Seven years ago, I identified as male. I was taking testosterone about once every week to maintain my sorry excuse for a beard that I still have to pluck at every three days. I had worn a compression shirt to mask my tiny chest that had been deflated by the effects of testosterone. I was always worried about my tiny hands and my small stature, that I wasn't "masculine enough," that I didn't pass well enough, that my hands would give me away. I was looking into top surgery to get rid of my breasts because they were a source of pain and struggle. I had entertained the idea of bottom surgery but wasn't 100% set on it, knowing that it's risky and expensive.
In 2014, I officially detransitioned publicly. I didn't know how I felt about it. I wanted to put gender aside and call myself agender. I no longer wanted to have anything to do with gender, period. I still couldn't stomach being called female, girl, or in my future, woman, because I didn't think I qualified to be one. Seven years later, I feel I definitely qualify as a woman, and it's not based on my interests or behaviors, it's based on my sex. For the past 7 years, I've been increasingly more comfortable in my body and my womanhood. I love every single part of my body, and I wish everyone could love their bodies just the way they are.
When I first detransitioned, I had never felt so alienated in my life. I had no idea anyone was like me, I thought I was the only person in the world that detransitioned. I had no support or any help because no one I knew understood what I was going through. I experienced my worst phase of depression during this time, but I never thought to pick up testosterone again. I decided to grit my teeth and bear it. A year later, I met my husband who embraced me for who I was, and it was only then did I start my journey of self love and acceptance. I am incredibly grateful for him being in my life because without him, I don't know where I'd be mentally.
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