Well, it’s officially Scorpio Season, which helps to explain some shifts in the way I’ve been feeling over the past week. In a very abbreviated summary, this particular moment in astrology revolves around expelling the old and embracing the new; a process that feels completely in line with my current life-progression. Up to this point, my transition has mostly felt exciting and somewhat carefree. But recently I’ve noticed myself having some pretty significant feelings that I couldn’t quite put a finger on or discern.

When prescribing the testosterone, my doctor informed me that the first physical part to change will be my voice. This is a permanent effect that will remain even if I ever choose to discontinue my T treatments. I was already aware of this information from the research I had done, so I just nodded my head in affirmation and didn’t think much of it. So far I’ve only done 2 injections which means the hormone has only been in my system for two weeks. A few days ago, I bid my wife “good morning” over our coffee preparation and I was surprised by how low my voice sounded. At first, I thought it might be just my typical morning croak, but as the day progressed I realized that my voice was already beginning to drop. In my brain, I knew to expect this change. But as my wife and I have discussed, knowing something conceptually is much different than actually living and feeling it. I was caught off guard in a very unexpected way. Later that same day I was washing my hands and looked up into the bathroom mirror. I saw a person who has resiliently and tenaciously carried me through so many struggles in order to arrive at this juncture, and I offered a sincere thank you to my reflection. As I observed myself, I tried to imagine how different I’ll look in a few weeks, months, or years. Will I still be able to recognize and appreciate that future person reflected back at me in the same way? I felt like I was “memorizing” the old me so I won’t forget her. All of a sudden, I understood the previously indiscernible feeling that had begun to reveal itself – it was grief. 

I’ve been following a lot of AFAB people who are going through gender transition in some way (each person’s path is personal and unique). Many of them have talked about experiences of grief that often coincide with the journey. What I noticed in other people’s stories was that the grief mostly seemed connected to a distinctive and sudden change, often following something drastic like top surgery. In my mind, I was prepared to move through my grief during a time that I assumed would be much further into the future once many physical changes had occurred. I wasn’t quite prepared for it to sneak up on me so quickly at the very beginning of my transition, but recognizing it catapulted me into several ruminations. Am I really prepared for my voice to get deeper and deeper as the weeks pass by, and will I still feel like I sound like “me”? Am I really prepared for my facial features to change so much that I look like I’ve morphed into a new person? Will my wife still feel attracted to me? If I end up passing as a cisgender guy (which is not necessarily my goal) will I still be welcomed in queer spaces? Will my transition process impede my ability to find work? Will I be safe in my neighborhood and community? How will I comfortably and discreetly match my mannerisms with my appearance, or will I even find that to be necessary? Is my personality going to be affected? Will the T actually help balance my hormones and heal my musculoskeletal issues like I’m expecting it to? What if it doesn’t? How do I guarantee that I will always be able to have access to T regardless of what our political climate is dictating? So many thoughts and concerns are revolving in my head, some of which are completely superficial. But most involve attachment to the visceral familiarities I have developed within myself for 44 years. There are so many external parts of me that are yearning and anxious for transformation, which, despite the ruminations, I welcome and look forward to. 

However, I understand how it feels to be seen and treated as a woman, which has curated my perceptions and actions as I walk through the world on a daily basis. Once my appearance shifts distinctly into the masculine, I don’t really want my internal energy to strive to match it. I still want to be able to feel in touch with who I’ve always been. I feel a very deep connection to the divine feminine magic that brought me into this world. I find it fascinating that I was once a part of my grandmother’s body in the form of an egg inside my mother’s body – that the three of us existed together in this way. My intuition, empathy, compassion, and toughness are born from those two magnificent women. I have a strong reverence for the feminine aspect of my being and how that has shaped my intrinsic values. I don’t want to dismiss or override these qualities of mine in any way, no matter how masculine my appearance may end up being. I’m grateful that the grief already showed up when it did. One of the great lessons of my adulthood is that, similarly to healing, grieving is not a linear process. I know to expect it in waves, and I want to remember to honor its ebb and flow as I continue on my path.