body stuff

Feminine Phase

  • Reading time:11 mins read

So we have now, at least in principle, completed our trifecta of girl pills. The insurance is another issue, but we’re working on that. In the moment, my latest follow-up went smoothly—if a little strangely. Everyone I met was different from before. New, kinda rad physician (don’t know offhand if she’s a doctor or NP or what), unfamiliar nurses. Different procedures, different room. But it was all straightforward and so supportive: just walk in, say that things are great, ask for what I want, and get it. No hitches at all! I brought it up to her and she nodded and was like, “Uh-huh! Yeah, that makes sense. Yeah, we usually want to wait until about where you are now. So, you know how this works? You do? Okay.”

The practitioner was complimenting me on how reliably boring my bloodwork is. It’s always the same, she said; nothing of any note with general body stuff. Hormones remain in ideal range. If I feel fine, then there’s nothing to talk about. The new pills complicate things a little, otherwise she wouldn’t even have me come back in person for a while. But with the change, we’re following up in another three months as usual.

August again, already. Cripes, 18 months!

It only comes in 100mg or 200mg capsules, I’m told. The starting dose is 100; the max is 400. So on prior art, I’m guessing I’ll be gradually stepped up over the next year, such that on my second “birthday” I’m likely to land on 400mg. Yet another landmark for next February. This will be a big day.

On the way back I picked up some groceries across the way, then the bus driver took a second to say hi, and complimented me on my “chain”—he gestured to his neck. Which was nice. Some non-creepy random affirmation, for once. Dude seemed all right; I later saw him chatting to someone else. Just an amiable fella. However he also did not stop when requested, and drove like four blocks further. Which uh was less than wonderful. But still, girl got so much cheese. It’s nuts.

So things were at a high—and then next day, reality hit. The prescription was showing up strangely online, and I had to call and talk to the pharmacist. I did so (waiting on hold for 15 minutes), and the fella was like, “Um, I’ve never seen this before, but it says your insurance won’t cover this for males…” I told him that, erm, I was transgender actually and that this was kinda the whole point, and he was like, yeah, this was weird. It didn’t seem right. He said I should call my insurance and see if I could get an override or something, because this was super irregular as a policy.

So I called my insurance; after 10 minutes of infuriating menus, the rep I got was flabbergasted. She also had never seen such a thing—and there was nothing in the system to account for it, for her to know what to do. So she called her supervisor. Her supervisor was equally stunned. Maybe it’s a prior auth issue, he ventured; I should contact my provider and have them request a prior auth; see what happens with that.

So, fuck. Fine. Next I called Planned Parenthood—and, as it happened, got a trans on the other end! I explained the situation and she was all, WTF! She had just started progesterone herself, and also had never seen a thing like this. She said they’ll work on this for me, and call me when it’s sorted out.

In summary: health care. Even under the best conditions, we now must navigate health care while trans.

Anyway the pharmacy has the pills in stock. They’re perfectly ready to fill this. They just need the insurance to say okay—and it’s unclear why they’re not, because no one has ever seen them not, in regard to this medication, for this reason before. But Planned Parenthood is good, and is gearing to fight for me. So I just have to trust this will work out fine. It’s just weird, and may take an extra few days.

I am sure I will be alive in a few days. This will be the smallest of bumps. And I am encouraged by how very baffled and sort of upset everyone has been on my behalf.

I’ve said this before, but I feel like people have been a lot kinder to me since I’ve come out than they ever were to my precursor. I imagine that living in New York helps this a bit. But in general people do seem to genuinely want to help me now, to an extent that surprises me every time. Why this is, I don’t really know. But there’s this sort of a protective tone, in the space where I’m used to getting suspicion and scorn and dismissal. I’m used to being so alone, being brushed off no matter what I’m dealing with.

And, sure, okay. I will accept being treated like a person. This is good. Confusing, but I sure will not complain.

Anyway, this is just a nuisance. The progesterone is happening, and I’ll have it in a few days probably, and I am so excited. Like, I’ve got nothing left to do with my estrogen levels, and my T levels—which ideally I should be keeping under 100, are at uh, nine, last I saw. So this is the last thread. Supplemental girl juice, adding the art to the rough architecture hewn by the estrogen. We’ll see how this it goes, but transfeminine legends well precede it.

(Of its indicated effects, I sure could use some mood stabilization, cripes.)

The nature of progesterone speaks to what is I guess my year-two mission: refinement. Next February is gonna be so good. My face stuff should long be done. I’ll be up to final dose on everything. My ID issues will probably all be resolved. At least for the short term, there will be nothing really left to do except to keep going. Even as changes will likely keep on churning for a few years yet, the actual transitional phase of transition will be done. I’ll have the basic elements of me all checked off and can move on to figuring out how to just live.

I have so many frickin drugs now. Goddamn. Fixing me up. Making me who I need to be. It’s all good. I’m proud of myself, tending to my needs after a lifetime of neglect.

You know how when you meet someone special you’ll have this sense of, if only we could have met years back; we’ve missed so much time together? That is kinda what gender euphoria can be like sometimes—this sort of, gosh, what could have been, had I met myself 25 years ago? Appreciating the moment, looking forward to the future, while dreaming idly of the past you were denied. What would it have been like?

It’s not so much lament as it’s a matter of wanting more. It’s about having trouble quite believing that relationship wasn’t always there, because it’s so obviously right and true and natural that it’s hard accept a life without me. Wanting to fix the history I know, so that it makes a sense I can accept in light of the present.

I can hardly believe I’m on progesterone now. Two years ago I was like, clearly I’m not cis. I didn’t know what I was, beyond that I’ve never been what they tell me. That the gender I was handed had never worked, never fit; it grossed me out, made me not want to be alive. But I didn’t really get gender, had never had a chance to develop my own relationship to it, and was reluctant to commit to any conclusions.

I was so nervous. Clearly I was a kind of non-binary. Beyond that? Well. I had… thoughts, feelings. Were they real? Were they reasonable? Was I just confused? Did I dare own up to them? How much sense did any of this jumble really make? Did I even understand it properly? There was so much, I hardly knew how to chip away.

For an age it was just little, cautious gestures. One by one. Step by step. Stitch by stitch. Does this feel right? Does it hold together? Does it follow from what I know to be true? Is this leading in a direction that I like? Yes? To all of that? Is it secure? Is it gonna hold? Okay, then. What’s next?

And at the same time, every bit of femininity that I embraced, I had to reconcile it with this fundamental disagreement with the concept of a gender binary. What was I even doing? Why was I doing it? Was it for the right reasons? Was it truly coming from inside me? What did it all mean? I had no goddamned clue. Just grasping in the dark.

I had these idealized notions, but they were like some pipe dream, surely just beyond my grasp. Surely it was a folly. Surely that could never be me. Surely I wasn’t that much trans. Surely it was way too late. Surely I’d never have the support. Other people can do things. I’m not other people. I’m just me. I don’t have any options in life. I’m not allowed happiness. Whatever that even is. Anything good is a forever what-if.

But, well, I kept asking: okay, but, what if? Just, one small if at a time. Gnawing on the question. Refusing to move on until I got an answer that made sense. Take another bit. How did it feel? Did I die? Was it a mistake? No? So—one more nibble, then?

I mean, we make our own gender. We figure out our own ideas about ourselves. I kinda knew I was some kind of transfeminine, from the moment I realized I could be trans; that all I needed to be trans was to want it to be true. I just, I couldn’t allow myself to think more than a yard in front of me. It was too much. I had too many obstacles, and I cannot multitask.

Ultimately I am just Azure. I’m not quite a woman; that doesn’t seem to fit. Maybe someday it will. Maybe if I ever grow up? I can’t know yet. But I am exactly the kind of a girl that I want to be. On my own terms. A person I can love.

Damage aside, I am the person whom I was always so depressed that I couldn’t be, that I wasn’t allowed to be, that I was cursed not to be. The only thing I’m lacking is a past—all those years that I lost, when I was asleep. I mean I was always in there. I’ve always existed. I’ve always been me. But this other person was steering the ship. Badly.

And God, I genuinely am this much trans, huh. Specifically, this much transfeminine. We’re not even sticking with the basic HRT; we’re going for the good stuff. And it’s the correct thing to do. For a non-binary girl, there is a heck of a lot of girl going on in here, goddamn.

I mean, gee whiz, it just keeps going. More girl, you ask? Why certainly, yes. More? Absolutely. Bring it on. Keep bringing it. This is working. This is good. This feels good. This is what it’s like to actually feel good. This is what it means to be human.

And I am allowed. I get to define myself. I get to make the rules of me.

Two years ago I was aiming at androgynous. Now I have no clue where I’m going, but it’s making me so fucking giddy. I’m so deep into the forbidden zone now there’s no way to find my way back.

It’s just that every step I make is so right. I have never been so right about anything. It’s bewildering to me. I’ve never gotten so much out of trusting myself.

It seems though I’ve had little chance to articulate or explore or come to terms with it, deep down I have a very firm idea of who I am. Or at least, I know what’s right when I come to it—and I’m not prone to wild, incautious leaps. Everything true has to be based in something more basic, right. Piece by piece, there’s a logic to how it all fits together. I can extrapolate pieces by the empty spaces.

This is me, apparently. I am whoever Azure is. Quite reasonably I think, I am who makes me feel alive. And I’m nowhere near done with me. I’ve got half a lifetime to catch up on, and another half to enjoy.

What a goddamned thing, to be alive. I had no idea what it was like.

How alive will I be a year from now? How much love will I have in me then?

Mass Migration

  • Reading time:7 mins read

For all that I moan about my inability to hang onto body fat, at the moment I appear to weigh about 185-190 lbs, which is almost certainly the heaviest I have been. As an adult I’ve tended to stay vaguely in the 165-175 range. So it seems I am hanging onto something! I may not be a string bean forever!

What’s curious is the way this is happening. I know how soft tissues are expected to redistribute and all, and they certainly are doing that, but the way this is creeping up on me keeps throwing me new surprises. Some parts don’t seem to be gaining any more mass exactly, but rather are just taking a more refined shape. Other parts are shrinking in ways that baffle me, as I’m not sure what there even is to lose.

I feel like my breasts are getting fuller all the time. I don’t know that the volume per se has changed much the last six months, but there’s a roundness that wasn’t even there a few weeks ago. Until recently I have had shallow breasts, with all this material spread out across my upper chest. But now stuff’s moving around, figuring itself out.

A commonly used reference image around the Web; it is difficult to work out the original source, as it’s repeated so often.

I have these distinct east-west boobs, right. Even as the rest has rounded out, the sides have always been kind of weak and unsupported, creating even more of a taper with the nipples pointed out at an angle. Structurally now it seems like the sides are starting to fill in a little, evening out the support and smoothing the overall curve. Like they’re just taking on this shape that pleases me.

There’s also this general, uh, boinginess, that feels pretty new. I think the new bra first brought this to attention, but now that I notice it, it’s there just in my bathrobe now. It’s like the texture and elasticity of the meat has changed, fairly recently. I don’t remember them moving much, previously. They were uh, comparably unripe i guess.

Regarding the bra, for all the clear improvement over my earlier ones, I did have some vague issues with the fit and support, etc., that I didn’t know how to narrow down. I just adjusted all the straps, though, and zap. That was it. Well, obviously it would have been. It just took me several weeks to get around to it, because, you know. Azure. But now it’s pretty much perfect actually. I dig. This will absolutely be my point of reference for future ventures.

(For anyone it may help—bras are such a goddamned thing—this is a “Freya Fancies” underwire plunge bra, in 34 G. It’s good for east-west and possibly side-set breasts. Different styles for different boob shapes, right? There may be better options for people who have money. I got this on a sale, because I of course live in astonishing poverty.)

That adjustment, though, it speaks to a thing. Just months ago—not even six; as recently as maybe three—I had a 35-inch under-boob, which on some advice is why initially I rounded up to 36-inch straps but now am rounding down instead. This bra is a 34 G, where its sister size would be a 36 F, right? So okay, fine. I’m a 34 G. Except now, somehow my under-boob has gone down to 33. Which, uh. How did I have enough soft tissue on my lower ribs to shed so much? I know stuff is meant to move around, but it’s mostly bone! What are we losing??

I mean if we are now in fact looking at 33 rather than 35, a 34-inch strap is still valid by the same rounding logic. I just need to use the middle hook instead of the last one. And on top of my continued growth and their deterioration, I can further see why my older bras will not fit as they need to. That’s three inches too big! Even if they were still new, taking it down two hooks will only just barely keep me contained, which has been the case.

The other aspect of this is that, if I have a 33-inch under-bust, then the other way to round would be a 32-inch strap. But uh. The other way to go, the more snug direction, would be 32. Which would mean that, sister-sizing the cup upward—uh. Right now, I would be looking at an H-cup. I’m not sure that I’m in a place to process that right now. But we will see where time chooses to bring us. And God help me if that progesterone scrip comes through.

For the moment my new bra is very good; it fits. I like it. And I guess I’ve got a solid place to work from when I need to figure out its replacement. Maybe someday we’ll settle into a consistent size.

A funny thing about all this is that my breasts don’t even look that big, even as the numbers will not lie. The issue is my height. Yes, I have a slender frame, and relative to that canvas my tits are like 37% larger than average. But my body is so long, they kinda get lost along the way. It does help a bit when I go with a high waist, which just looks flattering for me in general.

The changes to my lower body are also helping to accommodate that. My hips and butt and thighs are gaining all this mass, that’s tipping the scales even as my mid-section is slimming down, which—well, I have never not wanted to work on and emphasize my lower half, and that’s finally going on. I’m getting some curves that are building in a little distinction. I’m getting some strength down there, to carry all this weight and stress that I try to push downward these days, away from my neck and shoulders and upper back. Some flexibility so I can actually move my hips, claim my space with a bit of style.

Even as I seem to lose literal inches from my waist, I keep on getting heavier. Which is… good. This is how things should be going I think. Not that I necessarily care about my waist as such, but if we can draw some distinction here between the bust and the hips and allow each to stand on their own rather than as just aspects of this endless featureless torso, that will ease so much weirdness I’ve always felt toward my body. Just the boobs were such a revelation on their own. But the more we can differentiate, the more human I think I’ll feel.

It’s hard for me to judge any of this day-to-day. But every so on we get these concrete numbers, and then suddenly I can see it. Or rather, I guess, my vague building sense of things gets validated, and I’m no longer questioning my judgment or sanity or motivations for thinking the way that I am. No, I’m actually right. What I’m seeing is real. I’m real. And I’m actually healing. Bit by bit, yet so very quickly. I’m already so far along, so much further than I had dared to hope, and I’m still only getting started.

The Girl I Know

  • Reading time:3 mins read

A long way to go, but I am getting more and more pleased with my lower body. The shape it’s slowly churning around to. My relationship to it. The way I occupy space and move with it. Butt, hips, thighs, abdomen. It’s all starting to make sense to me the same way my chest has been

This has I think always been on my mind. From the moment I understood I wasn’t cis, to the extent my mind went to anything physical, it was my hips, my thighs, my butt. I got into hrt for the brain and mood stuff, but if it did something down there too, I felt that would be good.

It’s just, such a thing, my body actually feeling correct and familiar to me. Like, oh, there you are.

I never recognized that other person. They felt like such an alien to me. This body, it doesn’t feel new to me, like I’m creating a thing. It’s like I’m finding a thing I lost.

I feel I can’t fully articulate how right I am starting to feel. And how not-new it feels. How it’s this relief of empirical reality validating one’s memories, sort of. Like a thing you saw on TV when you were eight that you knew you didn’t dream or make up, but no one else saw. Then one day you stumble on it, and it is precisely, eerily as you remember, and you kind of go, oh my god, I’m not insane. This is the thing I’ve been carrying around all these years. I knew it. And you can show it to people and they understand what you mean at last.

I’m not eager to show my butt on the internet, mind. Or in person. But I’m just saying.

It’s not that I am feeling pleased with this whole thing that I am working to put a certain way that I want it. It’s that my body is reverting to a shape that I already understand as me. Like all the scales are falling away, and there I am underneath. This person I have missed so dearly, so painfully, even if technically I guess we never quite met until now. They’re still alive. I did not rot away from neglect. Not entirely. There’s a lot left to salvage.

I’ve got so much to do. But I have come so far, in such a short time. I have never had faith in a thing like I have certainty of the truth of me, despite everything I have been told, despite all the damage. I mean there she fuckin is. And I love her. Why was I kept from her?

A Different Era

  • Reading time:7 mins read

I started to notice the genital changes around the 11-12 month mark. I wasn’t sure, but it’s been pretty clear for a while that stuff is happening. As it might do. And—sure, okay. To an extent, whatever. This isn’t a big priority in my life, you know.

I’ve gone into this before, but I have this sort of ambivalence toward my genitals, in the sense that I like them, find them pretty, wouldn’t change anything; have no desire for, wouldn’t see the point of, anything else. But I also don’t like to use them for anything. They’re just decor. They’re just kind of there, and flattering to me. I am so pleased that I don’t really experience random arousal the way I used to and that they generally don’t work as they did, which always bothered me. I don’t like to stimulate them. But they’re a part of me, right.

So the mechanical changes I’ve gone into, and they’ve been going on for a while. But more recent are the physical changes. And. I mean. Sure? They’re no more a surprise than any of my other changes. Even if this super bothered me, I wouldn’t change anything else I’m doing in response. There is what I can now say is obvious shrinkage, haha—to all components. I’m not whipping out calipers. But it’s noticeable. Which in combination with the changes in texture and behavior, it’s—well, interesting I guess. In some ways it sorta reinforces my identity. Kinda.

I don’t know how best to phrase it, but… well maybe like this. The two sexual partners I have had made a very emphatic and continuous deal to me about my anatomy down there. I would try to shrug it off; I guess it’s just proportional! I deflected. They assured me it doesn’t work like that, and continued to insist.

And, well. It is now working on a different scale than it was—vestigial, by comparison. Likewise my testes seem to be half the size they were; maybe not quite that far, but it’s getting there. And the whole area covered by the scrotum has shrunk and kinda smoothed out. Combine this with the very different shape that my abdomen has been taking on, with all that puffy feminine pubic padding and all, right, and it’s all kind of… different. I mean, yeah, girldick; internet; memes; words; sure. This is a thing that people talk about, and we know this. But in the specific case of me, the overall tone of everything has shifted. It’s frickin’ feminized, that whole area. And that process is ongoing—soft tissue continues to moosh around on me—but it’s also very much the current reality.

And. This is good. It’s also weird. And I guess I’m just having trouble fully wrapping my head around it. The changes mostly suit my whole self-concept, in gender and in role and in priorities and this and that and whatever. But I guess there are a couple of things I’m sort of. I’m not fully digesting yet.

One is the just—I don’t know, maybe knowing what the “before” was like in my case it makes a difference, but it feels so surreal for my pubic area to be so feminine, right, and in such a way that this feminized penis fits right in somehow, and just—it is so clearly a girl’s dick, right. It’s not masculine at all, unless you’re going to be some weirdo who genders genitals. And okay, but it’s not just about the penis or the scrotum or whatever, but the whole scenario and how it fits together and the impression it gives. And—what is my point here, exactly?

I guess, I just did not anticipate the scale or the coherence of the changes. There could just as easily be a vagina there; I could imagine one clearly—but there isn’t. There’s a penis, that looks and feels every bit as natural where it is. And I like it, and it’s good and nice. Obviously. It just feels a little surreal, I guess. I feel like I still haven’t found words for exactly what I’m feeling, or why. It’s not negative. It’s not necessarily positive either. It’s just… different, in a way I can’t quite understand yet. It’s confusing I guess.

And I guess the other thing—whee, well, uh. Again it’s not a big deal. But I used to have, I guess, a really big dick. Significantly so. Which was neither here nor there because, you know. Who cares; it was never going to be of use, etc. But now, it’s not, so much.

People in my past who… I guess never really respected me as a person, kind of… would not shut up about this particular part of my body, right. It was one more thing to objectify. And it kind of embarrassed me. But also, it was sort of an interesting thing to be aware of, right. You know, a factoid of the self. Azure actually has a really enormous cock. Not that you’d ever know! Not that more than two other people have ever seen it since I’ve been an adult!

Except, she doesn’t. Not anymore. Or, not in the same way at least. I have no real frame of reference.

And instead she has this whole other situation going on, which is interesting and confusing in its own way, and I’m not 100% sure how I feel, which isn’t to say that it’s bad. And again there are many ways to argue that it’s Good Actually. But, it’s a big change I guess.

I guess I’m sort of trading structures here. As one shrinks, others grow. My tits are their own strange situation, though it’s easier to know how to feel about them of course. And I suppose it’s a fair enough trade, all things considered. I get infinitely more from them than I ever did my dick. My penis never had anything to do with my self-image or my presentation or my concept of reality or my gender, or anything to do with me really. Again it was always just kinda… there. My breasts have changed my world in ways I never could have anticipated. They are significant to me.

I guess, maybe this is just—sometimes things pass, you know. Even things that didn’t really mean a lot to you personally, when they’re over, there can be this poignant moment. That’s done. We’ll never be back there again, huh. Weird. That world is over now.

That’s what it is. I’m pretty sure it’s like—that stupid pizza shop on the main street of the town where I grew up. It was awful, and it changed its name every five years, and never got less awful. And I’m never returning to that town again. But, I saw that it had finally closed a while back. I was never going to go back to that dump, but now I never can. Nobody will ever go there again. My memories of it are all that exist—well, mine and others’. And that feels so strange. It’s like I’ve shifted timelines.

It was always there. How could it be gone?

But, that’s life.

The Uplifting Plunge

  • Reading time:5 mins read

I absolutely needed a new bra. I’ve been feeling for a while like the camera is gaslighting me on the matter, considering the empirical data I know I have. Clearly my situation is not insignificant here, and the tools I got ain’t containing things for more than a couple minutes at a time. And that inadequacy may speak to why it’s so hard to document my boobage. Gotta keep the material in one place. That’s the point of the things. Otherwise, the meat will meander. Obviously presentation isn’t the biggest concern. I just always feel weird how in pictures it’s like, where are they?

I was so nervous of how it would fit. I’ve done the measurements so many times, I have the technique down so hard now, I knew they were correct in theory. I put all that research into different bra shapes and boob shapes and how different styles and features support things differently. I knew I should be looking at stuff like plunge bras and things with side support. But I also get things wrong, and I can’t control for outside factors. Different bra styles fit differently. Different makers do things differently. I didn’t know how the material would feel.

My first couple bras, I basically just looked for things in my then-size, that looked nice and were cheap. I had more theory going on this time, which made for more things to mess up. Theory does not necessarily map to reality! And one misses things. Frequently. I guess I was just scared of disappointment. I am so easily scared of my own emotions, is really what my problem. I needn’t be, of course. My feelings are my own. They’re not some invading force. I can just let them be what they need to be. And it’s fine; it’s normal. And It’s just a frickin bra. Chill, Azure.

So it came today. And when I unwrapped the thing I was like, oh no, did I get this wrong? Why is it so big?! I knew that sounded off. I don’t see how I could have messed up the measurements or the calculations but of course I did. How would it makes sense for me to be 34G? What kind of vanity was I injecting into this process?

…

Welp.

No, I didn’t get it wrong. It’s only that big because uh, whee!

Jesus.

So okay, I guess I really do have bigger-than-average tits huh. Fer realz even. Not just theoretically.

Ok.

Well, uh. Sure, fine. I guess I’m okay with that.

So, this one fits way differently from my previous bras. There are lots of things going into this. The band is the correct size, for one; I’m in between sizes, right, and previously opted to round up. Nope. Down is the answer for this girl.

Also this is my first bra with an underwire, which uh… really… feels unusual. This rigidity is—I mean, I’m not sure what to make of it yet. Between that and the (necessarily) tighter band, I’m getting even more of a corseting effect. It’s a major whoomph to slide into this, compared to the old ones. And that’s fine. It’s whatever. Maybe it’s good? I don’t know yet. It’s only been a few hours.

The cups work very differently also, from what I’m used to. I guess the underwire carries a lot of the weight now, and the different shape here works to a different mechanical purpose. This is a plunge bra, which is meant to be particularly suitable for my breast type, so the cups are shaped to encourage the tissue to sit a certain way. And yes, they do indeed collect it well, all in one place. But the fit is sure something to get used to. Also though it’s clear this is just about the right size for me, the opaque part of the cups just barely covers my nipples—which is, I guess, a stylistic choice? I don’t know.

My previous bras have also been lightly padded, so I don’t know how this is gonna be with the chafing and—well, another angle on the potential nipplevision situation. But I guess these things one will come to understand in time.

An result that I did not anticipate, from having my breasts supported properly for once and all sort of in one place, is that I am, uh, experiencing a kind of… a jelly effect, that I did not previously know. Like, there’s this… fluid quality, as they sit there. I’m not accustomed to this particular kind of a boing.

So whereas this seems to be something close to the right bra for me, right now, it’s kind of wild how different this is as an experience, compared to what I have known. It is indeed not the case that a bra is a bra is a bra. You change a couple of things, and they have a totally different effect on your body. I expect this won’t be the last time I think these thoughts, as my body continues to change.

(Seriously, where did all this jelly come from?)

A hilarious thing to consider is, what effect progesterone may have if I do get on that in a couple weeks. It’s only like 16 days until my next follow-up! I’m mostly after the mood stabilization, but—well. It sure is known to have its other effects, is it not.

Well, we shall see how this pans out.

Bracing

  • Reading time:5 mins read

I’m going to need a bigger bra soon. This isn’t gonna be viable forever. When I measured back in September, my bust was just under 40 inches. It’s now at just about exactly 42. which would in stupid American sizing make me, what, 36DDD. (In UK sizing, 36E.) Which is to say, that estimate of about a cup size a month still holds. For how long, until we reach stasis?

I’d been sort of wondering what was up with them. Again I’ve no sense of proportion, and they haven’t been actively sore for a while—and also I keep having these distressing detransition dreams, which leave me in a weird state on waking, wondering if everything is still as it should be. As it turns out: yes.

Beyond the breasts, I’m starting to gain a little shape in general. Still early, but it’s a real start. Since I did those measurements, my hips have gone from 40 to 42 inches. Which is… not insignificant, for two months of growth.

I need to get a better mirror, and a camera lens that doesn’t flatten everything out, and lighting that replaces some impression of the depth lost to two dimensions. But, yeah. Once I’ve got the concrete numbers in front of me, I can see it.

So it’s finally happening. We’re really doing this. The boobs are great of course—really, really good, as it turns out—but what we’re really here for is the hips. The hips and the butt, and the thighs, and the face. As for that—well. It’s harder to measure for sure, but it’s becoming clear to me that we’ve got some major changes there too. Beyond appearances, even. When I press my tongue into my cheek, the flesh is easily twice as thick and resistant as it used to be. I’ve noticed some difference since way back, but lately, it’s unquantifiable but so obvious.

And having absolute data for everything else—the breasts, hips, thighs (which, oh yeah, are a little bigger too)—sure does help support that idea, even if i can’t easily check it. What are the chances that this one thing that’s supposed to change at roughly the same time as that other stuff, and looks like it is, actually isn’t?

I mean, look at this. I did not use to look like this:

No makeup or anything. Fresh out of the shower. (Though, after my first-ever go with a hairdryer!) I feel like that moderate asymmetry from over-engagement of the jaw muscles on one side is starting to smooth out, the more hollow side filling in and the other slimming down. Just a bit. The lips, the eyes. Just all this subtle stuff I can’t put my finger on.

With all the empirical changes, the verbs are also starting to click. All these facets of posture have fallen into place for me, basically at once. In the past, I’d always considered posture to be this stifling concept—holding one’s self rigid to this expected form, for the benefit of other people. A masking behavior, to present a false image that matches what people expect to see.

But there’s another side of that, that’s about not performance but self-affirmation, self-care, holding one’s self together; asking yourself who you are, and trying to back that up so that you feel good and that the physicality supports and reflects the mentality of it all. Creating this physio-psycho feedback loop.

It’s also interesting just how many elements there can be to posture. It’s not just standing or sitting up straight, right. It’s about engaging your body toward certain kinds of desired readiness, removing stress where you don’t want it. And the dimensions to that are everywhere! I’m noting and working out posture issues in my lower back and my hips; my upper back and shoulders; my neck; my jaw, throat, and tongue; my eyes, my lips; my legs, my arms. I’m just actively holding so many things differently, consciously reshaping my form so that I can carry myself the way that I want to. And for all that, despite my ADHD and lack of of executive function, it’s not as much juggling as you’d think.

And again, this habituation, it’s not for anyone else’s benefit, or to match some kind of a social code. I’m not performing; I’m conducting system checks. There’s all this information that goes back and forth, as I settle into the person I know I am and whom I want to be, and as I existentially embrace her.

This is a lot happening at once, as things have tended to be since maybe August, but it’s good. I feel like this body language business is some basic shit I’ve been lacking my whole life; the art how to Be.

So much of my transition, so much of my adjustment to what’s actually right for me, seems to be a matter not of taking things on and forcing issues but of just letting go. The posture business, it’s less about manipulation than about learning to let go of tension—allowing myself to snap back into a natural and comfortable and healthy form, as compared to how trauma had taught me to hold myself. It’s exactly the opposite of holding stiffly in some some uncomfortable position. Hell, my changes in posture allow me to move in ways I never knew I could. who knew that hips were hinged like that?

There is an ongoing sort of monitoring, at least until the habits form and I can free that space to think of something else—guiding one’s muscles and parts and even more existential mental moving parts. But that stiffness and discomfort, that’s not what we want at all. This is more like a brace, to help heal from injury.

Critical Mass

  • Reading time:3 mins read

For a while there I was almost concerned. That ongoing breast tenderness had ebbed down to a whisper, barely noticeable at all. Was this it, were we somehow reaching the end of the story after mere months? But—okay, never mind. Tits back to fire again. I haven’t mapped it out, but it feels like it moves in cycles—a certain number of days on, then off.

On top of that, generally I feel so fucking crampy and gross.

Which… with a more than a cursory understanding of biology, would make sense, right?

So yeah, I guess I should probably start to keep track of this business. Because on the basis of… really every month since February, but absolutely since August, there is a clear cycle going on.

It is established, if not particularly well-studied—because, trans healthcare; who gives a shit, right—that regardless of your genital situation, once you got a certain level of estrogen in your system, you start to experience periods. It’s not about the hardware (which is all basically the same anyway); it’s about the instructions that the firmware sends around. Of particular note is that at a certain threshold, breast tissue begins to produce a cyclical amount of estrogen, along with some other compounds that contribute to the process.

And, uh. whee:

It’s hard to get a good sense in two dimensions with bad lighting…
but yeah, we’re entering the active cleavage zone. Bringing the gang together!

I guess my breasts are at critical mass already? I mean, seven months into my regimen they were at a size that the literature tells me a trans femme half my age might expect to reach after 2-5 years—and today they’re two cup sizes larger than that…

As I say, the real monthly roller coaster kicked off in maybe August, September? Which, yeah, would line up, right? And good grief, the soreness I’ve been getting since last night. It’s that kind of tenderness where you feel if you poke it too hard you’re gonna barf. Like a pair of giant cystic pimples, connected to nerve lines running from my toes to my teeth.

I guess It follows that it would build in intensity, month on month, as development progresses, right. And I mean, I’ll take it. Whatever! I’m used to feeling like shit every day of my life. It’s fine. If the trade-off is that life is worth living? That finally I don’t feel like this the other 80% of the time? Sure, whatever, lol.

On top of all that, today I… seem to have entered the chocolate zone. I’ve talked a little about my change in taste and food preferences, some of which has been weirdly cyclical as well, and… yeah, okay. We may have an answer to some of that as well.

Due to fairly systemic ignorance about this topic I was not aware that this feature came with the territory until I got here. But, I, uh. I guess I’m part of the club now, huh? One imagines a uterus just makes this all the more fun. At least the discomfort doesn’t come with a mess over here.

It’s just…

Yeah. so. With how much more bothersome it’s gotten month on month, it will be an adventure to see where these waves will go in the future.

So, I’m. For now…

I’m just—i’m gonna… stand in the shower and groan for an hour, I guess.