It’s not my fault.

A quick wildflower digital art piece

Before coming out I was really good at one thing in particular. Holding on to the pain and misery of it “being all my fault.” All of the fucking time.

Guilt and estrogen.

A spring tree against a blue sky

I haven’t written in a while. There’s a reason. Guilt. I’ve had a post about transition and divorce running circles in my head for some time. You’ll have to wait longer for that one. Thoughts are still a mess on exactly what and how I want to talk about it.

The beginning.

“Hormones were probably delayed because my brain was looking for estrogen and my body was like, “nope, that’s not what the purchase order says.”


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.

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

The beginning.

Late evening in downtown Pagosa Springs

The obvious question:

“When did you know you were trans?”


“Thanks, T1 internet connection, and unsupervised internet use.

The ups and downs.

Pagosa Peak in the distance

To date. I’ve had a lot of each.

It’s a roller coaster that I’m tired of riding. I know I have many laps left before I can get off.