My whole journey with gender has been long and complicated, and looking back, I see a lot of things differently now. I never felt like I fit in, especially as a teenager. I was deeply uncomfortable with my body during puberty; I hated developing breasts and felt a general sense of wrongness. I now see this was a mix of body dysmorphia and the normal awkwardness of growing up, but at the time, it felt like a sign that I was born in the wrong body. I also struggled with depression and low self-esteem, and I spent a lot of time online in communities that offered a clear, if not simple, explanation for my pain: I was a man trapped in a woman's body.

I started my transition socially in my late teens, telling friends and family I was a man. It felt like an escape from being me. The validation I got was immediate and powerful; for the first time, people were paying positive attention to me. This led me to start taking testosterone when I was 20. The changes were rapid—a deeper voice, facial hair—and at first, it felt like I was finally becoming who I was meant to be. I pursued top surgery at 22 and had my breasts removed. I believed this was the solution to all my problems.

But the problems didn't go away. The initial high of transition faded, and I was left with the same underlying issues. I had a lot of time to think, especially after some experiences with psychedelic drugs. They didn't provide all the answers, but they helped break apart my rigid thinking. It made me question why I was so desperate to reject my own body. I started to realize that my drive to transition was fueled by a deep-seated rejection of myself, an escapist fantasy that promised a new life if I just changed the container. I also began to understand that my discomfort wasn't really about gender, but about other things I hadn't dealt with, like trauma and anxiety.

I never got bottom surgery, but I do have some permanent changes from the testosterone, like my voice. I can't say I have serious health complications, but I am now infertile, and that is a permanent consequence I have to live with. I don't regret my transition in the sense that it brought me to where I am today, which is a place of much greater self-awareness. But I do regret not dealing with my underlying mental health issues first. I think if I had found a therapist who challenged me instead of just affirming me, I might have found a different path. The transition process felt like a conveyor belt, and no one ever asked me why I felt the way I did.

My thoughts on gender now are that it's often a distraction from more fundamental problems. For me, it was a way to cope with depression and a hatred of my own body that was more related to poor self-esteem than a true identity. I benefited from stepping away from the entire framework. I don't think medical transition is wrong for everyone, but I believe the reasons behind it need to be examined much more critically. We need to be okay with the fact that our bodies change and age naturally, and chasing an ideal of being "whole" through surgery and hormones is a fleeting solution. I am learning to accept myself as I am, a woman who took a very difficult detour to get back to herself.

Here is a timeline of the major events: