Mtf - Blog Posts
since the old version of this post was flagged for 'adult content'...
reblog this post if your account is a trans safe space or owned by a trans person!
along with that, reblog if your account is a trans non-binary spectrum safe space or owned by someone on the trans enby spectrum!
Cucumber wife <3
I wrote a flash fic of the proposal if anyone is interested it’s extremely dumb. (Also yes he tried to quote LBH in his vows and Shen yuan nearly went off on him for it but then saw he was crying and also broke down from how happy she was)
Pt 2 of the Cumplane “local trans girl falls for pathetic author man” comic. Link to pt 1!
TAKE THE EUPHORIA! YOU ARE YOUR GENDER! GO WAVE YOUR FLAG AROUND THE TRANSPHOBIC SNOWFLAKES AND TELL THEM TO EAT SHIT!
to everyone who sees this:
I CAST 10000000000000000000000000 GENDER EUPHORIA 🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️
reblog to give your mutuals gender euphoria
'Standard Clitoris™'
Apologies for those that read the title with confusion and / or an injured sense of propriety; there is critical context here, I promise!
Act I:
Two years ago, I contacted Mt. Sinai's Center For Transgender Medicine And Surgery; with the intent of pursuing gender reassignment.
(The people there are lovely; but this was still an incredibly involved and rather stressful process, as (a) my health insurer required numerous hurdles be jumped before they would authorize the surgery; and (b) the Mt. SInai health system is located in New York, whereas I am quite definitively not.)
I ended up consulting with renowned vaginoplasty surgeon Dr. Miro Djordjevic. For those not in the know, Dr. Miro originates from Serbia; and while he speaks excellent English, he also has a flair for creating unusual turns of phrase that are as delightful as they are unexpected.
To transcribe this conversation (to the best of my recollection):
"Dr. Miro - what level of control do you have over the appearance of the new vulva?"
"Oh, Lauren; many young girls, they come in here with pictures of other women, they say: 'Dr. Miro, please can you make my new vagina look like this'. And I say, 'I cannot, I am sorry; for the final appearance is very dependent on your individual anatomy'. However, I understand this, and I will give you a very good vagina, a very beautiful vagina; you will see."
"Ah! This makes sense to me. Let me rephrase my question: once I am healed, I hope to have my clitoris pierced; but I understand that this requires the anatomy to be a certain way."
"Lauren, in many surgeries, you are the first girl that has asked this. But! The clitoris, this I can change! You tell me what size your clitoris should be, and I will do this for you."
Act II:
Thus, I visited my local piercing parlor; and provided my piercer with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to specify the exact dimensions and (and other qualities) of the clitoris that they would, in future, be piercing.
The takeaways were surprisingly straightforward:
The clitoris needed to be large enough to pierce (with an overall diameter of 10mm suggested as an appropriate target).
There needed to be sufficient space between the clitoris and clitoral hood to comfortably fit a Q-Tip.
So armed, I prepared for the day of surgery (a tale in its own right).
Act III:
It is the 9th of February, 2023; and I am currently sitting in the pre-op room, meeting the vast team of individuals who will shortly be participating in the surgical revamp of my genitalia (or the critical task of ensuring that I remain wholly unconscious during said revamp, but not so unconscious that, say, my heart stops).
It is here that I see Dr. Miro once again; and remind him of our previous conversation and my subsequent fact-finding mission regarding clitoral anatomy as it pertains to piercing suitability:
"Okay, so: my piercer says that the clitoris should be around 10mm in diameter; and that there should be enough space between the clitoris and hood to fit a Q-Tip."
...To which Dr. Miro wryly shook his head, and proceeded to hew from his English lexicon a brand-new term that has lived with me ever since:
"Lauren, Lauren! Why didn't you say? This is Standard Clitoris™! This is what I was going to give you anyway!"
...And so it was, as I rapidly drifted towards my robotically-assisted neovaginal destiny (and away from consciousness), that the primary thought looping through my mind was: "I should have known: the Standard Clitoris™"!
Joe
Once a week, I meet with my guitar instructor; and will usually arrive as he's finishing up with the previous student. The latter happens to be an incredibly sweet, cheerful, older fellow by the name of Joe; and I always enjoy our little interactions.
Today, Joe addressed me as "Young miss"; and while the accuracy of this statement might be disputed on both the first point (I wish I was still young!) and the second (in as much as I'm married), the sentiment was nonetheless greatly appreciated, and a highlight of my day!
I have three friends; one transitioned in her thirties, another in her late fifties; the third is transitioning now, in her sixties. All three of them look absolutely incredible.
Honestly, I don’t know where this idea came from that age stops you from transitioning. Yes, there is a possibility that as you age, you may gain more undesirable physical characteristics. You know what else you gain? Time; money; and resources.
The oldest of the three worries a great deal about requiring facial surgery in order to pass. (She doesn’t; but it’s still an understandable concern.) At the same time, she thinks nothing of dropping $35,000 on said surgery.
It’s all trade-offs; what you lack on one side, you gain on the other. ❤️
Baby Trans, listen to me, a 34 year old.
Hi, I'm Trans. I was AFAB and I transitioned, now I just look like a short cis guy.
Here's the thing: I didn't transition until I was about 27ish. I didn't even know I was trans until I was 25.
Don't let anyone tell you to "not bother transitioning after 19"
That's a load of shit. People barely know who they are at 19. Personalities change and develop. Shit I didn't really know who I was until I was about 27-28ish.
You can transition at any age. If you don't feel ready in your teens, or your 20s, take your time. If you are unable to transition at 19 due to medical or economical reasons, you have plenty of time. The clock is not ticking. Take this at your own pace.
You've got a whole long life ahead of you, take one step at a time.
Questionnaire
When I set up my MRI appointment, the scheduler needed me to answer a twenty-five point questionnaire. This is very understandable: an MRI machine is one of the most powerful magnetic devices an individual might interact with in their life; and if that individual happens to have in or about their person items that react strongly to a magnetic field, Consequences Might Ensue.
You can reasonably guess the sort of questions asked:
“Do you have a pacemaker?”
“Do you have any implanted electrodes, pumps, or catheters?”
“Do you have any artificial joints, plates, bone screws?”
Now this is all good and well - until we get to the use of contrast. Under some circumstances, patients can be injected with a special fluid that will highlight the inner workings of the area being imaged. This is generally harmless...
...Unless you a pregnant.
This is why the questions veer towards:
“Are you pregnant, or have reason to believe you might be pregnant?”
“When was your last menstrual period?”
I clocked pretty quickly why I was being asked these questions; and answered with “Definitely not” and “Never” in short order. “Never?”, responded the scheduler. “Yep; I can’t get pregnant and I’ve never had a period. Crazy, right?”
(I suppose I could have cited the time I had menstrual cramps; or perhaps the five days of rampant bleeding that followed the installation of a genital piercing during my younger days. I’m not sure this would have clarified matters any, however.)
Once everything was set up, my health system’s very fancy patient portal sprung into action; letting me know that I had... a pre-MRI questionnaire to fill out. I dutifully did so; trusting that providing a date of “N/A” was enough to get the point across.
Yesterday I had a phone call from a very nice scheduling person; reminding me that my appointment was coming up and covering a couple of last minute items. One of these was that she needed to know whether or not I might be pregnant; and if I happened to know the approximate date of my last menstrual period.
Again, I stated that the answer was “Never”, and she responded incredulously, and I gently explained that I was a trans woman and that as much as I would like to be the proud owner of my very own uterus, medical science hadn’t quite come that far yet.
I might come across as a touch bothered by the repeated inquiries in this area; but if so, it’s only because there seems to be a lack of communication inside the health system. (My medical record lists my trans status, but this data point isn’t taken into account when the questionnaire is presented; one can indicate that the question isn’t applicable, but this isn’t recorded.)
Truly, I would not be surprised if I get to my appointment and the very first thing they do is to inquire once again as to whether I might be pregnant...
There is however a silver lining in all this medical madness: every clerk, technician, nurse and doctor I’ve talked to in recent weeks apparently had no idea that I was anything other than a cis woman - and was surprised when it became necessary for me to inform them.
For someone that never thought she would pass, who still feels like she doesn’t pass: that’s kind of amazing.
Ah; it’s good that you have some prior experience when it comes to administering injections! Honestly, self-administering isn’t that that much more challenging per se; the main issues are just (a) that sometimes you are working at an awkward angle, and (b) overcoming the psychological barrier to causing oneself discomfort.
It’s really interesting that you bring up the Bionix ShotBlocker, by the way - that was invented in my town! I have a colleague whose daughter is a patient at a pediatric clinic involved in its development; the kid absolutely swears by it! If you end up giving that a go, do report back and let us know how it works.
why the fuck did I willingly switch to injectable estrogen im fucking terrified of needles
I went the injectable route at the advice of a friend; and I always wanted to share my knowledge on this subject with others. Talk about perfect timing, too - it’s injection day!
Disclaimer: there’s a lot of room for variation in terms of what’s injected, how it’s injected, etc.; be sure to ask for and follow the instructions of your provider.
Medications
I inject 1ml of 5mg/ml Estradiol Cypionate (brand name: “Depo-Estradiol”), every two weeks; and 1ml of 150mg/ml Medroxy-Progesterone Acetate (brand name: “Depo-Provera”) every ninety days.
Keep a diary of your injections; and in particular the manufacturer, lot, expiration, and serial number of every medication (all of which will be clearly printed on the packaging). This information can be helpful when identifying issues.
Vials
Both medications come in little glass vials. There’s a sterile plastic cap on top (which you break off); and underneath, a rubber seal designed to prevent air from entering the vial.
The Progesterone comes in a single-use vial, containing just one dose; you dispose of the vial afterwards. The Estradiol comes in a multi-use vial, containing five doses; you keep the vial for next time.
Note: there is a risk that multi-use vials can become contaminated with bacteria. Be sure to follow the injection process carefully; maintain sterility; and store your medication in an appropriate location and at the correct temperature, per the instructions.
In medical settings, multi-use vials are good for 30 days after opening; at which point they are disposed of. In my case, I’m keeping the vial for 52 days. I wouldn’t recommend pushing too far past that, as the longer the vial is in use, the higher the risk of contamination.
Injectable supplies
Each injection requires the following:
A syringe,
A large needle (mine are 18g, 1.5′ long, and pink),
A small needle (likewise, 25g, 1′ long, and light blue),
Two alcohol pads,
A Band-Aid (mine has llamas on it)!
Normally you’ll be proscribed a syringe with one of the needles already attached; and the other needle by itself. Alcohol pads and Band-Aids can be purchased from your local pharmacy.
Needles
During the injection process, you will need to switch the needle attached to the syringe. The syringes I use feature a “Luer-Lock” connection, which means they screw on and off.
Each needle comes with a protective plastic cap; you always want the cap on the needle when attaching or removing it from the syringe. (Safety aside, the needles are intentionally designed to make them difficult to add or remove without the cap attached.)
There’s a reason there are two needles: when you need to suck fluid into the syringe, it’s very difficult if the needle is too small. (This is why blood draw needles tend to be on the bigger side.) When you need to squirt fluid out of the needle, however, the size doesn’t matter as much. (Plus: smaller needles cause less discomfort when poking people!)
So the big needle is going to be what you use to draw your medication; and the small needle is what you use to inject it. (When I started my regimen, I asked my provider if a nurse could show me what to do. I wasn’t aware at the time that there were different needles involved; so when I saw the big needle, I was terrified!)
Drawing the medication
First things first: wash your hands! (At every step, you want to prevent the possibility of germs getting into your supplies or worse, into you!)
Take your vial, remove and discard the plastic cap, and clean the surface of the rubber seal with an alcohol pad. (This prevents contaminants from being carried into the vial.)
Next, you attach the large needle to the syringe, and withdraw the plunger so that it contains the same amount of air as the medication you wish to withdraw. (In my case, 1ml.) The plunger will have a rubber seal that meets the inside of the syringe surface; the top of the seal is what you will be measuring against.
Hold the vial level, and with the syringe pointing down, insert the needle through the rubber seal of the vial. Now, carefully turn everything upside down: you should have the syringe pointing up, and the vial pointing down (with the medication pooling around the seal).
Inject the air in the syringe into the empty space in the top of the vial; this will help keep the pressure in the vial constant. Submerge the needle tip in the medication, and gently draw it into the syringe.
It’s normal to have some air left in the syringe; or to accidentally draw some in from the vial. You can squirt some medication back into the syringe to remove the air bubbles; or tap the syringe to shake them free. Tiny air bubbles are normal and harmless; but you don’t want a large bubble in there!
When finished, withdraw the needle from the vial smoothly and quickly. (This is a non-issue with thicker medications, such as Estradiol; but with a thinner medication - such as Progesterone - withdrawing the needle slowly can cause a small amount of medication to squirt out of the vial.)
Preparing the injection
Remove the large needle from the syringe and replace it with the small one. Push the plunger ever so slightly; if you see a tiny drop of medication at the end of the small syringe; this confirms that there’s no air remaining.
You should now have a filled syringe, ready to go!
These injections are intramuscular; that is to say, the goal is to create a 'depot’ (i.e. little bubble) of the medication in a muscle. This is exactly the same as most vaccinations; except they are normally delivered in the deltoid muscle of the arm, whereas these injections will be delivered to the vastus lateralis muscle in the upper thigh.
(Location is determined by a number of factors; primarily, the size of the depot being created. Vaccinations tend to involve very small amounts of fluid; and so it is more convenient to inject them into the likewise smaller deltoid.)
Imagine the top of your thigh is divided horizontally into three sections, and you can see the dividing lines. The line nearest your body is the target. It is recommended that you rotate your injection site with every shot. My rotation schedule looks like this:
Outside of the left thigh,
Outside of the right thigh,
Middle of the left thigh,
Middle of the right thigh,
Inside of the left thigh,
Inside of the right thigh.
Keep in mind that some spots are more awkward to access than others. (Today’s injection was in the outside right thigh; as I’m left-handed, having to reach across my body is a nuisance.)
Once you know where the injection will be going, clean the area with your other alcohol pad. Give it some time for the alcohol on your skin to evaporate. (You can fan air over the skin to speed up this process.)
If there is still alcohol on your skin when you perform the injection, it will be carried into your tissue and create a burning sensation. This is not dangerous; but it is unpleasant and something you will want to avoid.
Inserting the needle
Everything is ready! (Also, there are no images for this part; I needed both hands here for what I was doing.)
Sit on a chair or similar object, so you can your thighs are horizontal and your lower legs vertical. Find a position where your muscles are relaxed. (Tense muscle tissue is harder to penetrate; it won’t stop you from completing the injection, but it can cause more discomfort.)
Take the syringe in your dominant hand, and hold it like a throwing dart. With your other hand, pull the skin of your thigh taut, towards your knee. (This is the “Z-Track” method - it helps to prevent your medication from leaking back out of the injection site.) Take care not to place your fingers on the area you just cleaned.
Now, the part that gets people: you have to stick the needle in your thigh. Understandably, there is fear that this will hurt. It’s okay if you need a minute to work up the courage! Try to keep in mind that if you do everything right, discomfort should be minimal.
When you are ready: stick the needle in, quickly and smoothly, at a 90º angle.
Do not hesitate. (I totally get it - but if the needle doesn’t fully insert, you’re either going to have to push it the rest of the way, or remove it and try again. The faster and more confidently you insert the needle, the less you will feel it!)
Don’t worry about it going too far in. There’s a plastic nub at the end of the needle, designed specifically to prevent this from happening.
If everything has gone to plan, then the needle should be fully inserted in the thigh, and no longer visible. You can now remove the hand holding your skin taut. (This can feel a little weird at first, as the underlying tissue is trying to move back into position against the needle.)
Delivering the medication
With one hand, hold the tip of the syringe steady against your skin (so that you don’t accidentally withdraw the needle). With the other, slowly depress the plunger, injecting the medication into your muscle.
How slow? Slow. Nursing guidelines recommend ten seconds per 1ml of fluid injected. I normally double that. (Also: as aforementioned, Estradiol is frequently delivered in an oil-based medium, which makes it thicker. Thicker fluids take longer - and more effort - to push through a small needle. When in doubt, go slower.)
Cleanup
Once the medication is fully delivered, carefully remove the needle, and place the cap back on. You might see a drop of either medication or blood at the injection site; this is normal. Cover with a Band-Aid. You’re done!
Place both of your capped needles in a solid container. (I use an old prescription bottle.) This way, when you dispose of them, there’s no danger of someone getting poked by a used needle.
All other supplies should be disposed of (barring the aforementioned multi-use vials). Tempting though it might be to save time and money, do not reuse syringes or needles. (This is just asking for an infection!)
Aftercare
It’s normal for the injection site to be sore the next day (as if you had an invisible bruise). This is because the act of creating the bubble of medication in the muscle does a small amount of damage.
It’s not normal for the site to swell; turn red; itch; or become hot to the touch. These are signs of an infection. Such infections are easy to treat (usually with a course of antibiotics); but it’s important to seek medical attention quickly, as they can cause serious complications if left unattended. (This is especially true of the red patch grows rapidly!)
What can go wrong?
I’m not going to lie: lots of things.
A couple of times, inserting the needle has triggered a leg spasm. This doesn’t hurt; it just feels really, really weird.
Occasionally I will accidentally hit a blood vessel with the needle. (This is unavoidable; you can’t see them from the surface.) This doesn’t pose an issue other than being mildly painful.
I once hit a nerve the same way. The pain from doing so left me in tears. (I want to stress however, that this happened once in fifty-seven shots.)
There was a syringe with a defective plunger that wouldn’t depress the whole way. That was frustrating; but simply meant I had to start over and go again.
Likewise, I had a friend whose needle detached from the syringe while it was still in her thigh. Obviously, an upsetting scenario; but one that can be avoided by ensuring that the needles are firmly locked into place prior to use.
If you have questions or issues, and need help - be sure to ask to talk to a nurse at your provider’s office! They spend a lot of time poking people in various ways, and have a wealth of expertise to offer.
Another really resource is trans men! The amount of information they’ve gathered on the analogous act of injecting Testosterone is staggering! When I run into a problem I’ve never seen before, they are my first port of call.
What can go right?
If you perfect your technique and can overcome the mental hurdle of sticking a needle in yourself, the process can be quick and discomfort-free!
On the science side: different methods of administering Estradiol have corresponding levels of bioavailability (i.e. how much of the Estradiol actually ends up in your system and doing what it’s supposed to instead of, say, accidentally being digested). Of these, intramuscular injection has the highest degree of bioavailability .
Additionally, the hormone levels of cis women are not static; there’s a complex interplay at work where they rise and fall. Injecting Estradiol every two weeks more closely resembles this cycle than taking the same amount of medication every day.
A final plus: you only have to remember to take your medication fortnightly!
In conclusion
I hope this is helpful to every trans woman thinking about going down the injectable rabbit hole. It can be rather daunting; but if you’re willing to invest the time and effort, it can be incredible rewarding!
why the fuck did I willingly switch to injectable estrogen im fucking terrified of needles
Routines
I have a trans friend named ‘G’. She started her transition when she was 58; and it was perhaps three years after that I began my own journey and we started talking. She has been an incredible source of advice on the subject of hormone therapy, for which I am eternally grateful.
(She is also the recipient of a painting I recently completed; one of the few small ways in which I could think to pay her back.)
The two of us having been discussing for some time the strange phenomenon of when we can (or can’t) see our female selves in the mirror. I’m not sure if this is something that affects a large proportion of trans women or is perhaps more limited to just the older crowd; but it’s definitely something we both deal with.
I have a routine in the morning (or did; I’ve recently been struck down by a non-COVID virus and I’m waiting to see how that shakes out). It looks something like this:
Put up hair,
Reinstall helix clicker rings,
Apply makeup,
Let down and style hair.
During stages (1) through (3), I am acutely aware of every facial feature that I cannot currently control and broadcasts masculinity. As soon as I get to stage (4) however and the hair drops, suddenly I can see myself again in fully female form.
It’s interesting because the first set of feelings are not, per se, dysphoric in nature. Rather, it feels like... imposter syndrome? G and I have discussed how our preparatory routines are, in some respects, akin to a magic act; so perhaps seeing the mechanisms by which the tricks are achieved causes ones suspension of disbelief to temporarily halt?
What we do both know is that the more time passes, the more we both become comfortable in our new identities. This is why I wonder whether age plays a factor in the phenomenon - almost as if the adoption of a new gender requires clearing the (significant) backlog of experience as a prior gender...
Dress-up
An interesting aspect of the trans experience is looking back on one’s former life, and inspecting certain signs, behaviors, interests and activities through the lens of hindsight.
In this particular instance: for many years I have enjoyed video games in which one can control the appearance of the various player characters. I have spent considerable time armoring my rogues, outfitting my Sims, and coordinating the ring attire of virtual pro-wrestlers.
It occurred to me recently that I was in some respects engaging in a kind of ersatz dress-up. Much like actual dress-up, I also now find the skills that I developed being applied in my day-to-day fashion choices: pairing tops and bottoms, socks and shoes, and so on.
I can’t even begin to untangle what aspects of a person's behavior are based on their biology and others, their social identity; but it’s fascinating, digging up these examples where - even while boxed in by the gender expectations of that time and place - I was seeking, and finding, ways to escape that jail.
To my followers
I know that a number of the people following me fall into one of two categories: those that are trans but remain closeted; and those that have an interest in (and please excuse me for any incorrect use of terminology) the femboy and / or sissy lifestyle.
To the people in the first group: I see you! You are valid. If you ever want to talk to someone about how to take those next steps, please don’t hesitate to send me a message.
To the people in the second group: if you’re just following me for your own personal, uh, ‘enjoyment’ - that’s okay! I take no offense. Live your life!
I will say that for a long time, I did something very similar: lurked in the shadows, and lived the trans experience vicariously through the lens of fetishism.
(In fact, the very moment I knew I was trans came when another trans person gave an example of a lie they had told themselves in their past life: “It’s just a fetish”; words I too had previously uttered.)
So if you think maybe you are more in the first group than you initially realized... feel free to reach out to me too. I don’t hold all the answers, but I might just have the questions you need to figure things out.
A year in review: 2021 edition
Tracking my transition progress!
There have been lots of big developments this year: I returned to the office as Lauren (the last and biggest social hurdle); began trauma therapy; attended CONvergence in Minneapolis; started my journey as singer, piano player, and guitarist; and gained new friends.
For what was in many respects Pandemic Year: Redux, it’s been a productive time. (Although the way 2022 is shaping up...)
Silencer
My company had its employees work remotely for much of the pandemic. In June, with the widespread availability of vaccines and the dropping infection rate, we were recalled to the main office.
This was, personally, a terrifying prospect; for I had left the office a Lawrence, and returned as Lauren. Acceptance of my transition was overwhelmingly positive; but such events took place during the remote work era.
Put simply: in-person is a different matter.
Put bluntly: I was deeply frightened of now having to share a bathroom with my cis female coworkers; and how they might react to my presence.
For weeks and weeks post-recall, I tried to time my bathroom breaks in such a way that I never interacted with another employee. I wouldn’t enter the restroom if it was occupied; I would hide in my stall if others should enter the space.
Eventually the inevitable occurred, and I crossed paths with my coworkers. Some were obviously surprised at my (wholly logical) presence; but remained true to their word on embracing the new me.
I’m not sure I will ever quite shake the fear of a bathroom interaction gone bad; but for now, matters are manageable.
This does however bring me to a wholly unexpected observation, and the title of this post.
It’s a multi-stall bathroom. There were times where cis-women were present, and using a stall for one of its many intended purposes: peeing. Not just peeing, but peeing loudly. It was if someone had turned the spigot on a hose pipe!
The difference was only noticeable because I had, at times, found myself also trying to pee; and as stealthily as possible at that. Where theirs was a torrential downpour, mine was but an imperceptible and gentle stream.
It was in one of these strange moments of comparison that it occurred to me that I was capable of such feats - and they were not - because, anatomically-speaking, I am currently equipped with a silencer... And this metaphor has not left me since!
Unexpected HRT side-effect #16: addendum
I mentioned previously that - improbable though it seems - HRT has awoken in me a love of all things spicy.
That particularly journey began with my friend A; who developed her own love of hot sauce when she transitioned, and shared it with me.
I now find out, completely independently, that my adopted daughter P - also well on her hormone therapy way - has suddenly discovered a fascination with hot foodstuffs.
As much as I report on such phenomena with my tongue firmly in cheek, I'm beginning to think that this might an actual measurable side effect!
Pain tolerance
Last week I happened to have an electrolysis appointment, followed immediately by a laser hair removal appointment.
Electrolysis involves permanently destroying the roots of undesired hairs with a fine-tipped, superheated needle. It smarts; but is generally bearable.
Matters change however in areas of the body with high numbers of nerve endings - like the upper and lower lips. Which is where the hairs are. On my face.
My electrologist is very aware of how much discomfort this procedure produces; and does her best to minimize the pain. All the same: it's common for her to end sessions with the phrase "You can breathe now". It's a literal instruction; in the last few minutes I will hold my breath in an attempt to ignore the pain.
(I cannot, alas, grit my teeth; as this would flex the very muscles underlying the areas my electrologist is working on.)
At my laser appointment, I discovered that my regular technician had left the clinic; and that my session would be conducted by a replacement.
Now, said technician was incredibly nice and did everything she could to put me at ease. (This was wise; it takes courage as a trans person to disrobe around strangers.) No complaints there.
I also know that in my prior sessions, I had the laser practically set to "Max". (The settings aren't quite that simple, mind you; I understand that the technician can control the size and intensity of the laser pulse, and the wavelength and how far it penetrates into the skin.)
High settings result, of course, in more discomfort. The treatment works by (once again) superheating the roots of unwanted hairs; albeit in patches approximately the size of a quarter. Where electrolysis involves singular, painful pokes in the skin, laser hair removal is more akin to sudden explosions of pain below the surface.
If there's no hair in the area, you feel nothing. If there's a lot of hair, it can really sting. (God help you if there's a long, ingrown hair snaking its way under the skin!)
I let the technician know I was okay with higher settings. (Another consideration: laser is, on a per-hair basis, extremely fast; but it is also not cheap. Turning down the power is an exercise in avoiding discomfort now, only to have to pay for additional treatments later; it's not a compromise I was willing to make.)
Well, I don't know what she set the machine on - I'm currently guessing some kind of wavelength with greater penetration of the skin -because she zapped my collarbone (where there is notably no visible hair) and I about screamed.
The only time I've felt laser light-related pain of this magnitude was (a) the aforementioned ingrown hair scenario, and (b) when my technician used a new machine that was later determined to be "Running hot".
(The latter actually left a couple of burn marks on the skin; they looked like dark splotches. Given their unfortunate location, one could posit - most inaccurately - that I had known carnal relations with a cephalopod.)
As painful as those experiences were, they were also isolated (perhaps one zap in every ten or twenty). This was just... constant. I was glad to be wearing a mask, so that my technician could not see me clenching my jaw; beads of sweat were running down my forehead. It was bad.
I came within a hair's breadth of tapping out and asking my technician to dial the power back; but again, could not stomach the cost. (A prevalent issue: American healthcare is needlessly costly; trans healthcare more so, do it's perceived elective nature.)
Things actually got better until we got to the lower inside portion of my left forearm, which again was agonizingly painful. I have no idea why this was the case - there's virtually no hair there; there were no visible marks left from the procedure.
(Sometimes you find small, yellow bruises from small blood vessels that were accidentally zapped; no evidence of that here either.)
It's still sore in that area; four days later. Whatever happened there was clearly non-trivial, and something I will bring up with my technician next time I see them. (This is also a prevalent theme: me trying to power through things I bloody well shouldn't.)
Anyhow, I mention all of this solely to state that the stupid pipe-cleaner swab they used in today's nasopharyngeal test was somehow worse than both being stabbed with electricity and shot full of lasers, and that I hope wherever the people are that designed the blasted thing, that their day is ruined!
Eyeliner
I ran out! I have one of those twisty little plastic eyeliner pencils, and this morning the tip broke off and that was it - no more eyeliner left in the pencil!
I'm so excited; I used up my first eyeliner pencil!
Unexpected HRT side-effect #16
So I had Nongshim Black ramen for lunch; I was snacking on original-flavor Takis; and thinking about making chicken for dinner and liberally heaping Lousiana hot sauce on top.
It occurred to me: when did I start eating so many spicy foodstuffs?
Not that I was ever spice-averse; but in my prior life, I certainly didn't seek the stuff out. Now, however, I cannot get enough heat (with the proviso that it's cut with lots and lots of acid; spiciness by itself isn't particularly fun).
I would attribute this particular zag to a routine change in taste; but the exact thing happened to my friend A also once she started her HRT regimen. So - what I lost in temperature tolerance, I apparently now make up for in love of heat!
Interview
So; a funny thing happened at work today!
We're trying to hire in a junior developer. My boss is great at interviewing; but software development is outside of his area of expertise (he's more of a network / infrastructure guy), so he really wanted my input on this.
I straight-up told him: "You need another me; a generalist that can do everything from front-end to back-end, and more importantly, can figure out how to do things they have no prior experience with".
Fast-forward: we have a candidate coming in for an in-person interview. Two items peak my interest:
She's female. (This absolutely shouldn't be remarkable; but unfortunately, there is still a very, very heavy gender imbalance in the software world.)
Her name was simultaneously contemporary and fashionable, yet rare.
This really made me wonder... And my suspicions were confirmed when I entered our conference room and saw that she had bright blue hair.
I can only wonder what her thought process was - how intimidating it must be to walk into a prospective job interview as a trans woman, only for one of the interviewers to be introduced.... as a trans woman.
It was a good interview. Afterwards I told my boss: "When I say you need another me, I didn't mean literally"!
The final decision isn't mine to make; but part of me really hopes that she gets the job. I see a lot of my younger self in her (outside of the obvious parallels); and I would love to be able to mentor a neophyte developer, in much the same way that I was tutored by my friend and colleague.
In my experience, there are four approaches:
Take an existing name, and translate it into a unisex or opposite-gendered equivalent. (I went from 'Lawrence' to 'Lauren'.)
Select a different - but otherwise traditional - name. (Often this is as simple as a person seeing or hearing a name and thinking "I like that; I could be a _____".)
Choose a name with symbolic connotations. (I know a devout trans girl that settled on 'Faith'; and another that chose 'Phoenix' for fairly obvious reasons.) This option appears to be particularly popular with non-binary individuals.
Create a new name from whole cloth; running letters together until something unique and lyrical emerges.
Of course, one can combine these approaches in various ways. (One girl I know chose a new first name; and then converted her original first name into a female equivalent, and made that her new middle name.)
As for suggestions? Well, that depends on what direction your child wants to go in. Do they want to retain the spirit of their current name? Then seek out other-gendered versions. Are they looking for something different? You could stroll through a baby name website together. Perhaps a more representational name? Then discuss how they see themselves and how they want others to see them.
Lastly: don't feel pressured to get this right first time. Let your child try different names on; call to them by their new name, and see how they feel. Even if you get all the way down the road to a legal name change, there's generally very little preventing you from changing it something else if needed.
(I mentioned that I went from 'Lawrence' to 'Lauren'; I skipped over the year in between I spent as 'Lawrie'. It's okay to take your time on this!)
So like, if you’re a parent whose child not only trusts you enough to discuss their trans journey egg hatchery with you, but asks for your input on their new name-
Like, that’s a big deal and you’d want to do right by them, right? So how would you go about finding/making suggestions? Aside from avoiding names prevalent in pop culture and/or that can be overtly or incidentally connected to people/things that suck.
Struck a nerve
Every two weeks I inject estradiol into my upper thigh muscle. There are six sites to choose from - the inner, middle, and outer surfaces of each leg - which I rotate through.
I'm a fan of middle thigh area. It's very easy to get a nice, perpendicular needle insertion. (The inner and outer thighs are trickier, often necessitating holding the needle at an angle or in a way where my own hand obscures the target.)
My last shot was into the right middle thigh. Perfect! I readied the syringe, swabbed the skin with an alcohol wipe, let it dry, pulled the skin taught, darted the needle in and screamed.
See, you can't really see what's under the skin; so sometimes you hit something on the way in that you shouldn't - like a blood vessel. I have an unerring ability to find blood vessels. It sucks, and it's unpleasant, but bearable.
This wasn't a blood vessel. It was a nerve.
There was probably a good minute or so of straight crying - needle sticking straight up out of my thigh, a tiny monument to my act of self-sabotage. Eventually I calmed down enough to inject the syringe contents and clean up.
I get that these sorts of things will happen when you routinely stab yourself on a fortnightly schedule but all the same, that was an experience I hope never, ever to repeat!
Unexpected HRT side-effect #15
My HRT regimen is an emulation, only simulating the real thing. Cis women experience a complex, month-long dance between estrogen and progesterone, swinging from one to the other and back again. I, on the other hand, experience an estrogen peak every two weeks, and a progesterone peak every quarter.
And that's okay! It's gotten the job done.
Sometimes however, my peaks and troughs happen to look just enough like an actual cis cycle to trigger some fascinating side effects.
This one occurred a few weeks ago. My day started as normal; but something seemed off. I got to work, and began to experience stomach cramps. My first thought was that I must have consumed some disagreeable foodstuff; but this was different - the sensations were prickly; and extended all the way into my pelvis.
It wasn't until lunch time, as I was driving my daughter home from summer school, that it came to me: these were menstrual cramps!
My hormone levels had aligned in such a way that my brain was now sending instructions down my existing nerve pathways to forcefully contract a non-existent uterus...
This state of affairs continued for two days; with what I can only describe as various muscle groups from the top of the abdomen all the way down to the thighs randomly and constantly pinging, eliciting a continuous stream of "Ow! Ow!" noises.
Now: is this exactly what cis women experience? I have no idea. Did the lack of uterus effectively cap the amount of discomfort I felt? Or did it cause the nerve signals to be redirected into other adjacent muscles, making their contractions worse? It's so hard to say.
What I do know is this: I already had a healthy respect for the unpleasantness of menstrual cramps as experienced by others; but this situation made for a very personal window into that world that really reinforced my prior understanding!
Addendum: there is a candy dish in my office that is periodically emptied, and refilled; fortuitously, its contents had been refreshed the day this all went down. My very audible "Oh, thank god!" drew laughter from one of the people that worked nearby and knew what I was going through!
Unexpected HRT side-effect #2: addendum
I have covered before the exciting world of nipple rotation. Well: now they are rotating back! I suppose it stands to reason; that the early stages of breast development result in a certain lopsidedness that self-corrects as the girls fill out.
The only reason this is noteworthy for me is that unlike most female pubescents, I have nipple piercings (acquired without moral hazard) and thus had a very visual gauge by which to observe this entire tilting process!
Recital
Eight weeks ago I had my first singing recital. As I have previously documented, I have been working uphill against the effects of a past cold; which have interfered heavily in my ability to sing. I then proceeding to catch yet another cold, which incited a flare-up of symptoms.
On the other side - I am, factually-speaking, a baritone; trying to sing like an alto. It's challenging in the extreme.
Every day of the week, any time the opportunity has presented itself, I've been practicing. I didn't feel confident per se; but I was a lot better of for doing so than where I started.
I was singing a version of "You Are My Sunshine", which is a song I learned from my spouse and one that holds great personal significance. There are three verses; the last of which contains a particularly high note. This had been the focus of much of my practice.
We arrived, my spouse and I, at the venue - a local church. My instructor was there to meet me, along with two teenage students - one obviously rather shy; the other bubbly. We did some warm-up exercises in a side room and wished each other good luck.
the student body of my music school is mostly kids; and so the recital was a fairly low-stakes affair - lots of beginners, stumbling along as best as they could. The audience of friends and family members were all very polite, and applauded each performer in turn.
Shy Girl acquitted herself well. Bubbly Girl rendered "Hallelujah"; spectacularly so. And then it was my turn.
There is anecdotal evidence suggesting that many MtF individuals experience issues processing their emotions; and that HRT resolves this problem.
This was certainly the case for me. An interesting offshoot of this is, in my prior life, I suffered little to no anxiety when it came to public speaking. The idea of stage fright was foreign to me.
I have spoken previously about a coming-out presentation I gave at my workplace. I did not mention how incredibly and uncharacteristically nervous I was at the time.
Likewise, I found my heart racing as I stepped onto the stage. I tried to slow my breathing, to no avail. My instructor began cued me in on the piano; and I began to sing. The first verse went well; the second was okay. The third, I hit the high note; but silently cursed as I forgot to breathe and effectively ran out of air moving into the next line.
The audience stared back, and there was a pause; and then they very politely clapped. It felt performative.
I returned to my seat, and tried desperately to hold back tears as the last few performers finished out their own pieces. The recital ended; we talked to my instructor for a few moments, and one of the staff told me "You did great!" on the way out.
We went home. I immediately went to the bedroom, closed the door, and sat in the void between the wall and bed that serves as my nest of safety. Despite my better judgement, I looked up the show's live stream and fast-forwarded to my song.
It was heartbreaking. My barrelled torso and broad shoulders were bursting out of my flower-pattern dress; my feet were planted far too firmly apart. I could hear the chest resonance in my voice and worst of all, the high note was wildly off-key.
I didn't see Lauren. I saw Lawrence.
I cried for an hour; big, heaving, sobs. And then I called my friend and talked to her for a while. It helped; but the damage was done.
There was a singing lesson scheduled the following week, with a very nice substitute. I explained that I wasn't able to sing, and played the piano instead. She was kind. Afterwards I spoke with the school's owner, and asked him to take down the recording of the show.
I'm glad that I participated in the recital. I am. I put myself out there for all the world to see, despite the overwhelming terror of doing so. I might not be the singer I want to be, and I might not pass to the extent I wish I did; but no-one can doubt my courage.
There is a positive coda in all of this. When I did chance to reconnect with my instructor again, she had a message to convey from bubbly girl. She wanted to ask the "Sunshine Girl" where she had found her beautiful dress.
Fever dreams
Between stress and a good old-fashioned rhinovirus, I've been having a lot of strange dreams; last night was no exception.
First, I dreamt that an Italian man was attempting to seduce me. (I'm not sure why my fevered brain opted for a Mediterranean origin - perhaps because I knew an incorrigible duo of Italian Lotharios in my younger years?)
Naturally, I rebuffed him - I'm a married woman!
Second, I dreamt that I was hurriedly pacing an unfamiliar street, with only an undersized towel to hide my modesty. I was of course then approached by several men with the intent to perpetrate a robbery at a gunpoint. (Most unpleasant stuff.)
Interestingly however: in both instances, I was incredibly aware that (a) I was trans, and (b) in the dreams themselves, fully physically transitioned (to the point that the aforementioned Casanova was mistakenly under the impression that I was cis).
Until now, my dreams have generally been modeled on my former identity and appearance; and it is both fascinating, and long overdue, to see them finally catch up!
Well woman
A few week’s ago I had an annual check-up; the first in two decades. (Hooray for America’s dysfunctional healthcare system!) I wasn’t particularly concerned ahead of time; but then I received an automated reminder from my provider that had the appointment listed as a “Well Woman Exam”. This lead me down a bit of a rabbit hole as to exactly what that entailed; and then I proceeded to freak the fuck out. Even now, I’m not entirely sure what the problem was - there was definitely some anxiety centered on the more intimate aspects of this kind of exam; but having spent a significant amount in analogous settings (e.g. laser hair removal), I didn’t think this was the issue. (There’s also the matter of my PTSD cranking up in some medical settings; but again, there doesn’t seem to be a particular rhyme or reason as to why and when that fires off... or doesn’t.) A friend suggested that perhaps the issue stemmed from having to speak to my provider, openly and honestly, about my transgender status. My provider is a very nice fellow, and has a fantastic bedside manner (something of a rarity in the US); but even so, transitioning is in many respects a form of magic, and pulling back the curtain on how the trick is performed is not fun. When the actual day rolled around, my heart was racing; and I had to apologize repeatedly to the nurse practitioner for my ridiculous pulse. Thankfully everybody was very understanding; and my provider made the necessary conversations about as straightforward and easy as they could be. (It actually turned out that between various changes in recommended screening guidelines and where I am in my transition, that there’s basically nothing to screen for for the next five years or so; so no poking or prodding there.) I did elect to get caught up on some immunizations while I was there; including getting the HPV vaccine (which is now recommended for everyone, up to the age of forty-five). The administering nurse was perfectly nice; but her technique was slow and methodical (not what you want when getting needled); and the HPV vaccine in particular stung something fierce (which I guess is a known issue with whatever they put in it). In the end, everything worked out okay; but I worry that there will be more of this sort of thing in the near future - I’m out, and as far as the majority of big ticket items are concerned, transitioned; but I feel far from confident in my newfound place in the world as a woman or my ability to pass, and it’s going to be quite some time until that changes.
Unexpected HRT side-effect #14
I have a lot of insecurity about is my hairline. I am, in retrospect, very lucky; I had very thick hair growing up, and even though it thinned over the years, I avoided the male-pattern baldness that struck my siblings. That’s no meager blessing for a trans woman that began her journey late in life.
However; at the time I began my transition, it had thinned extensively; especially at the peak. This really didn’t do any favors for my self-consciousness at the time.
Now, strictly speaking, some level of hair restoration is not uncommon with HRT; however, it’s far from guaranteed, and there’s no set timeline in which it might happen. After a year, I felt like very little had changed (which I attributed to the original loss being caused by damage, and not years of testosterone poisoning).
Imagine my surprise then at seeing an older picture of myself, and realizing that the problem then was a lot more severe than it is now. It’s a very difficult thing to gauge, but it feels like maybe a few long-dormant follicles have sprung back to life!
More generally, it seems that many of the hair-related side effects of HRT just take a long, long time to kick in. I had some hairs on my shoulders and upper arms; and as they were still present six months into my HRT regimen, I planned on having them removed. I recently discovered that they seem to have mainly disappeared of their own accord; so evidently I just need to be patient about these things!