Disclaimer: Welcome to Happy as Her 2024. To fully understand this article, I encourage you to read parts of the HaH main series mainly Article One (Making A Monster Out Of A Woman) and Article Two (Holding My Hand) as the events that have been previously covered will only receive minor reflections. Names of people, teams, and other things may be censored by a pseudonym, label, or general term (i.e. 'Person A', 'Team 2', 'Former friend' ). This is speaking on my experience and outward views. I am not perfect and do not hold a holistic view on being a transgender woman, let alone being transgender with other labels. Do not seek out anyone within this story to expose personal information.
No one wants to talk about their middle school “cringey” phase. I’d kill to just push away my Panic! At The Disco obsession and erase every photo of me with a god awful side part off the face of the internet. It’s a universal thing for most people. Middle school sucks for many reasons; you’re figuring yourself out while puberty is hitting you like a truck. The saving grace becomes that you’re not alone in your experience and everyone is going through it at the exact same time as you are. So what happens when you flip the script? How do you handle redo-ing puberty, all while making sure you’re doing it “right”?
I was a few months into the “I’m definitely a girl” thing, and while I had enjoyed when my ex-girlfriend had done my makeup, I was not picking up eyeliner as fast as I was hoping to. I had no clue where to start with how to deal with my hooded eyes, or what brands were best, and god forbid I go out in public with off center or screwed up makeup and only realize halfway through my drive (this happened a few times, not a great feeling). It might just be a me thing, but sometimes being outwardly trans feels like you need to do everything perfectly, or else you’re doing it very, very wrong. We’re our own worst critics, and when there’s already a sense of self discomfort, you tend to nitpick the smallest of issues. When you’re trans though? Publicly transitioning is hell and you’ve got a crowd with pitchforks preying on your downfall. Dylan Mulvaney is an easy example of this. Two years into her transition now and she’s drop dead gorgeous but she had her growing pains too, and being willing to post your transition daily against a very hateful world is something most (including myself) simply could not be willing to do.
If anything, makeup was the easy part of my learning curve. There’s plenty of tutorials online and makeup doesn’t have a particular gender if you don’t want it to, so there’s not a “makeup for trans people” vibe. Sure, some things are specific like beard shadow but for the most part it’s all the same. This isn’t the same for clothing though. I sat there wanting to present more femininely beyond makeup. Due to the inability to start hormones (For those who don’t know why, read Article One : Making A Monster Out Of A Woman) I knew this wasn’t going to be an easy feat. I searched online. Reddit? Pretty unhelpful. Tiktok? A few links here and there. Maybe there were resources I was missing. I’ll never know for sure, as I took it into my own hands to experiment on the best attempts at shapewear. My girlfriend at the time gave me a few of her older bras, and even bought me a new one. I learned to fold socks with a bra-form pad to simulate a breast insert to the best of my ability. I had an uneasy period of feeling weird, or not getting the size right. My anxiety would snowball into doubt, was I “pretending to be trans?”. Yet every time I put on my bra, I stared in the mirror glowing. That was undoubtedly me, right?
One thing about transitioning is the euphoria that comes with it. The intoxicating feeling of looking at yourself and just loving it. You become insatiable with each rush of feeling blissful, authentic, and at ease. No matter how fleeting the moment may be, it becomes your favorite. I still echo the memories of my beach trip after my graduation, wearing makeup with pride that made the lights of the boardwalk pale in comparison to the glow emanating from my endless grin. An imperfect prom cradled by the beauty of my winged eyeliner in the photos. All of these instances of euphoria will last me a lifetime, a gift incomprehensible by our cisgender counterparts.
Mushy euphoria talk aside, my beginnings were rough. I didn’t know exactly how I wanted to “express” myself. I’d grown up restricted mostly by gender normality, not enforced by my parents, but by the label I assimilated into in the hopes that I may belong. I just knew masculine and feminine, I didn’t know what expression really was (despite my experience with it long before I’d ever reflected, expression is more than emotions after all!) I sought to Pinterest, putting together anything that resembled an internal familiarity with my character.
“Gender is a performance!” Is undoubtedly my belief behind it all. We all like putting on a show for ourselves sometimes, creating a unique identifying trait so that you can either stand out or fit in. I knew I’d fit the “Big Pants Small T-Shirt Gay” clique easily, I loved my baggier pants, and as I found high waisted jeans and slacks I’d discover how wonderfully they’d hug my waist and accentuate my hips, plus I wouldn’t have to tuck in them either. The small shirts made the bra padding pop just enough to let the average cis onlooker think “yep, that’s a girl alright” and hopefully gay enough that I’ll dodge any creepy comments from anyone who lets their eyes linger too long.
The paranoia of being nitpicked haunts me. If someone looks too long I assume I've been figured out, and may inevitably be approached in an uncomfortable manner (luckily this has only occurred once, but that's still one too many times) that I won't be able to handle without escalation.
The learning curve extends beyond learning what we missed out on during the awkward growing phase. We must explore an existence with poor documentation and heavy scrutiny. We must combat a sense of shame for being an existence deemed unnatural. And you know what? I’m happy I’m unnatural. Not in the way that people believe there is inherent value in suffering, but for that sense of euphoria. I talked with my therapist recently on the differences with cis people and trans people and she said something unbelievably eye opening. Of course you can be cisgender or transgender and still not “take action” in the constant self improvement, the fight against a steep learning curve. “Not everyone is like you. You like to address your issues head on and seek immediate change. Some people just aren’t fit for that, and that’s okay. Some cis people would be helped with looking at their identity beyond gender, but they don’t want to. Some trans people don’t want to take action on moving forward on their path through being trans, and that’s just human nature.”
So yeah, I’ll keep running up this hill because I seek euphoria and progress. I want to beat the learning curve. But I’m not transitioning the “right” way, because there’s no such thing. There’s no such thing as the “right” way to make progress either. Maybe your progress and learning curve is working out more to hit a new max personal record on a deadlift. Maybe it’s just making sure you get out of bed for work. Maybe you’re not ready to make progress, or maybe you’ve been wanting to for years and you finally can. Progress is simply forward movement in your life. Every day I get up, whether I’m at a high or a low, I’m reminded of that. I’m reminded of my wonky, embarrassing, and chaotic growing pains. It’s tougher because I’m trans, and I may face more scrutiny, but I’ll make progress regardless. That’s my euphoria. That’s my learning curve.