Dysphoria.

Yellow wildflowers

That word should be bigger. It’s so powerful. Even when I try very hard to keep it from being bigger, it just is.

I’m still smiling on the inside. Mostly.

It didn’t hit until after I did my eyes and started my day. Usually doing my eyes helps. It didn’t today.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m so happy to be me these days. I love where my life is headed. I’m excited at my life ahead, living authentically. Spending my energy living instead of keeping a secret I didn’t have to keep.

But today, it was just dysphoric all day. I couldn’t get my hair right. I didn’t like my eye makeup. My five o’clock shadow was too noticeable (which is dumb because I think it’s really fading). My bra, which is usually validating was just in the wrong place all day.

I don’t expect my transition to be all rainbows and skittles.

I didn’t feel beautiful or glowing. I just felt plain.

But you know what? That’s okay. Maybe it’s because I’m transitioning at almost forty, but I don’t expect my transition to be all rainbows and skittles. I know there will be many more days like this one ahead. I know there will be days where I have to deal with dysphoria and the ugliness of people. It’s coming.

I can tell you, though, I’m far more confident in my ability to handle the downs without the fog of depression, without the anxiety of wondering what people will think of me, and without the stress of trying to keep everything and everyone inside or outside of my wall.


Life should be colorful. Life should be lived.

Which is exactly why I’m getting my ears pierced on Friday and if time allows, my driver’s license updated (thanks Colorado).

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