Dueling Thoughts

Unexpected HRT side-effect #1

There are the changes you expect from MtF HRT - breast growth, body fat redistribution; all that good stuff. And then there are the changes that are nobody ever talks about (because they defy easy description, or are simply inconsequential).

I noticed this one recently: I've been sleeping on my back. I never used to sleep on my back - only on my side. Maybe it’s because of the girls? Who knows!

A newfound skill

I have yet to develop the requisite gentleness to avoid punching holes in lace; however, it does appear that they can be darned just as easily as any other type of fabric (arguably better, in that the repair seems less visible than in a plainer cloth).

This is a timely addition to my skill set as I just stuck my thumb through another item of clothing!

Transition-focused

Sometimes I worry that I come across as overly focused on the subject of my transition.

“So what have you been up to?” “Oh, you know. [Transition stuff].”

In project management parlance, transitioning is a multi-year project with multiple tasks, all of which have their own sub-tasks, and so on. Resources must be acquired; unforeseeable issues spontaneously arise and must be resolved.

I would not necessarily call this timeconsuming or overwhelming (although transitioning can be these things at times); but it’s pervasive. It touches every part of my life and requires constant care and attention.

A simple example: I wanted to change my legal name. In America, this generally means going to the county probate court and getting an order to that effect.

Every county has its own process and paperwork (although the vast majority at least try to adhere to some kind of nationally-distributed model process). All together, there were five forms.

I also needed to provide notarized copies of various personal records, so I had to get those.

Once everything was submitted, I had to wait for an invoice from the local legal news publisher; and then pay them to release a statement recording the name change.

I had to talk to the court and the publisher multiple times for input on what to do; to check up on the status of my case (”Oh, sorry - the person that mails out the confirmation was on vacation for two weeks”); and so on.

Eventually the court order was created, and I could pick up my copy of this incredibly important legal document.

Having done all this...

...I now get to reach out to the dozens and dozens of organizations that keep track of my legal identity and inform them that it has, in fact, changed.

...And some of them have their own requirements for updating their records; which necessitates addressing certain organizations in a certain order (BMV; Social Security; employer)...

All of this, all of this merely to change my name. One of a multitude of tasks.

Overall, this has been one of the most rewarding processes of my life; I would repeat it in a heartbeat. If however I do come across as eternally preoccupied with my transition, it’s because - at least for now - it constantly effects me, every day and in all ways (physically, mentally, emotionally, socially, legally) and I have no choice but to dedicate the necessary brainpower to managing these things.

Dysphoria

After receiving our second COVID vaccine doses, my spouse, daughter and I all experienced side effects. Now, there isn’t an objective way to measure a person’s discomfort; but subjectively, it appears that I had a better time of things than they did.

Of course, this might not be accurate. I may be female now, but the majority of my life was spent operating under the rule of male gender norms. One such unspoken rule was that bearing one’s discomfort stoically was admirable, and complaining unseemly; and I internalized that.

(It is therefore entirely possible that we experienced equal degrees of malaise; but I sought to downplay mine.)

There is also a growing body of evidence to suggest that the side-effects are hitting XX chromosome-holders harder - possibly resulting from some kind of interaction between estrogen and the immune system.

(Alas, I could not test this theory as I was almost at the end of my estradiol cycle when we got our booster shots; and even then, my cycle only superficially emulates the far more complex interactions of the real thing.)

Whatever the case may be... It felt like another unwanted and unneeded reminder that despite legally changing my name, changing my pronouns, adopting a new wardrobe and updating my appearance, engaging in all manner of medical treatments... That I am, and always will be, a woman with an asterisk at the end of that word.

Maybe one day I’ll make peace with that fact... but not today.

Jingle

🎵 “The worst part of shaving as a trans girl Is when you nick your nip” 🎵

Office space: addendum

Yep... yesterday's workout did a real number on my girl muscles. I've got minor strains in my forearms, shoulders, and weirdly, thighs (which is what I get for trying to be a human jack, I guess).

I realize now that I'm reluctant to tell the men in my life "I'm sorry, I cannot physically carry this; you need to do it for me" because:

It feels sexist;

Despite all the physical changes I've experienced this year, my frame is still the same - and I worry that people will extrapolate from this that I'm still equally physically capable.

I don't know what the solution is, but I need to figure something out before too long because I'm getting really tired of these injuries...

Dresses

Each year my company celebrates Christmas with an all-employee dinner. I greatly enjoy socializing with my colleagues, but I’ve always found these events a bit overwhelming and have tried to dodge them where ever possible.

Not this year however! I am out, and very much planned to celebrate in style... Which, of course, did not happen (what with there being a very disruptive killer virus on the loose and all).

All the same, I bought myself a delightful Christmas dress - I was particularly smitten with the lacy sleeves. So imagine my confusion when it arrived, and instead of getting the dress on the left:

...I received the one on the right (sans sleeves).

Two months later, I realize that these are in fact two entirely different dresses and that I had mistakenly ordered the second one on the insane assumption that the brand only carried the one sangria-colored number.

I... am not a smart girl.

Delightfully, they still had the original dress in stock (and only in my size to boot); so I have one winging it’s way to me now!

I see @foone has switched from reblogging deer girls… to reblogging John Deere girls. 🙂

Imagine the frustration of trying to do maintenance on your robot gf only to find out her wiring diagrams, code, and repair manual are considered confidential and proprietary and only factory certified technicians are allowed or able to work on her. Now imagine working tirelessly to build a wiring diagram, reverse engineer her code, and documenting troubleshooting and maintenance procedures

Another night terror

I had another terror episode last night. As with the previous episode, it was quite absurd in nature. I am mixed on whether this signifies a dearth of creativity on the anxiety-driven part of my brain, or that it is now entering some kind of postmodern phase.

Initially I dreamt that I was in my bed; and that it was nighttime, but there was just enough light to cast shadows. These shadows were sufficiently menacing (and there was a distinct impression that they were trying to resolve into the shape of people) that it became imperative that I extinguish all sources of light.

Enter into this scenario: an aquarium-themed night light (the same one that had kept my daughter company during her infant days). Not only was this thing on full brightness, but it had cunningly placed itself on my wife’s side of the bed - just out of reach.

That’s when my brain pressed the Adrenaline Dump button and I screamed awake.

Here’s the part that confuses me: I wasn’t terrified by the possibility that the night light would bring these Shadow People into being; I was terrified of the night light itself. Now how the hell does that work, brain?!

It’s bad enough I have these episodes. Could they at least be something genuinely scary?

Bras are cool

I went pretty quickly from HRT kicking in, to getting kind of pokey in the chest region, to buying myself a couple of bras. Altogether, it was perhaps no more than eight to ten weeks from Point A to Point B.

And I was so glad that I did. There was something so satisfying about being able to see myself in the mirror, with matching upper and lower underwear. It was... completing.

It makes me wonder if perhaps there’s value in snagging a bra before it even becomes a necessity; just for the gender euphoria / psychological comfort it can provide!