Archive for April, 2016

Work in Progress

Posted: April 27, 2016 in Uncategorized
Tags: ,

So it’s six weeks since my first T shot, and I’ve just had another.

In six measly weeks:

  • I’ve lost the upper ranges in my voice, and am speaking much more quietly than before. My colleagues and my boss have all remarked that I sound ‘gravelly’ or like I have a sore throat.
  • I had to shave my upper lip before work about four days ago. Haven’t since, but then, I hadn’t before
  • There has been a lot of growth in the downstairs department, to the point where I can just about cup myself, if you know what I mean.
  • Been a lot of growth in the fuzziness downstairs too. FYI, a beard trimmer has multiple uses.
  • I am basically a teenage boy right: ridiculous amount of energy, and eating my own body weight in food every day.
  • I’ve been hitting the gym every day and doing workouts that usually would leave my muscles crying and me curled up in a ball on the floor. It’s not happening. I don’t look any different yet, but I feel like for the lack of heart failure and death that occurs after a 10k run.


Work in progress, guys. Work in progress.


Sometimes it’s the little things.

Like arriving at my dad’s local today to pick him up. I commented on the cricket score. The bar manager said, “Hey, she’s right. He’s right. She. He. Whatever.”

Like when I told my dad about my aunt calling me a disgrace for being trans. He snorted and said, “Then you know what she’s like.”

Like my dad remarking (although I forget the context of the comment), “You’ll be a man eventually.”

Like him rolling his eyes at my adventures in getting medical transition, and remarking, “I’m glad our GP here is decent. What a joke.”

This man still says that he has a daughter, that my brother has sisters, plural, and still calls me by pet names he has never used for his biological son. The locals still use my old name, my optician still writes out test results to a girl who doesn’t exist, and I will probably be ‘sweetie’ until the day my beard is longer than my dad’s.

But there’s glimpses of awareness and acceptance. Hints that they know, and they’re okay with it. Shades of being on my side that make the rest of it okay.

It isn’t hard.

It doesn’t take a lot of time and effort.

Because even the little things, just words here and there, little comments and little things, can show that people care, that people accept it, that people still love and respect you.

So do it.