Half a Year

This is a milestone. Half a year since I began hormones.

This update won't be like the others. It won't be an itemized list of the minutiae of the past month. Instead, prepare for some rambling musings on the whole experience, where I started, where I'm going, and what it all means.

Beginnings

Wednesday, February 26ᵗʰ. I put on my skirt, my frilly top, my high-heeled boots, and way too much makeup. I gobbled some of my anti-anxiety medication, paced around, and finally got in my car. My appointment was right behind the physics building, where I spent all my time at UNM; I parked right next to the LIDAR array our research group is working on. I don't pray, but I certainly hoped to myself, “oh please don't step outside to work on the damn thing now” (re: my boss). My heart was pounding the whole way to the clinic; I scrupulously avoided eye contact.

I checked in, a truly cringeworthy experience. Internally I had a bitter chuckle at the irony: I was there as Rachel, to see a doctor about being Rachel, and I had to check in and interact with everyone as Ryan (because paperwork). I was so nervous waiting in the exam room for the doctor. When he got there he started asking me questions about what I expected from the hormones. No, I’m not expecting it to get rid of my facial or body hair. Yes, I know there’s only so much it can do for appearance with immutable bone structure. No, I don’t expect it to change my voice. He suggested I might want to get a laser ablation procedure done on my vocal folds to undo some of the damage wrought by testosterone during puberty. Basically, he wanted to make sure my expectations were realistic.

I was afraid I might answer something wrong and he wouldn’t give me the hormones. But 15 minutes later I walked out of there with two prescriptions – spironolactone to get rid of my testosterone, and estradiol to replace it with estrogen – and a spring in my step (yes, even in heels). I went home, switched to boy mode, and went straight to the pharmacy. That Wednesday afternoon, I took my first doses, and my first step toward physically becoming Rachel.

Puberty

Mind

The road that step led to passes through puberty. Female puberty, minus menstruation (i.e., the worst part). And with puberty comes mood swings. My doctor, my therapist, and my psychologist all warned me that the hormone changes would probably trigger mood swings, and that they stood a good chance of launching me into a bipolar episode. This was a major reason I started on such a low dose – so it wouldn’t destabilize me too much.

Instead, something strange happened. My moods leveled out. My anxiety went down. I became less irritable. Other, stranger things occurred. Horrific intrusive thoughts that had plagued me since the start of male puberty 20 years before suddenly stopped completely. It was like I was finally free of a demon that had been tormenting me all those years. Or twin demons – testosterone and the lack of estrogen. My brain was never meant for male puberty and male endocrinology; something broke when that puberty hit, and it took the right puberty to fix it.

This played a big part in erasing any lingering doubts that I was making the right decision. It made me a better person, it made me like me more, it healed old wounds and set some things right.

I noticed other changes to my mind. I became able to get choked up and teary eyed for the first time in years. I didn’t even have to engage in “emotional cutting” – deliberately manipulating my emotions with music or other media to force myself to cry. It just came naturally.

Here’s a weird one: I’ve become a more considerate driver. I’m less prone to raging at people and more likely to think about their apparent stupidity from their perspective; most of the time, I find what they’re doing is perfectly reasonable, at least with limited information.

Body

What it does for my body is a big deal – a huge deal. Big enough for it to eclipse the other factors in terms of outward interest, and often even in my own mind. But my doctor went over all those things that wouldn’t change; what did I have to look forward to?

Boobs. That’s what I was looking forward to, dammit. Boobs and nipples. I wanted boobs and I wanted them right then. But I had to wait. The testosterone had to leave my system, and then my body needed time. (Fun fact: you don’t need estrogen to grow boobs, you just need to not have testosterone around*. This is why Robert Paulsen had boobs after his orchiectomy in Fight Club.) It still needs time. But guess what? I do have boobs now. Check ‘em out:

I was told I could expect changes to facial structure as the fat under my skin migrated. I quickly got discouraged by this – I look at myself in the mirror almost every day and I never really noticed a difference. I became increasingly disappointed. People kept telling me my face was changing, but I didn’t see it. Then I finally looked at a picture of me pre-hormones compared to “now,” months later. It’s not spectacular, but there’s a difference. Still disappointed in the rate of progress.

I heard my skin would get softer. That one snuck up on me. I can feel my face and forearms are softer and smoother now, and bottles have become more painful to twist the caps off. I want more – I always want more – but it’s enough to make me happy.

Soul

And by "soul" I mean "sex." These hormone changes have done some stupid things to my libido. At first they just killed it entirely. But that only lasted a couple months before it came back with a vengeance. Kind of.

My brain's libido is through the roof now. Going through puberty now, I appropriately have the libido of a teenager. I want sex so bad. Sometimes I'll start drooling, wanting nothing more than to chow down on some pussy.

My body disagrees. My body says "meh" to sex and stimulation. Stimulation does nothing for me. Not even my Magic Wand does it (that is not a euphemism for my wang).

This is frustrating to say the least. I've heard it gets better as the hormone changes do their thing and estrogen (i.e., female) orgasms replace testosterone (male) orgasms. Holy hell, I can't wait for my first female orgasm. I want it now. Like, right fucking now.

What You See Is What You Get

I may have plastered on the makeup and been a cartoon caricature of a woman when I walked into the doctor’s office, but day to day, hour to hour? I was in boy mode. I was “Ryan.” I tried making Ryan more and more androgynous, but he was still he.

What did people see when they saw Ryan? Male face, no boobs, androgynous clothes and light makeup (eyeliner and blush). So… a guy who sometimes wore makeup. That was wrong, wrong, wrong, so wrong. It was all I could show, but it was false advertising. I may still be learning, but dammit, I. Am. A woman. What they saw was some semi-androgynous guy; what they got was a woman dreading every moment of interaction because she couldn’t be herself.

But who could blame them? I didn’t know how to be a woman, as much as I wanted. So while what they saw wasn’t quite what they got, it might as well have been the same despite my aspirations to the contrary. But I learned. I’m still learning, but I learned a lot. And things changed. My face changed. My skin changed. Boobs started to grow. I’m pretty sure I’m even getting an ass finally.

By the time I officially became Rachel in June, what did people see? An androgynous face, (fake) boobs, casual women’s clothes, and reasonable makeup. Basically, they saw an androgynous woman(-ish person). And what were they getting – what are they getting? An androgynous woman. Despite the “deception” of the fake boobs, it’s an honest presentation of myself. What they see is what they get.

The hormones affected this, as did changes in my dress and makeup. Other things as well. Changes to my walk, my mannerisms, changes to my speech, even changes to the way I sit in a chair. Things I practiced and felt and practiced more. Some might say that since this was practiced, it was itself artificial. I would ask if they think their very ability to walk – something they practiced – is also artificial. No, I was learning to undo the artificial maleness I had learned for 30 years.

I’m not quite where I need to be. But I am “me,” and I can go into public as me and not have to overly worry that I’ll be mistaken for a man. People get the (butch, ugly) woman they see.

 Hope for the Future

Six months, with as much progress as I’ve made, is still just getting started. This is puberty we’re talking about – for most of you it didn’t happen in the span of a single year. I expect at least two years to get mostly there, and the whole process is supposed to take about 7. I have a lot of hope for what can happen in that time.

My boobs seem to already be starting another growth spurt, getting a little sore and tender under the nipples. I’m already a member of the IBTC; I hope they keep growing at least to size B. However they end up, I know they’re not done yet – I have more to look forward to.

More changes to my emotions are another hope. I hope things keep going in the same direction: calmer, more empathetic, more able to cry.

My fat distribution really needs to get a move on, but I’m sure it will. That start of an ass is just that – just a start. My (37”) hips don’t really need to get bigger, but I’m perfectly okay with some of my belly flab migrating there (though I really want it to migrate to my chest). With all the work still to be done in moving my fat from male locations to female ones, I know I have a lot to look forward to on this front.

And of course, the grand, great hope for the future isn’t taking hormones, it’s SRS. With 366 doses of hormones under my belt, I’m well on my way toward the goal of being ready for it.

Wot’s...Uh The Deal?

You have to figure I have some big takeaway lesson from all this, some grand Meaning I’ve found behind everything. Sure, but I don't think anyone’s going to like any of it. I’m supposed to have something inspiring to say about how everything works out in the end, or there’s meaning in everything, and how women and men are really just the same underneath. No, no, and you’ve got to be kidding me.

When I was made, something went horribly wrong. It wasn’t a blessing in disguise, it wasn’t some test or lesson, it was a birth defect, with absolutely no meaning behind it. It just kind of happened because the universe is pitilessly indifferent like that.

Defective I am, and I was three decades out of warranty before I figured it out. Certain things just didn’t work right, or were awkward or simply “off” – it’s not like I have an indicator light or popup to tell me “Warning: Gender Error.”

But I figured it out, and I started the hormones to correct it. Here there are lessons to be learned from that.

Lesson 1: Science is fucking awesome. It’s far from perfect, but thanks to modern science and medicine, I am on my way to being a woman physically and physiologically. These mistakes happen – errors, defects, accidents, diseases and neither the universe nor your dead God care in the slightest. But with knowledge, understanding, and determination, we can do the next best thing to setting things right.

Lesson 2: Men and women are pretty different in some ways – psychologically different. You can see the physical differences – the boobs, the hair, the body and face shape… What you can’t see are the equally pronounced psychological differences. These I’ve had to feel first-hand as my psyche changes. I described some of these above, not just ones idiosyncratic to me but more universal differences. It’s not just social conditioning that makes men more aggressive and less empathetic (that would be testosterone), nor is it just conditioning that makes women more susceptible to emotional lability and crying (that would be estrogen). There’s a metric buttload of within-gender variation that washes a lot of this out, but the differences are easy to see with all else being held equal.

Basically, to put this in bullet points:

• Not everything “happens for a reason,” or whatever mushy-headed platitude you prefer. 
• It was especially not for any reason, and not with any meaning, that I'm female AMAB. AMAB is just a shitty birth defect for me.
• Science is really awesome for making it somewhat possible to correct defects like this.
• Dudes be all like this, and chicks be all like that.

In Conclusion

I have no damn conclusion. This whole thing is a pointless, rambling mess. But I have to post something, so here's that something. I hope at least someone wasted their time reading it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go wash my hormones down with some nice cider, stretch and relax, and maybe try to soothe my soul (so to speak).

* Fun-er fact: Women are much closer to the “base” human form in the absence of sex hormones than men are. Boobs are present, there isn’t a ton of body or facial hair, bone growth is feminine, muscle bulk is feminine, and fat distribution (including in the face) is female-ish. Testosterone is stupid powerful. And largely irreversible. L