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Nothing truly compares to the feeling of being in women’s clothes.
It’s not a feeling, it’s a completion. It’s like placing the last piece of a 5000-piece puzzle. When I’m dressed, the ridiculous masculine mask I’ve been wearing suddenly becomes transparent and unconvincing.
I had told my wife a few different stories over the years… each one slightly closer to the truth than the one before it. Eventually, it came without me even making a plan to say it: “I need to be a woman. I want to start hormone replacement therapy.”
Each confession of this kind to her has been met with support, reassurance and kindness mixed with confusion, hesitation and quite likely a little bit of hurt.
And although the support is there, something more than support is needed: Enthusiasm.
I imagine a scenario where she’s excited to see me be female. Where she encourages me to keep going when I am afraid. Where she teaches me and stands beside me. Where she says, “Let’s get you there.”
That’s not fair for me to expect. Nobody can expect anyone to behave the way we want them to behave. All i have control over is how i react. But that doesn’t make something like transitioning easy.
My hesitations in coming out as trans come from fear of how the many aspects of life will change like work, lifelong friends, social status and of course family. I’d wager that’s similar to anyone’s fears who have gone through this.
The frustrating part is that when I am dressed female, I am confident, fearless and could not give a darn about what others think… at least for a while. That confidence fades once life reminds me, “In order to go to work like this, you have to tell your boss and your co-workers why you’re dressed like this.” Or, “Your wife is also going to have to explain to everyone of her friends and family that her husband has become her wife. And why should she shoulder that responsibility?”
There is a mountain of factors that makes coming out and living as a trans woman seem so daunting. But I also feel so close to the truth. Like i tunnelled a decades-long path through the bottom of that mountain of fear to get here and now the happy ending is within sight, but it’s on the other side of 10-inch bullet proof glass. I can see the joys on the other side of it, but I can’t get through it. And the longer I stare at the other side that I know is my destination, the air in this tunnel feels like it’s running out. A fear of suffocation now competes with all the fears stacked so high above my moutain. And I am now struggling to hold up the moutain of fears, trying to keep breathing and with one free arm pushing and punching the bulletproof glass. It feels like because I am managing all of that at once, I am not succeeding at any of it.
All that to basically say, “Hi. I’m trans, but haven’t transitioned yet.”
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