Today, a particularly nice afternoon with some tea and a good book made me aware of one of the greatest things about transition for me: Allowing myself to be soft and permitting softness in my life.
Pre-transition I always felt this toxic need to be hard, to be a man, to be strong and never show emotion. I was trapped in the narrow role men are allowed in cishet-normative society. I felt like the world wanted me to be this boulder without feelings. I even went to the gym to “toughen up”, I never went out of my way to make my apartment more comfortable, I never sent heart emojis, I didn’t empathise with others nearly as much as I do now.
Now, a year and a half into medical transition and a good two years into social transition, I am so so soft. Physically as well was emotionally and spiritually. My hands are soft, uncallused. My nails are so pretty. My skin is soft. I adore soft fabrics, I’m currently wearing velvet pants that just spark joy. I love curling up in bed in soft blankets, with plushies. I love warmth. I love the feeling of my soft rug when I get out of bed. I allow myself to be soft, to cry when hurt, to feel my emotions. Hell, to feel, at all! I love texting my friends cute things, I love lifting them up and making them feel good when I say I love them. I don’t feel bad when I complain about something being hard or cold or unpleasant. I’m a softie, and that’s not only okay, that’s great!
Feel free to comment if you’ve had a similar (or different!) experience :) Just sharing a conversation starter here.
Ohh this resonates! It took me quite a bit of time to learn that my thoughts are valid and “normal”. I always felt like such an outcast, being the weird kid and not really fitting in with my very traditional family. I even had to learn that my opinions are actually valid! Your “now” sounds fun :) It’s really the little things that make life brighter, isn’t it?
At at one point in the distant past, my school notes were cold, clinical, written in neat straight block lines, without style or care; people had accused me of memorizing Helvetica; they weren’t far off.
And now, here I am in my middle age, taking a photography class, and my notes look like this:
Ooh, I do love me some Neue Haas Grotesk, but your handwriting is beautiful! And the lowercase a’s? The slash through your 7’s? Dotted quadrille paper? Be still, my heart.
handwriting envy…