Why am I here – at the age of 39, staring into the face of such a maelstrom of change that it makes my eyes cross and my brain go swirly?

Nearly a year ago I plucked up the courage to confess to myself, and the world at large what I had felt secretly and darkly for so long: that I could not stand nor live with my femaleness for any longer. The world at large took it on the chin pretty well, but I confess that I am finding the decisions I have made harder to digest than I let on.

Don’t get me wrong – my decision to transition is completely, absolutely the right one for me. I have never been more sure of anything in my life. It’s rather like knowing that my left foot is my left foot. No question. But there is a great deal of realigning the way I relate to myself, and how I react to the outside world going on. How many of you spend significant parts of your day pondering on and struggling with your gender identity? Sometimes I hate the way that this has become so all-consuming, but the rational side of me (yes, there is one), knows that I have to process to be able to move on.

So apart from all the soul-searching and self-flagellation, where am I at in my journey? The last few months have been peppered with medical appointments, interspersed with long periods of waiting and all that damned processing. I have reached the enviable position of having a letter from a gender specialist, addressed to my GP, recommending he prescribe me Testosterone: stuff I have waited so long for it feels like I have been granted access to a magic potion. In many respects I am nearly there, but I am horribly aware that things are just beginning.

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