My journey with gender started from a place of deep discomfort, but looking back, I see now that it was never really about being born in the wrong body. It was about trauma, confusion, and trying to escape from myself.

I was a feminine boy who never fit in with other guys. I felt weak and vulnerable, and I hated the expectations that came with being male. I thought all men were aggressive and problematic, and I wanted no part of it. This feeling got much worse during puberty; I hated the changes and felt completely disconnected from my developing body. I now see this was a mix of body dysmorphia and a deep-seated anxiety about growing up and the world.

I found a lot of comfort online in trans communities. They gave me a new identity and a clear path to follow: I was a woman trapped in a man's body. It felt like an answer to all my problems. I latched onto this idea completely. I started to believe my attraction to women was actually a form of autogynephilia (AGP), a fetish where I was imagining myself as a woman. This, combined with internalized homophobia—I was uncomfortable accepting I was just a gay man—pushed me further down the transition path.

I began socially transitioning in my early twenties, asking people to use a new name and she/her pronouns. It felt good at first, like I was finally becoming someone else. But that feeling was fleeting. I started estrogen and testosterone blockers. The hormones changed my body, but they also did something I didn't expect: they killed my sex drive. At the time, I thought that was a good thing, that it was calming the "AGP" feelings. I now realize that sex drive is a fundamental part of who a person is, and removing it was like removing a part of my core self.

I kept moving forward because I felt I had to. I'd told everyone, changed my name, and invested so much into this new identity that turning back felt impossible. I was terrified of being wrong and of what people would think. I had top surgery to create breasts. After the surgery, there was no moment of joy or relief. Instead, I felt a hollow emptiness. I had done this huge, permanent thing and felt nothing. It was a major wake-up call.

The real turning point was hearing other people's stories. I read about a young man who had an orchiectomy and the moment he woke up from surgery, he was flooded with instant, devastating regret. His story haunted me because I understood it. His sex drive, which had been a driving force for him, vanished after the surgery, and with it went his desire to transition. It made me see that I was on the exact same path, heading for the same painful realization.

I started to detransition. I stopped the hormones. It was scary to tell everyone, again, that I had been wrong. Some people were understanding, but others in the trans community didn't take it well, which was hard. I think my questioning made them question their own choices. I started to see a therapist who wasn't just affirming but actually helped me dig into the why behind my feelings. That non-affirming therapy was crucial. We worked through my trauma, my low self-esteem, my discomfort with being a gay man, and my body issues. I learned that my problems couldn't be solved by changing my body; they had to be solved by healing my mind.

I don't identify as a woman anymore. I'm just me, a man who has been through a lot. My thoughts on gender now are that it's become far too complicated. I wish the intense focus on pronouns would go away; it causes more stress than it's worth. I think "they/them" is a fair option for anyone who is unsure.

I have significant regrets about my transition. I regret the permanent changes I made to my body, especially the breast implants, which I now want to have removed. I am now infertile because of the hormones, which is a permanent loss that I have to live with. My body is forever altered. But I don't regret the journey itself because it led me to a much deeper understanding of who I am. I had to go through that to finally come back to myself.