When I first started transition, I thought of it as a video game tech tree—grinding on the paperwork branch, checking my stats with regular bloodwork, crossing off people to send coming out letters. So many things were quantifiable or could be categorized. I tried to make sense of myself using labels and clean definitions, which meant my feelings didn't have to be complicated. Editor's note Something changed in me recently—I’m not as self-assured as I used to be, and that new self awareness has been tipping me into spirals of shame. As odd as it sounds, I actually feel okay about this because I think it reflects some personal growth. Editor's note I recognize more of a need for nuance in my positions, and this has led me into a sort of autistic skill regression as I unmask and refactor myself. But I’m being really abstract, let me share some examples.
I first noticed the shift when a reader(!) emailed me a few weeks ago, asking if I would be open to being cited in a book talking about trans catgirls. The request prompted me to revisit Catgirl Crusade, which remains my highest-traffic blogpost for some reason, Editor's note and I found myself feeling pretty mixed about the conclusions I reached. While I stand by my central thesis around my awe for trans ancestors, and I still feel annoyed when transfems are stereotyped as all being catgirls or puppygirls or whatever, what I wish I could have understood when I wrote about my skepticism toward catgirls was—let people enjoy themselves? At this point, I’m just happy that people are seeing photos like the picture from Le Carrousel and choosing to engage with them. Editor's note I recognized in my older writing a judgmental attitude—a need to set myself apart as “doing trans woman right,” as opposed to those cringey catgirls. I feel embarrassed at the degree with which my defensiveness showed through in Catgirl Crusade. These days I like to think that I’m playing less respectability politics. Editor's note
Recently I was out at tea with some friends. One friend was talking about struggling with HRT access, and as we got into dosages and regimens, I found myself flying off the handle as soon as the word “spiro” entered the conversation. Editor's note Because my migraines are impacted by how I take estrogen, I had to learn a lot about administration methods early on, and it became quickly obvious to me how most transfems in my life were on criminally low doses of E. Doctors seem to be terrified of prescribing E at levels where it will suppress testosterone production. I have seen so many transfems experience crashing moods and malaise and fall into despair because their medication doesn’t seem to be feminizing their bodies or quieting their brains. Editor's note Even writing all of this out has my dander back up, which is exactly how things played out in conversation with my friend. I had to step back and calm myself down when I realized how disregulated I was becoming, and how the horror and rage churning in me wasn’t helping her. Editor's note My friend knows how to listen to her body, had a plan to take care of herself, and knows that I and other people in her life were available to help work through medical issues should she choose to reach out. I don’t need to get on my soapbox any time HRT comes up, even if I disagree with someone’s approach—I just need to be there. Editor's note
One more reflection—I decided to get on an FFS consult waitlist at OHSU after hearing that the plastic surgery department had reduced their wait times by adding a few new surgeons. I still feel guilt for doing this, because early in transition I proclaimed very loudly that FFS was not something I was interested in pursuing. Even last year I was doubling down in Cave Girl on how my remaining dysphoria focused on my genital configuration, but here I am five months out from The Surgery and that doesn’t seem to be the case at all. I’m honestly ambivalent about FFS—I’m not going in with a burning desire to have my skull shaved down Editor's note—but I feel guilty in light of my earlier protestations. It seems like I was trying hard to prevent the possibility of a change of heart, probably because there was something in me that was interested, but I wasn’t ready to accept it. Editor's note Why can’t I just, you know, be open to changing my mind on wanting things and be ok with that? Oddly, getting a date for a consult over a year from now has quieted down some of the anxiety I was feeling when I first decided to get in the pipeline. Editor's note
When I dig deeper into the feelings that come up from these incidents, I sense underneath my reflexivity and shame a deep exhaustion with myself. I’m physically tired of having to disassemble the barricades I built to defend my fragile ego and give myself a sense of control those first few years. Editor's note I’m tired of the toll that these big emotions are exacting on me once I recontextualize them. But I feel like in spite of these struggles I’m gradually learning how to let complex and often contradictory seeming feelings and truths sit next to each other and evolve without resolution. Editor's note So maybe this is another inflection point for me—my approach to transness has moved from needing firm stances in order to feel legible, to operating in the grey, where it's okay to change my mind and discover new things about myself. Editor's note