My journey with all of this is complicated, and it took me a long time to really understand my own thoughts. I was born male and I’m heterosexual. For a period of my life, I identified as a trans woman and took estrogen, but I never fully saw myself as a woman, and I always used he/him pronouns. The whole idea of pushing for different pronouns never made sense to me because I see pronouns as being about your biological sex, not a social role.

A lot of my initial feelings were tied up with something called autogynephilia (AGP). It’s a difficult thing to talk about, but it’s a big part of my story. I was aroused by the idea of being a woman in my fantasies, and I felt a lot of shame about that for a long time. I didn’t even know it was a recognized thing until I read about AGP. I let that fantasy creep into my real life, and I think that was a mistake. I wish I had kept it as just a private fantasy.

I struggled with depression and feeling like an outcast, but for me, the problem was more with my body, not with social roles or what people called me. I never felt a need to be "stealth" as a woman. I always thought that living a stealth life was like living a constant lie, which would be incredibly hard and unhealthy. I also never wanted to be born female. Being male came with benefits, like my height and the ability to have a certain kind of intimacy with my own body. I knew I would never be able to relate to female experiences like periods or pregnancy, and I had to accept that I would never actually be female.

My thoughts on gender are pretty straightforward now. I believe that gender and sex are the same thing. When people say they are different, it often seems like they are just reinforcing stereotypes—like men are masculine and women are feminine. But men can be gentle and nurturing, and women can be strong and assertive. Reducing manhood or womanhood to a set of stereotypes feels wrong to me. A woman is an adult human female, and a man is an adult human male. You can’t become a man just by taking testosterone or having surgeries, because you’re still biologically female. The same goes for me; I could never become a female.

I did take estrogen for a while. I was worried about losing muscle, so I worked out constantly, running and weightlifting almost every day. Ironically, I gained more muscle on estrogen than I ever had on testosterone because I became so dedicated to fitness. Now that I’ve stopped the hormones, I’m dealing with some depression, which I’m sure is partly from the hormonal shift.

One of the biggest physical issues I’m dealing with now is my chest. The estrogen caused some breast growth. I’m only an A-cup, so I can run without support and it’s not very noticeable with a shirt on, but I hate the idea of taking my shirt off. I’ve been looking into top surgery to have the tissue removed, but I am terrified of the scars from a double incision (DI) procedure. I don’t want to look like I’m part of the "trans" crowd; I just want a normal male chest. I also don’t want to lose sensation in my nipples. I’ve been consulting with doctors to see if a less invasive option, like keyhole surgery, might be possible for me. I’m trying not to rush this decision.

I don’t have regrets about my transition in the sense that it led me to where I am now, but I do think I went down a path that was based on a fantasy rather than a true desire to be female. I benefited from finally being honest with myself about the AGP. I’m now in my late 30s, married for ten years, and I’m trying to live authentically as the man I am. My spouse and I have a good, equal relationship. She likes my facial hair, and we’ve worked through the times I’ve felt feminine. I’ve accepted that I am the man in the relationship, but that it’s a team effort.

I see a lot of young people, especially young women, making permanent decisions too early. Your brain isn’t even fully developed until your mid-20s, and I didn’t really know what I wanted until I was in my 30s. I think there’s a lot of pressure and "hugboxing" online that pushes people into a fantasy without considering the long-term consequences, like health issues or infertility.

For me, detransitioning meant accepting my biological reality. I can do anything I want—wear clothes from the women’s section, get manicures and pedicures with my female friends—and still be a man. Being a man doesn’t have to be a boxed-in character. It’s just who I am.

Here is a timeline of the main events: