemble the syringe, draw the medication, change the needle to a thinner one, check for any air bubbles, disinfect my skin, stab myself (which became harder and more anxiety-inducing as time went on, but more on that later), and slowly inject it into my thigh. And trust me, it went slowly.
But let’s go back a few years to the time before I started hrt. I was a shy and quiet kid that grew into an anxious and depressed teenager. By the time I went to middle school at 13 I couldn’t find myself a place among my peers. I didn’t really fit in with the girls, and the boys mostly saw me as a weird creature that wasn’t really a candidate for dating, so I was of no interest to them. I went through a period of trying really hard to be a ‘girly girl’ that included daily make-up and occasional short skirts when hanging out with friends outside of school.
Eventually I gave up, and even found a couple of friends, queer friends. Despite this I was not particularly liked by a lot of people in my year. I’ll spare you the details, but truly all the world’s queer slurs were thrown at me in hopes one of them would hurt, and they did.
Throughout middle school I realised I was not a girl and maybe I never had been. I landed on genderfluid, my best friend made me three friendship bracelets – pink, blue and orange – so she’d know which gendered forms to use on a given day. Shortly after I admitted I actually wanted to be a boy; it just felt like a less scary step in my head to say I’m nonbinary instead of going all the way.
And so I finished middle school and immediately came out to all my friends with an instagram story (god, being a teenager was so fun). That summer, I went to London with the aforementioned friend and we stayed with her mum’s friend, who was much more progressive and laid back than any other adults in my life were. I told her I go by a new name and he/him pronouns. And that was my first week or so of being a guy full-time.
Despite trying really hard, I did a very poor job of hiding my new identity at home, and so one day my mum asked me what’s wrong. And then proceeded to tell me I would never be allowed to transition as long as I’m a child and I can start even thinking about that once I’m 18. But, 16-year-old me was unafraid and two months after that conversation marched right up to the head of year at my new school and told her I’m trans and I’d like to go by this name instead of the one on the lists. And although she took it well, the rest of the staff did not; so when I got off the train at home, I saw my mum, smoking a menthol cigarette from her secret stash (she’s not a smoker) with tears in her eyes. She got a call from the school, she said. But it was too late now to take it back, so begrudgingly my parents and the school cooperated. In the end, most teachers still deadnamed me and I could not use any of the toilets, but hey, at least it was known I was a guy, and with the covid lockdowns around the corner it turned out not to be that big of a deal. I’m skipping over a lot of arguing, depression, self-harm and a mental hospital visit (post on that coming up maybe if I get really angry about it again), but eventually my therapist managed to convince my parents that deadnaming me won’t help me and using the right name and pronouns could help, even if I eventually change my mind. But I didn’t. Or at least not yet.
I turned 18 on January 28th, and by March, I had a testosterone prescription. I needed two independent psychologists’ and a psychiatrist’s opinions (including a whole MMPI test that took like two hours to fill out and made me feel like they were just trying to figure what else could possibly be wrong with me, that could be blamed for my horrible decision to mutilate my body and transition, since that was the general vibe around being trans when talking to those professionals) and a whole list of bloods and tests, more so for my parents’ and government’s comfort than my own. The doctor told me I clearly knew what I needed and how it worked, but them’s the rules.
After I started testosterone I became a different person. The depression and anxiety were still there, but I started going out more, building friendships and relationships, I was more lively and louder and just… alive. To this day, my parents recall how radical of a shift it was. I was like an entirely new person.
I can’t even explain how much testosterone saved my life. Not just in the literal sense of it made me not kill myself, but it also gave me a life worth living; one, that was more than trying to make myself as small and quiet as possible.
The changes came in gradually – the deeper voice, that at first was just breaking awkwardly whenever I tried to speak, more body hair, facial hair (very pathetically thin, thanks for the genetics, dad). My face and body started to change shape, my skin became rougher. Did you know your body can just grow a dick? Well, it can and it’s a beautiful experience, don’t let people on tiktok convince you otherwise. Soon, I started being gendered correctly every time I left the house, teachers that had previously insisted on misgendering me started to slip up every now and then, even my extended family seemed to accept this new man I was becoming.
And that all went on for quite a while. I went to uni mostly stealth, though obviously fellow queer people clocked me immediately. I made new friends who’d never known the ‘old me’ and it was an incomparable feeling of freedom. I still struggled to fit in with my cis guy peers sometimes, but it was much more of my personal insecurity (and also the fact that I’m autistic). And after getting top surgery and changing my name legally, it felt like the rest of my life was unfolding before me beautifully and peacefully.
LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER!
Two things happened somewhat simultaneously. First, actually doing my shots became incredibly anxiety inducing, to the point where I’d be several days late with doing them every time because I just couldn’t push through that anxiety. This led me to switching to trimonthly Nebido shots instead of the smaller shots I’d been doing every 18 days, which added costs of having a nurse do my shots and getting more rigorous tests. That was around spring 2024. Then, I started noticing small shifts in my feelings – getting less comfortable with my name and with being seen as a man, both by strangers and in my friend groups; the idea of further changes like more facial hair and ageing as a man stopped exciting me and started to fill me with doubt. Describing my relationship with another guy as gay didn’t feel quite right anymore, either. It was an uncomfortable clash between having just spent my first summer swimming in the sea with a flat chest and starting to realise something was pulling me away from this masculinity that I so desired and fought for for so long. I didn't quite understand what caused it and I still don’t. (Chances are it’s the plurality, but that’s also for another blog post.) I was so confused about how to navigate these new feelings. It felt quite lonely as well, I wasn't sure where I could get any advice or find people who had similar experiences. Most destransitioners talking about it online were angry and transphobic, and most trans people are understandably weary of anyone who mentions it.
And so, I decided to stop taking my shots. Without telling anyone but my closest friends, partner, and of course, private twitter account. At first I decided to just try it, I could always start T again, technically at least. I started growing out my hair, trying on more ‘feminine’ clothes and makeup. At first, very awkwardly and shyly, in the comfort of my room. But then around friends, then at university. I got into a new relationship around the same time and realised how being a girlfriend felt much better to me – not even a big shift in the dynamic and how I was treated, just the little change of the word used to describe me. As hormones started changing my face and body again, redistributing fat back to my hips and making my face softer, I found that I’m actually quite enjoying this new version of me.
But that terrified me. Would that mean detransition? Would that mean having to tell everyone that had told me I’d regret it that they were right? Would that mean bringing a bad name to my own community, because I’m proving the transphobes right by having some regrets and changing my mind? I could feel the life I meticulously built for myself slipping through my fingers, still, I didn’t want to fight what felt right, trusting my feelings was what originally led me to this contentment and happiness in the first place, so maybe trusting it would be okay? Maybe it’s not going back, maybe it’s just going further, discovering more about myself.
I guess I prefer to call this whole thing a re-transition. I’m definitely not a woman now, I’m nonbinary. And I believe I wouldn’t be able to get here without all these years on T and the confidence and life it gave me. I think it’s not a coincidence that I started having these ‘doubts’ the second I got everything I wanted – years on hrt, top surgery, legal sex and name change, passing to pretty much everyone everywhere – I think only then was I comfortable enough with myself to let myself think outside of this. And I’m still happy with most of the changes!
During my court hearing,* I remember telling the judge that I’m aware that the changes I made to my body with hrt and surgery are permanent and that’s exactly why I got them and that makes me happy. I think (somewhat) irreversibly changing my sex, and not only gender, was the goal all along; I think the undeniability of those changes is what feels important to me more so than the words I choose to describe my identity at a given time. (This isn’t some big universal statement of how anyone should feel by the way, just my own personal feelings on it.)
* In order to change my legal sex and then name I needed to sue my parents even though they were supportive. Yes, the whole court hearing with a judge and all.
The regrets I have, because I do have some and I sometimes experience dysphoria in new ways about them, are just kind of those common ‘what if’s, similar to ‘what if I went to that uni I ended up not choosing?’ or ‘what if I chose an entirely different career path?’ – annoyingly insistent, but ultimately not that serious. And despite having this experience I’m still wholeheartedly pro free access to gender affirming care for everyone. I think everyone should be allowed to try things for whatever reason – because they think it might help them feel more comfortable and happier, because they want to explore their identity, or just for fun, really.
I was always really scared about changing my mind on anything in life, it was something I discussed often during therapy back in the day. I guess I’m still not really comfortable with it. And if this whole experience taught me anything, it’s that the only thing you can be sure of in life is that your feelings will change; everything will change in ways you could never foresee. And maybe that’s okay.
And I would repeat this ritual every two weeks – assemble the syringe, draw the medication, change the needle to a thinner one, check for any air bubbles, disinfect my skin, stab myself (which became harder and more anxiety-inducing as time went on, but more on that later), and slowly inject it into my thigh. And trust me, it went slowly.
But let’s go back a few years to the time before I started hrt. I was a shy and quiet kid that grew into an anxious and depressed teenager. By the time I went to middle school at 13 I couldn’t find myself a place among my peers. I didn’t really fit in with the girls, and the boys mostly saw me as a weird creature that wasn’t really a candidate for dating, so I was of no interest to them. I went through a period of trying really hard to be a ‘girly girl’ that included daily make-up and occasional short skirts when hanging out with friends outside of school.
Eventually I gave up, and even found a couple of friends, queer friends. Despite this I was not particularly liked by a lot of people in my year. I’ll spare you the details, but truly all the world’s queer slurs were thrown at me in hopes one of them would hurt, and they did.
Throughout middle school I realised I was not a girl and maybe I never had been. I landed on genderfluid, my best friend made me three friendship bracelets – pink, blue and orange – so she’d know which gendered forms to use on a given day. Shortly after I admitted I actually wanted to be a boy; it just felt like a less scary step in my head to say I’m nonbinary instead of going all the way.
And so I finished middle school and immediately came out to all my friends with an instagram story (god, being a teenager was so fun). That summer, I went to London with the aforementioned friend and we stayed with her mum’s friend, who was much more progressive and laid back than any other adults in my life were. I told her I go by a new name and he/him pronouns. And that was my first week or so of being a guy full-time.
Despite trying really hard, I did a very poor job of hiding my new identity at home, and so one day my mum asked me what’s wrong. And then proceeded to tell me I would never be allowed to transition as long as I’m a child and I can start even thinking about that once I’m 18. But, 16-year-old me was unafraid and two months after that conversation marched right up to the head of year at my new school and told her I’m trans and I’d like to go by this name instead of the one on the lists. And although she took it well, the rest of the staff did not; so when I got off the train at home, I saw my mum, smoking a menthol cigarette from her secret stash (she’s not a smoker) with tears in her eyes. She got a call from the school, she said. But it was too late now to take it back, so begrudgingly my parents and the school cooperated. In the end, most teachers still deadnamed me and I could not use any of the toilets, but hey, at least it was known I was a guy, and with the covid lockdowns around the corner it turned out not to be that big of a deal. I’m skipping over a lot of arguing, depression, self-harm and a mental hospital visit (post on that coming up maybe if I get really angry about it again), but eventually my therapist managed to convince my parents that deadnaming me won’t help me and using the right name and pronouns could help, even if I eventually change my mind. But I didn’t. Or at least not yet.
I turned 18 on January 28th, and by March, I had a testosterone prescription. I needed two independent psychologists’ and a psychiatrist’s opinions (including a whole MMPI test that took like two hours to fill out and made me feel like they were just trying to figure what else could possibly be wrong with me, that could be blamed for my horrible decision to mutilate my body and transition, since that was the general vibe around being trans when talking to those professionals) and a whole list of bloods and tests, more so for my parents’ and government’s comfort than my own. The doctor told me I clearly knew what I needed and how it worked, but them’s the rules.
After I started testosterone I became a different person. The depression and anxiety were still there, but I started going out more, building friendships and relationships, I was more lively and louder and just… alive. To this day, my parents recall how radical of a shift it was. I was like an entirely new person.
I can’t even explain how much testosterone saved my life. Not just in the literal sense of it made me not kill myself, but it also gave me a life worth living; one, that was more than trying to make myself as small and quiet as possible.
The changes came in gradually – the deeper voice, that at first was just breaking awkwardly whenever I tried to speak, more body hair, facial hair (very pathetically thin, thanks for the genetics, dad). My face and body started to change shape, my skin became rougher. Did you know your body can just grow a dick? Well, it can and it’s a beautiful experience, don’t let people on tiktok convince you otherwise. Soon, I started being gendered correctly every time I left the house, teachers that had previously insisted on misgendering me started to slip up every now and then, even my extended family seemed to accept this new man I was becoming.
And that all went on for quite a while. I went to uni mostly stealth, though obviously fellow queer people clocked me immediately. I made new friends who’d never known the ‘old me’ and it was an incomparable feeling of freedom. I still struggled to fit in with my cis guy peers sometimes, but it was much more of my personal insecurity (and also the fact that I’m autistic). And after getting top surgery and changing my name legally, it felt like the rest of my life was unfolding before me beautifully and peacefully.
LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER!
Two things happened somewhat simultaneously. First, actually doing my shots became incredibly anxiety inducing, to the point where I’d be several days late with doing them every time because I just couldn’t push through that anxiety. This led me to switching to trimonthly Nebido shots instead of the smaller shots I’d been doing every 18 days, which added costs of having a nurse do my shots and getting more rigorous tests. That was around spring 2024. Then, I started noticing small shifts in my feelings – getting less comfortable with my name and with being seen as a man, both by strangers and in my friend groups; the idea of further changes like more facial hair and ageing as a man stopped exciting me and started to fill me with doubt. Describing my relationship with another guy as gay didn’t feel quite right anymore, either. It was an uncomfortable clash between having just spent my first summer swimming in the sea with a flat chest and starting to realise something was pulling me away from this masculinity that I so desired and fought for for so long. I didn't quite understand what caused it and I still don’t. (Chances are it’s the plurality, but that’s also for another blog post.) I was so confused about how to navigate these new feelings. It felt quite lonely as well, I wasn't sure where I could get any advice or find people who had similar experiences. Most destransitioners talking about it online were angry and transphobic, and most trans people are understandably weary of anyone who mentions it.
And so, I decided to stop taking my shots. Without telling anyone but my closest friends, partner, and of course, private twitter account. At first I decided to just try it, I could always start T again, technically at least. I started growing out my hair, trying on more ‘feminine’ clothes and makeup. At first, very awkwardly and shyly, in the comfort of my room. But then around friends, then at university. I got into a new relationship around the same time and realised how being a girlfriend felt much better to me – not even a big shift in the dynamic and how I was treated, just the little change of the word used to describe me. As hormones started changing my face and body again, redistributing fat back to my hips and making my face softer, I found that I’m actually quite enjoying this new version of me.
But that terrified me. Would that mean detransition? Would that mean having to tell everyone that had told me I’d regret it that they were right? Would that mean bringing a bad name to my own community, because I’m proving the transphobes right by having some regrets and changing my mind? I could feel the life I meticulously built for myself slipping through my fingers, still, I didn’t want to fight what felt right, trusting my feelings was what originally led me to this contentment and happiness in the first place, so maybe trusting it would be okay? Maybe it’s not going back, maybe it’s just going further, discovering more about myself.
I guess I prefer to call this whole thing a re-transition. I’m definitely not a woman now, I’m nonbinary. And I believe I wouldn’t be able to get here without all these years on T and the confidence and life it gave me. I think it’s not a coincidence that I started having these ‘doubts’ the second I got everything I wanted – years on hrt, top surgery, legal sex and name change, passing to pretty much everyone everywhere – I think only then was I comfortable enough with myself to let myself think outside of this. And I’m still happy with most of the changes!
During my court hearing,* I remember telling the judge that I’m aware that the changes I made to my body with hrt and surgery are permanent and that’s exactly why I got them and that makes me happy. I think (somewhat) irreversibly changing my sex, and not only gender, was the goal all along; I think the undeniability of those changes is what feels important to me more so than the words I choose to describe my identity at a given time. (This isn’t some big universal statement of how anyone should feel by the way, just my own personal feelings on it.)
* In order to change my legal sex and then name I needed to sue my parents even though they were supportive. Yes, the whole court hearing with a judge and all.
The regrets I have, because I do have some and I sometimes experience dysphoria in new ways about them, are just kind of those common ‘what if’s, similar to ‘what if I went to that uni I ended up not choosing?’ or ‘what if I chose an entirely different career path?’ – annoyingly insistent, but ultimately not that serious. And despite having this experience I’m still wholeheartedly pro free access to gender affirming care for everyone. I think everyone should be allowed to try things for whatever reason – because they think it might help them feel more comfortable and happier, because they want to explore their identity, or just for fun, really.
I was always really scared about changing my mind on anything in life, it was something I discussed often during therapy back in the day. I guess I’m still not really comfortable with it. And if this whole experience taught me anything, it’s that the only thing you can be sure of in life is that your feelings will change; everything will change in ways you could never foresee. And maybe that’s okay.
Anyway, enjoy some pictures from random points in my transition, because why not:P
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| me on that london trip |
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| first day of school when i came out |
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| me now. like literally last month. |
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