I've said this before (in a sort of poemy thing) but I really want to say it again: the 20th century theory that was used to drastically reduce the number of trans women allowed to medically transition says less about trans people and far more about medical patriarchy and its relationship to women generally. It is pure, chilling, misogyny.

Ok but is it

My #transition goes far beyond the physical and the sartorial. It's a self-actualisation, of which looking fantastic in a dress happens to be a small but surprisingly crucial part.

It doesn't always feel the same. Sometimes it's a moment of great and abiding peace during a walk in the park, sometimes it's a silly thing that makes me giggle. Sometimes a guilty pleasure that I let myself enjoy. Sometimes the exhilaration of doing something I never thought I'd dare to do.

Each time I can sense my being stretching out, becoming more, becoming freer. Reaching out into the world.

My transition has been this slow stumble in pursuit of that feeling. Does removing my body hair feel good? Painting my nails? Wearing a blouse? A hill-climbing exercise that started in the foothills but led me inexorably into a full ascent of a peak marked on my map as "Woman".

It wasn't the hormones, because those were still eight months off. I was just in the kitchen, cooking dinner, when I felt the urge to shake my body to some tune only in my head.

A subtle yet unignorable joy, driving my hips, driving my feet. I had this sense of myself, a presence, in the moment and in my body.

How do I know I'm "actually a woman"?

I don't, really. If there's some part of the brain whose job it is to inform me of my gender identity, it must be on strike.

But what I do know is that the first thing that happened with me when I began transition was that I started to dance.
#trans

Getting my hair done, the (cis, female) hairdressers are having a long conversation about all the video games they're into. God of War being a favourite.

I hate it that I'm surprised. Cis white male gamers really convinced everyone that they are the only ones who play.

#TransOnBuses

And much later in the day

#TransCoffeeSelfie

Early morning #TransOnPlanes ... almost.

Putting on a clasp necklace at five in the morning, in the dark, in a moving taxi, with these things on, tho-- that's a life achievement for sure.

I'm finding it hard to predict what actions will or won't be tricky. Thought putting on a bra would be a pain, but it was mostly fine, apart from a bit of light jabbing into my own back.

The weirdest problem I've had so far: they made me forget my laptop password.

See, they make me type differently-- my fingers held more horizontally than I typically do-- so my muscle memory for my password couldn't kick in.

So this is a whole new experience.
My first extensions, done for my brother's wedding.
These don't even look long long, but they're still a hell of a thing to adjust to!

Holy shit.
I just did a thing which I did not believe was in my power.
I called up my parents-in-law, and in a pleasant but firm tone said "I'd like to invite you to try again with the birthday card, as the one you just sent was not appropriate".
And they agreed

Ay ay ay. Ya gal's looking at getting a secondary underport installed, but choosing a surgeon/clinic is proving very stressful.

Someone suggested "go to Reddit for discussions", but when I get there, I find comments saying that my so-far second choice, Dr Ivan Mañero, is locally known as "the butcher" and sues any negative reviews into oblivion.

Would really love to hear accounts that confirm/deny this, particularly from Spanish trans folks.

Failing this, yer recommendations? Please note I am not considering US-based surgeons due to, well, the whole fascism thing.
#transgenera #srs #grs #vaginoplasty