Long Time

Facebook showed me a photo from 8 years ago, when I had just gone on T. Oh my GOSH I was cute. That’s all I can think of when I see photos of my younger self- such good skin! Such good bone structure! So skinny! Good haircut!

I was a pretty hot young thing. I never got the experience of being a hot young thing, because I didn’t at all understand that I was skinny with good bone structure and good skin and a good haircut. I was living out my reality of being both disgusting looking and for some inexplicable reason constantly sexualized.

I’ve heard this story from so many middle aged women. I don’t mind being the one to tell it now. I do remember how unhappy I was. So maybe it makes sense people weren’t interested in knowing the wrinkles of my unhappiness, because I was working with a great situation aesthetically. How can a young and beautiful person be believed when she says she’s miserable? (Yes, motherfuckers, I was beautiful. Not backing down on that one anymore. It’s not so uncommon to be young and beautiful for awhile.)

No wonder I needed an anonymous blog. If only to say over and over, a hundred different ways, nobody believes me that I don’t feel like this person you see.

Now when I look in the mirror I feel a lot like the person I see. Older. More tired. Heavier. I’ve gained a lot of weight, and I watch youtube videos about losing it post-partum, and the people in the videos are 27 not 39 so who knows how helpful those will be. But there is something to be said, even if you move down the attractiveness hierarchy, for feeling like what you see in the mirror. I feel pregnant. I feel old. Dare I say I feel quite heavy.

Being pregnant is a very urgent experience. When I feel hungry I need to eat NOW. When I feel tired I need to sit down NOW. When I feel like I need to pee…eesh the right moment to get on the toilet may have already been missed.

Last night I lay in bed with my legs wrapped around my u-shaped pregnancy pillow with the fan blowing right on me. I had slathered my legs in my lavender/melatonin sleepytime lotion. Oh what a feeling. The air from the fan and the impact of the lotion blended into a powerful drifty sensation. The fiancee got me both the pillow and the fan. Yes I love him for who he apart from what he does for me is but boy do I feel so very sweet towards him for getting me the pillow and the fan.

Pregnancy is a crazy concept in the abstract but there’s such an immediacy to the physical experience the abstract seems pretty far away. The most important things for me to figure out are where and when I will go to the bathroom, where and when I will sit down, where and when I will eat.

And maybe it’s because I’m not young that I’ve more than given myself fully over to the immediacy. I am being very self-centered these days. Other people’s comfort and sense of wellbeing is such a far distant priority to my own. And before I know it there’s going to be a baby I gotta prioritize before anything or anyone else for awhile, so….I’m not in the mood to tamp down the selfishness.

I’ve been called selfish for detransition stuff for awhile. Not just me, I see other detransitioners get called that all the time. There’s so many detransitioners these days. I don’t know hardly anyone personally anymore, the club is too big. I guess I would say in our defense that the best we can hope to do as people is be balanced in what we focus on. There are times to be very focused on making the world a comfortable place for you. There are times to be very focused on making the world a comfortable place for others. Then you add in the distinction between needs and wants- do other people’s wants take precedence over your needs? Do your wants take precedence over other people’s needs?

There are people who were raised to think their wants were needs and they get very angry when their wants aren’t given to them. There are people who were raised to think their needs were wants and they tend to get very sad, because they starve themselves over the long haul of what people generally do bottom line NEED, and they wonder “what is wrong with me I can’t be ok with so little?”

It’s hard to pin down who is who. If you care about being a good person you can drive yourself crazy trying to make sense of these distinctions.

And then you may encounter some people who really want to make you happy and comfortable. And if you aren’t the kind of person who knows what her needs are, versus her wants, you will not be able to tell them how to make you happy and comfortable, despite their interest in exactly that, and everyone will be left confused and saddened by the interaction.

Life is just kind of impossible that way. Life looks so complex to me at times it seems useless to use words in relation to it. You describe something- there’s it’s counterpoint, then a counterpoint to the counterpoint, and so on, and so forth.

I have chicken thighs in the crockpot to eat tonight. I’m cooking them in yogurt and paprika. Oh, and now that I thought of it I have to get a fair amount of garlic in there. It just rained, lightly, and the birds are all shoting at each other. My dog is growling at them, but I suspect he’s worked up that he hasn’t gotten a walk yet today. I have to time the walk right, so that I don’t have to pee halfway through it and if I need to nap after, before working, I can.

There was an Ayn Rand book I read once, I think the only one of her’s I ever finished, where the ” character uses “we” and “us” throughout until the very end where he discovers the word “I.” (And maybe gets shot immediately, I don’t know, it wasn’t such a great book.) Maybe every age parses the balance of “I” vs. “us” as intensely as we seem to be doing. For me, I am getting more into “I.” And I think for me to be an even somewhat calm mother getting deeper into the “I” is important. My hunger, my thirst, my pregnancy pillow, my chicken thighs. Expanding the circle of needs into what were previously considered wants. I need courtesy. I need kindness. I need consideration. There are people who want me to get what I need. Then I guess the hope is I can help the kid think through and act on the distinction between wants and needs.

Another person exists because I needed him to exist. How totally wacky. Now he sits on my bladder whenever he wants. I guess he has limited choices about where to park it. What a trip.

One thought on “Long Time”

  1. I’m not gender dysphoric but both my daughters (12 & 14) are contending with various levels of dysphoria. I hunt around the internet looking for voices and reasons and found your blog. Your writing is melancholy, wistful, honest, and poignant, and it has, to my own surprise, offered me some comfort. Wishing you all the best & hope you are getting enough sleep while caring for a newborn.


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