So in 60 days, I’ll be waking up in Thailand after having my parts rearranged — and yeah, I’ve been having a moment about that.
To say the least, my feelings right now are… complicated.
Part of me is definitely looking forward to shedding the last of my pupal form.
Which is a little surprising because I’ve never been one of those trans people who’ve felt that my genitals were something alien — something that made it a harder decision to get genital reassignment surgery. In fact, when I socially transitioned, I didn’t think I’d get it done, because I didn’t feel the need.
But gender dysphoria, can be like an onion — as I resolved the visible issues, it unexpectedly surfaced deeper ones.
And the reality is this, I don’t hate my genitals as they are now, but I hate, as Sam Dylan Finch aptly said:
“It’s about how invisible my body makes me feel — the way it tricks others into seeing me as something that I’m not.
And no amount of self-love and validation can change the fact that, when I step out into the world, my body precedes me and erases a very important aspect of my identity.”
Consequently, sometimes changing one’s body can be be the greatest act of self-love.
Some of it are the “normal” jitters — it is major surgery after all, and if I weren’t having some anxiety, I be worried. Although it’s less about the surgery itself, and more about the recovery, and lengthy, and involves some rather painful aftercare. (Or why you probably won’t see too much of me during the last half of 2018.)
There’s also anxiety about needing to lose another 15 pounds in order to meet the surgeon’s weight limit. Worse case scenario if I don’t make the goal is that they refuse to operate — and there’s currently a two-year waiting list if I needed to reschedule. (Plus I’d probably forfeit some/all of the surgical fee.) It’s a stretch but it’s doable — but I’m also running out of time. And being stressed makes me want to eat…
Another part of me just wants to get it over with. I’m tired of feeling in limbo, like I’m just in a holding pattern until July, or more realistically 2019, when I’ll be healed enough to really get out and about again, to be intimate again.
And for yet another part of me, what’s currently in my panties is feeding into some major body image issues going on — between the weight loss (35 pounds so far) and the breast augmentation, I feel like a gawky teenager, who’s not quite grown into her current body. But that’s topic for another post altogether.
Meanwhile, the waiting is the hardest part…