And Daphne Was Born

on hormone replacement therapy, second puberty, and parenthood

When we’re children, despite any socialization that may have taught us otherwise — excluding our growing re-productive systems, and other small differences between the bodies of sexes — our little selves are androgynous.

Children of all sexes and genders have equal capacities at all things. Strength, no more a boys trait than a girls — despite longest held societal prejudices — empathy, no more a girls trait then a boys.

Then things change; puberty.

Imagine a tree growing straight up, it’s vertical trunk encapsulating the entire spectrum of children. Now puberty comes, and some of this trunk splits left, some of it right.

Estrogen and testosterone have great affects on our bodies, emotions, and the very way we experience the world.

To ride the outward growth spurred by one of these hormones to it’s reaches, then upwards for years and years. To then, double back, not only to where you were before, but all the way to the other side of the tree. Is a very dramatic swing.

Puberty, the first time around — for me, as a trans woman — felt like a decade long gauntlet of horror. Worn out by the never ending stream of changes which made me feel less myself. I’d given up by the end of puberty. It didn’t matter to me how I looked. If I had to be a boy, if I had to feel like testosterone made me feel, why bother.

Second puberty, in comparison, has felt like a rollercoaster made of consecutive and never ending drops. Plummets at the fastest of speeds. Bottom falling right out, again and again. Change happening so quickly its ungrounding to my whole sense of being. Yet, somehow always falling into myself.

In a world where we’re asked to move so fast. Where taking a break for a year or two to figure ourselves out is a luxury which almost no one can afford — it’s brutal to transition.

Anti-trans bigots obsess over the suicide numbers of trans folks. Try and use it to make us look whack-a-doo. It’s a part of why I was so incredibly ashamed to have a mental health crisis recently. I didn’t want to be proving the bigots right.

Their obsession over this is ironic, in really painful and unfortunate ways. Within the mechanisms of their obsession, is an implicit denial of trans people’s lived experience. The framing of trans folks’ existence as a debate to be had — the ‘trans debate’ — is absurdly insulting. Through this obsessiveness, and denial to allow people speaking for themselves, they are in fact perpetuating the high suicide rates. They create and spread the very energy that gets trans people to kill themselves.

I’m telling you. It’s the unbelieving. It’s the sense of placating. It’s the loneliness of being around people who ‘don’t understand’ but ‘tolerate’ the majority of the time. To then, on top of that, get the constant misgendering by angry idiots. The glares. And even worse, the really sweet hearted people who get it wrong, where it hurts everybody’s feelings.

Losing family and friends, becoming an island, as you learn to stand up for who you know you are, despite so much doubt surrounding you.

For love to be such a hard commodity to come by.

All of these of these things contribute to that high number. Beyond them, is the fact we have to do it running at full speed, in an insanely stressful society. No breaks! No rest! You chose this anyway. Deal with it.

To have done this at the same time as having a child is literally crazy.

Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t change it. This was all divinely ordained in some wild way. My daughter’s presence through this time has lifted me over these challenges, which may have otherwise been overwhelming.

Let’s take a hop-skip back out of these dark ass woods we’ve walked into.

Let’s talk about the mostly good stuff!

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So, What’s It Like?

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I remember just before starting hormones — my biggest worry was that they might spike some kind of imbalance within my bloodwork — and I’d not be able to take them.

My heart was on fire though. It had been wanting estrogen since I first read about the effects when I was a young adult. Every time through my life, when I stumbled my way back to the webpages about effects of estrogen hormone therapy, my heart was screaming.

It knew what was coming — it was trying to tell me.

Still, despite the little bit of anxiety, the main mode I found myself in was one of eager anticipation. Just so interested to know what it would be like. What would start changing first. How the changes in my body would feel.

Well, I imagine for someone who didn’t struggle with gender dysphoria, and body dysmorphia, it would be horrifying.

For me, it’s been a miracle.

The very first thing was really quick. Honestly, the first time I took estrogen. After a couple hours, I itched my legs and could not handle how good it felt. It’s been a whole thing. I literally feel like a dog with one of those spots. But those spots are my whole legs. And like oh my god, behind my knees. One sec, quick break.

I know that’s a weird one. I wouldn’t have shared it, but it’s honestly the first change I felt.

There were scary things. I’ll get real. It might be TMI for some of y’all. But when I started taking both estrogen and testosterone blockers. Well… testosterone fuels the equipment down there, two identical little parts of it.

Let’s just say, the workers have gone home, and the factories have shut down.

It was scary to feel that happening. Any person who was just on some momentary fixation, some self-exploration-trip gone wrong, would not get through that faze. Trust, people don’t do this on accident. It takes willpower and commitment, even if you’re like me and you’re completely averse to surgery. Just the hormones themselves, and the changes they make to your body, are a serious undertaking.

People don’t get through this who aren’t entirely sure about who they are.

My whole body has been extremely sore throughout. Although things have certainly improved, that first year and a half was a disaster. I lived in Epsom salt baths and longed for massages I couldn’t afford.

That being said, apart from these downsides. I feel so much more incredibly at home in my body now.

It’s been a slowly increasing feeling for three years. Every once in a while, I’m able to realize an even more holistic sense of womanhood existing innately within my body, and that much greater comfort and ease alongside it.

Everything, seemingly all at once, began to feel cozier to me, and has continued trending that way for three years. From the changes in my body temperature, to the more emotionally-visceral feelings experienced in nature. From the way it feels to hold someone close now, to the overwhelming power of my tears when they flow. From my ability to withstand discomfort, which is now increased, to the way I experience romantic and sexual attraction. From how my skin has softened, to the way my joints have become more flexible. It all somehow feeling just right in a way that never was before.

All these things and more have shifted, transforming with my body. Each and every change providing me more levels of comfort than I had before. Each change a lessening of some long-held tightness. A release of anxiety from coping with ways of being which felt incalculably wrong.

The experience has been holistic. It’s been healing. And it’s been affirming.

The threat of bigots taking away my healthcare is beyond frightening. I’ve written about it before.

My heart hurts very deeply for those across our country who are already being forcibly de-transitioned. I find myself developing a bit of preemptive survivors’ guilt, being located in Washington State, where the governor has vowed to stand up for trans healthcare in any way they can. Still, the threat is serious enough that I’m looking into routes which may protect my care, even if the worst types of anti-trans legislation were to become nation-wide.

Along with the ups and the downs, and the threat of bigots forcing me back through it all again, in the wrong direction no less. There’s also been something very real about this period of life for me. It’s been a second adolescence in many ways.

I never had a chance to be a girl.

The maiden, the mother, and the crone — I missed one. I became myself, the woman I’ve been inside, as I was being initiated into parenthood. My maiden never got to live.

Not until now… sort of… half the time.

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Second Puberty, Second Adolescence, and Parenthood

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Re-emerging as yourself. Having never really existed before, with all the responsibilities of being an adult and parenthood. Yet, finally having the opportunity to find yourself in ways a teenager would, as the body is going through rapid hormonal changes that have great effects on your emotions. It’s a lot.

Doing it as a trans woman. Someone who has hidden themselves as a man through apathetic presentation. Basically, doing what a lot of men do, and not really giving a shit what you look like. Coasting on the lackadaisical expectations of masculine presentation in society. Also means you have a whole world of things to learn — all the stuff girls figure out as they become adults.

No matter how unfair it may be that taking care of your skin and growing out your hair are things that are taken as such signifiers of femininity; they are in our culture. As a trans woman who is looking for ways to be seen effortlessly, to be witnessed and treated as I am, I’ve allowed myself to pursue some of these standards without self judgement. Especially considering the uphill battle I’ve had to climb to be seen, working to undo years of damage done by that boy who was such a dreadful caretaker.

Trying to figure all the presentation stuff as fast as possible, with every other moving piece in my life, has been intense. Lots of new brain pathways formed, that’s for sure. I can hold a comb and a blow-dryer in the mirror and move things in the correct directions on the first try now.

Garett could have NEVER done that shit. He was helpless.

My goal through all this has been to have my cake and eat it too. To be fully present and with these precious times and moments I get to spend with my growing daughter, while also enjoying this once in a lifetime period of my life where I am coming into myself as a woman.

I genuinely believe they have worked in tandem. Despite some moments, which all parents have, where burn-out gets real all of a sudden. I cherish every sweet second I get with my baby girl. She’s fucking amazing.

I’m a half-time single parent who literally doesn’t have a baby-sitter. I go full-time with my daughter on my half of the split. And I want it all. The very last thing I want to be is one of those parents lamenting how fast it all went. It goes fast, I know that. I’m sure it will surprise me how it feels in the end too. That’s why I soak up every bit, and share all the love I can with that little angel.

Yet, somehow, the other half of the time. I’ve been committed to learning through fucking disaster after disaster in love.

In my first relationship out of marriage, the very first person I dated. I felt like a teenage girl who was doodling a crushes name all over my notebook. Still do.

The process of growing through this period of change has been like watching this adolescent, inner-romantic-feminine self, grow up in fast-forward.

Honestly, if I had to judge now, I’d say that self is probably in her early to mid-twenties. She sure thinks herself quite grown though. Fashions herself a full adult, though she’s got a bit more to learn before we can catch her up with the rest of this parent.

Which is perfect! It’s how it’s supposed to be. I’m getting that chance to be the person I missed the opportunity of being.

I got the chance to love the ways I would have when I was young, if I’d been me. What a blessing that is. Even if it was the painful mess young love always is. Even if it was extra hard to take because I couldn’t just go home and cry to my mom about it. Because in fact, my mom would be incapable of even talking about it with me. And I’m an adult, with a child, who's got to pay the bills.

We should offer trans folks more grace as they work through it all. It’s a lot.

I myself have been hyper-critical of trans women in the past. A projection of my own internally held prejudices.

In my transition, I was determined to do it with as much grace and smoothness as possible, unlike the bad examples I was so judgmental about. Yet, I was also explicitly determined for my transition to be HIGHLY transformative physically. I did start when I was thirty-four, mind you. I had a long way to go.

Through my journey I have found that grace is an impossible task when looked at in overt terms. This has been a mess full of highly ungraceful blunders.

However, I have found grace in my ability to transform along with the flows and bumps of this journey’s river. In my ability to learn from and overcome great challenges. In the way my body now moves.

Grace was what I thought my name might be for a minute.

It’s what I’ve always wanted to be — graceful. Forever, I hid myself in awkwardness and clumsiness. I was crass and brash. I was the opposite of what I wanted to be. So, I had considered Grace as a potential name.

In the end though. I’m so grateful I chose Daphne. Or rather, that it chose me.

It’s who I’ve always been. It’s who I’ll always be.

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