LGBTQIA
Trans Therapy on the Road to T
Mental battles with my gender therapist
HERE WE ARE AGAIN
It’s Friday. Waiting for the zoom session to start is always a mix of anxiety, anticipation, and sheer terror. Today, the scales are heavily tipped towards the latter for today, I have to tell my gender therapist (aka, GT) that I got my Testogel and freaked out. Like, FREAKED OUT. Full boss-level assault existential crisis with a double serving of imposter syndrome. This:
The call begins and his smile is knowing because he is already aware that I filled my prescription on Wednesday and the smart assumption would be that I already took at least my first dose. But, nope.
GT: It’s all happening.
Me: Well, it’s not happening because I freaked out.
No messing around today, straight into it. I tell GT about the whole trans freak-out and we begin by unpacking some of the surface feels. I come to the conclusion that having T (testosterone) right here, in my hand, makes it tangible. Up until now, it has been an intangible journey, but now, it is right here. It’s real. What does that mean? Does that mean that everything I felt along the way was not real?
GT gently guides me over a few bumps and around a few turns in that way that he does but it’s a little while before I’m able to articulate anything beyond grunts and panicked whimpers. When we do get there, that place in which I can connect words and make some semblance of sense, I tell him that I feel like I’ve gone back to that first moment of questioning and like everything we’ve discussed over the past several months has been erased yet the lessons remain. I feel like I now need to re-live the journey so far and check it against everything I’ve learned. It’s overwhelming, to say the least. I mention consequences — we’ve talked about them before. In the tangibility of T, the once-only perceived consequences are suddenly imminent real too.
LEVEL ONE
GT: Do you trust yourself to deal with the consequences?
Now, that’s a hell of a question.
Me: Fuck you.
Oops. But it was said with a smile and all of the loving intentions. GT laughs. Phew. It really is a great question though. Do I? I think about all of the consequences, at least, some of the ones we’ve discussed and it doesn’t take long to land on something that makes me cringe.
I let my thoughts and words tumble in the freefall chaos that GT is used to by now. In there somewhere we speak once more about perceptions. The idea of ‘passing’ is touched on as a term of reference and understanding but we both know it’s not the goal. And then, I mention Santa Claus.
Seems completely unrelated and innocent, right? Like anything random is truly random when one is unpacking their deepest psyche. So why Santa? Because as a kid, I hated him. I didn’t trust him. Because he is a man. Ouch — we’re getting somewhere. How strange that the same story just happened to come up with a trans-masc friend I’d been talking to the day before. Even stranger, the story came up because that friend had been a Santa Christmas casual. Ah, universe. I see what you are trying to do. Ok, you got my attention.
With a deep breath and a sigh, I tell GT that growing up, the only male role model I had was my grandfather who I saw every second school holiday or thereabouts. The ‘father’ (henceforth known as the sperm donor) was present yet completely absent. I can’t think of a single conversation we had in the 19 years under the same roof, let alone since. In fact, I can count on two hands the number of times I can remember we actually spoke.
He was absent.
He was a compulsive liar.
He was a drug user.
Then, the conversation steers towards the only other man that had been a major presence in my life. My ex-husband. We were together for thirteen years. I went directly from living in the family home to living with him.
He was a gambler.
He lied, often.
He was a daily drug user.
I found out about the gambling when I found out we were being evicted from our rental property. At least, the first time. Condensing fifteen years into one paragraph in an article, I was forced into bankruptcy.
I was holding onto this inherent belief that I couldn’t trust men. Was that why I freaked out? It makes sense. How am I going to trust myself as I go through a masculising medical transition if I couldn’t trust men? I mean, it has faulty logic, but stupid beliefs learned in childhood usually do.
Level one complete — LEVEL UP!
LEVEL TWO
GT: You don’t want to be painted with the same brush as them?
No, absolutely not. But I see where he’s going. Again, we edge up against the idea of passing knowing that although I’ve never verbalized it, we are both aware that passing as a cis-man just doesn’t sit with me. At least, not passing as a cishet man. Ah, right — it’s cishet men I don’t trust. I’d pull out the #notallmen thing here, but I’m talking about childhood trauma. I have no control over the beliefs I’ve learned until I recognize what they are, so sorry, not sorry.
Me: I like the space of not knowing.
The words jump from me before I even know what I’m going to say and GT wastes no time in prompting me to explore my own words and the feelings behind them. I take a deep breath in and then let it out at length. I look down and to my right purposely accessing that part of my brain that connects to the feels (it’s an NLP technique but now is not the time to explain). I let the thoughts and feelings flow and as I’ve become very accustomed to doing with GT, I let spill forth whatever does. It’s in this lack of control that I find what I need.
I explain to GT that I like it when people look at me and are confused. Not that I like people looking at me, but when they do, I like it when they glitch because I don’t fit into their boxes and assumptions. I hate it when people look at me with judgment but I love it when they look at me and they can’t even register a judgment because they simply can’t work out which of their assumptions to judge me against. And this is not new. I recognize that I’ve always, as long as I can remember, absolutely as a teen, dressed and acted in a way that IF someone looks at me, they can’t judge me, or if they do, it doesn’t matter, because they are wrong. They are always wrong — in their judgment.
In the unpacking of the potential physical consequences of taking T, the understanding falls into place for the first time that it isn’t about how others see me after all, it is about how I see myself. Do I trust myself to deal with the consequences? Hells yeah I do!
Level two complete — LEVEL UP!
LEVEL THREE
And then, we hit the jackpot. It happens so organically, or perhaps GT just steers me there so professionally that I don’t see it (because I am lost in his smile — have I mentioned in this article that I have a raging crush on GT? Unless of course he ever sees this in which case, I mean another GT. I was joking. It’s all gender envy… ummm… it’s not me). I don’t see the bridge from one thought to the next, but suddenly we are there.
I admit to GT that going on T is a commitment to myself. I’m not used to that and it scares me. He shares with me some personal experiences which I won’t share here because even though I call him GT, it’s not my place to share. Suffice to say that it’s enough to prompt me to analyze what that commitment to self is and it’s so much more than just going on T.
I share with GT that I feel like T is the catalyst to a complete shift in self. It’s about health. It’s about love. It’s about life, future, writing, friends, study, work, money, everything. I know. Somehow, I deeply instinctually, just KNOW, that the first dose is a life commitment. GT reminds me that it doesn’t have to be and he’s right. That does help, a little.
GT: Are you ready to make that journey?
And there we have it, folks. The ultimate question. Am I ready to take the journey to me? Because that’s really what GT is asking. The fact that as much as I want to say yes, I take pause to think, is worrying. I’m not above vulnerability or admitting I get a little, emotional. I look away to gather myself. I flick back a glance at GT and his face tells me, he gets it. He knows what I’m feeling and he’s giving me all the time I need.
I take that time. Am I ready? The consequences run through my head and with each one, I ask myself, can I handle it? Yes. Each time, the answer is yes. And as I work through each, I feel the smile broaden on my face. Yes. I can handle them.
Me: Yes. I’m ready.
GT: It’s a lot.
He’s not wrong! But it’s a lot that I can handle and I am ready. Then GT gives me the best advice I’ve ever heard.
GT: Set a mental fence around yourself and give yourself two years for complete self care.
LEVEL THREE COMPLETE!
