My previous entry was something I should have chronicled in my physical diary, not here. I was frustrated, in a lot of emotional pain, and experiencing a deep sense of rejection with a single particular matter that I had blown completely out of proportion. My policy is to never have regrets when writing here – so the entry will not be removed. I do, however, apologize for anyone who may have found it childish or pretentious in any way.
As for my life as of late…it has not been very pleasant. Not terrible, but certainly not pleasant.
Being a young adult trans-female who has been actively in transition for what will be three years come my August birthday has brought me much happiness and emotional growth as I have gradually come to love myself and my body. Dysphoria days still exist – overcoming initial body image trials has only opened the door for new forms of dysphoria to develop as my body responds to estrogen. I don’t speak of this in detail as the source lies with my own self-inflicted expectations; it’s a struggle that only I can see and ultimately overcome.
Speaking of estrogen, I am nine days away from my first anniversary on hormone replacement therapy. Not particularly something to celebrate, but a personal milestone nonetheless. I will certainly have to do some form of comparison photo, granted that I actually have a photo from last year. My frequency of taking photos and selfies has increased immensely as reflected by my active Instagram account. So, there are no shortages of photos of my current happier, honest existence.
Despite much good that has come from embracing my whole self, hardship still abounds. Admittedly, in spades.
I have searched, applied, and, if I’m lucky, have interviewed for part-time and full-time work since September of last year to no avail. I have received countless words of hope and prayer with the rare soul reaching out with a potential lead, but nothing of tangible gain has come my way placing me in an unforgiving desert of despair, grief, and anger that I have never experienced in my post-college graduate life. I’ve accepted my theories that being transgender, potential discrepancies in my legal and resume info, and/or simply being female in general have made job hunting undeniably different, as though my personal truth is being stabbed & rejected endlessly leaving me for dead.
My belief that my mum had begun to acknowledge me as her daughter, banding together through the living hell that was our move into a house, turned out to be untrue. The past two weekends have opened fresh wounds as my mum proceeded to remain silent to my protest in response to her denial of ever defending my proper name & gender pronouns among her friends. Her blatant, unforgiving usage of my dead name the following weekend only served to agitate my emotions and erase me further. Saturday, as we sat in my car and she paid for my oil change, she said “Happy Mother’s Day” to me. I went along with it, smiling & saying hopeful words. All the while, having no choice to believe she was merely being facetious and terribly ironic as the men in the garage chatted us up clearly seeing a mother and daughter spending time together.
Over my lifetime, I have learned to focus on the positive rather than the negative which allows me to put on a smile in the midst of all the shit. I somehow have the strength to offer advice and support to my two trans friends who have recently come out. To raise people up rather than tear them down with my issues has been so difficult for me that I’ve withdrawn more than I’ve liked – whining is not my image. My trials can be put aside to give applicable guidance encouragement to those I care about.
So much in my life is better left unsaid. All I have is this selfish space. The vain possibility of making a connection by sharing my story with those who tread ever so silently.
Thank you to those who have recently begun following this space & who continue to.