Just a note before I start this: I'm going to change my mindset in how I approach this blog. Previously I was writing in the hopes that others would enjoy what I post. I forgot that this is really just about documenting my transition, whether people enjoy it or not. I hope people do enjoy it, but my focus will be on writing to capture the highs and lows of this journey for myself. Forty birthdays had come and gone, and they all shared one common characteristic. They were all a celebration of someone who never existed. Sure, the world thought they did, but in reality the person they celebrated was nothing but a figment of their imagination. Forty times we went through this charade. A charade in which even the gifts played a role in perpetuating this masculinized nightmare. The 40th carried the same sad expectation as the previous 39, which was the knowledge that this rock would circle the sun yet again and we’d be here celebrating this illusion on the exact same day next year. But something happened along the way that changed everything. The woman whom the world didn’t know even existed burst forth. The 41st saw a dirge replaced by a celebration.
What a celebration it was! No, we didn’t do anything wild. The absence of a party “worthy” of this first real birthday was far more the result of our natural aversion to people than a global pandemic. I wasn’t lavished with countless material gifts. I, and not some masculine imposter, was showered in love though. Love of who I really am, as opposed to the figment that I felt so many others preferred me to be for oh so long. For someone who went through this charade 40 times, with the dysphoria and depression worsening every time the calendar hit late September, being showered in love for who I am made it the greatest birthday I’ve ever experienced. A little shopping also helped 😉.
As life has taught me, though, highs always seem to be followed by lows. At least for me. Two days later, and still riding the high you feel when you’re surrounded by unconditional…and undeserved…love, I had to go to the doctor. No need to jump to conclusions. There’s nothing to worry about. This doctor visit was to discuss the possibility of surgery. One of the aspects of my transition that I’ve been most excited about are the physical changes, because what those physical changes reveal is the person I should have been all along. My skin is softer. My hips are more round. And, uh, my tops “fit” differently lol. Unfortunately though, some parts of my body were so poisoned by a testosterone-driven puberty, that to correct those malformations would require surgery. This can be most clearly seen in my face. Heck, I can see it in my face now as my broad, masculine nose never leaves my view.
So, on Monday, Heather and I drove into Houston to see the doctor that could hopefully help with some of these issues. I’m lucky, or so Heather and my closest friends continue to insist. They tell me time and time again that my face is feminine. I just don’t see it. I really wish I could. When I look into a mirror at my face, I just see nothing but masculine features with makeup slapped on top of them. Oh how I wish I could see what others see. Dysphoria is vicious though, so I see what I see instead. After the doctor took some pictures, talked to us about the options (without mentioning the prices), and then showed us what I could look like, I was excited. When I looked at the new pictures, I saw the person I should have always been. I don’t care about being “pretty”. Facial feminization surgery isn’t about looking prettier. It’s about looking like you should have all along had puberty not wreaked havoc on my bone structure. Sadly, insurance carriers have failed to understand this when it comes to trans patients, so these procedures are still considered “cosmetic”. In reality, these procedures aren’t cosmetic, they’re corrective. They’re a reconstruction to the face that you should have had. Then they showed us the price. My heart sank. It was deflating to say the least. Perhaps that’s why they wait till the very end to show you the price. We left, got in the car, and I cried. Then I cried when we got home. It was a punch in the gut…perhaps because I was naive or just failed to do my homework.
Highs and lows over the course of three days. I’ve decided to focus on the highs though. To focus on the ground gained over the last 10 months. I worry that some steps are simply too big to scale, and life circumstances mean they be taken by some of us. This is life as a trans person. Corrective procedures are rarely covered and always expensive. And compared to many, this has been a relatively inexpensive transition. Some clothes. Payments to my endocrinologist. Laser hair removal. But I can’t focus on the mirage that I’ll likely never reach. Comparison is the thief of joy, and in the past it that thief appeared as I compared myself to other trans women. Now it’s comparing myself now to what I could be...or to who I should have been all along. But who I am now is someone that is embraced for who they are, and loved unconditionally. No amount of corrective procedures will change that. I will always be loved…by Heather, the kids, my closest friends and family, and more importantly my God. Sure these procedures would help me and my dysphoria, but even without them, every birthday from here on out will be one in which I’m surrounded by those I love the most and who love me as Natalie.