Water rushes down my back, and along with it I feel strands of hair, sometimes chunks, running toward my feet and down the drain. I get out, dry off, and brush my fingers through my hair only to notice more pieces intertwined between my fingers. Hair loss has never been uncommon for me, but at the rate in which it was happening had me thinking, “Am I sick? What’s wrong with me?” Standing in front of the mirror with my towel wrapped around me, I catch glimpses of me pre-transition. A stubbly face that I must shave every day, thinning hair, and other more boyish than girlish features. The only feminine traits I recognize are my hips and tits, which for the record are great, but what I don’t see is a woman.
You put into words some of the same things I think about and struggle with. Even with the difficult times since starting my transition, I'd never go back!
You put into words some of the same things I think about and struggle with. Even with the difficult times since starting my transition, I'd never go back!
Thanks for your writing