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You know what made me figure out that I’m trans though? Gender euphoria. The minute I got called a ‘sir’ is the moment that I realized, “shit this feels right.” And at that point I realized that I could no longer deny the fact that I’m not a woman and that I couldn’t keep living as one.

Just a quick check-in: 

Did you take your medication? 

Are you hungry? (And shh, “i’m trying to lose weight” is not an answer!)

Do you need a nap or to go to bed early tonight? 

And drink some liquid, my dear (Water is best but if juice or soda is easier for you, that’s okay!). 

Remember that taking care of your body is an act of self-love - and a lgbt+ person loving themselves is rebellious and revolutionary, in a society that wants us to hate ourselves. You’re a hero, my darling. 

With all my love, 

Sometimes it’s sadness. It’s crying for the child you never got to be. It’s lying in bed, wondering who you would’ve been, if only you were cis. It’s looking at a cis guy or cis girl and feeling hollow in your chest.

Sometimes it’s anger. It’s screaming at the sky, for the unfairness of it all. It’s wondering, “why me?” It’s lashing out and resenting your family and friends, because even if they try they will never understand the pain you go through, will never understand what using your name and pronouns and supporting you in your transition means to you.

Sometimes it’s numbness. It’s looking in the mirror and just feeling empty. It’s taking a shower and staring at the ceiling, hands going through the motions, forcing yourself not to look down. It’s pushing your friends away because you can’t feel it within you to laugh or care anymore. It’s seeing someone else and hearing someone else and people talking about someone else, not you.

Sometimes it’s fear. The fear of changing in front of someone, of doctor’s appointments, of looking in the mirror when you step out of the shower. It’s the knot in your throat when you hear someone call you the wrong name but you’re not brave enough to correct them. It’s the fear that you’ll never get to be yourself.

Sometimes it’s confusion. It’s being young and wondering why those pronouns feel so wrong, why your name doesn’t fit you, wondering why your body feels so wrong but not having the words you need to explain yourself. It’s walking past a store window and being genuinely puzzled, because for a second, even if just a second, you forgot that you were transgender. It’s expecting to see something but seeing something else entirely.

Sometimes it’s exhaustion. Sometimes it’s so damn hard and you just want to sleep and never wake up again. Even if you’ve just woken up in the morning, you still feel like the weight of the world rests upon your shoulders, and your shoulders alone. It’s the feeling that no matter how much you sleep, you will never wake up to a world where you will get to be who you are without going through so much pain and effort and money. It’s wishing that someone would just hold you and tell you that they love you no matter what, no matter what- they’ll support you and fight for you and call you the right things.

It’s not hard to respect trans people. It’s not a noble act of self-sacrifice to remember to use the right pronouns. It’s just common decency toward another human being.

The one question I usually ask them is this:

“Do you think being trans is easy? Do you think that all of the family drama and upheaval and transphobia and constantly having to reinforce their gender to everyone around them is a walk in the park? Do you really think someone would go through all of that unless they had no other choice and it was the only thing that made them feel true to themselves?”

So far it seems to be working and I refuse to stop asking.

Anyway sorry for tagging my rant on like a jerk, I’m glad she’s getting there even if it’s taking a while.

no no no NO NO! I am not “lucky” for not having to deal with periods.  I have heard it from mothers, sisters, friends and even some boys, and let me tell you one thing. I HATE that I cannot, and everytime I hear someone say that, it hurts. why? 1. Having a period means you can one day possibly conceive a child of your own, if you wanted to. I had both choices of reproduction ripped away from me. 2. Telling me I am “lucky” for not having to deal with the cramps, blood, mood swings is an extremely invalidating experience making me feel like I’m not a real woman for that one simply biological mistake. 3. I already stress out over how much I pass as feminine, I don’t need to hear that and worry about things I cannot control. 4. When I tell you to not call me “lucky”, dont get pissy at me for complaining about “not having a problem” that you deal with once a week every month. I’m trans. Thats a 24/7 regimen of all the problems cis people face plus the ones society makes up simply for who I am. 5. Do not question me when I say “I wish I had a period”. 6. Do not question me when “I say I wish I had a period”.

7. Also, stop trying to convince me they are terrible. I know they are. I still want one.  8. It’s ok to talk to me about how bad this months period is going. Just don’t tell me how “lucky” i have it, is that so hard to do? 9. Don’t out me if someone asks “are you on your period?” by saying I cannot get one. why are you even answering this question for me?

Being trans isn’t cool. It isn’t brave. It isn’t about getting attention. Being trans is biological and instinctual. For many, trying to fight it only worsens the symptoms. It’s inescapable because we are what we are. So we transition because we must. Because we have no other options in this world.

Being trans isn’t trendy. Transition brings peace but also brings with it loneliness. Loneliness like nothing before it. Transition means finding happiness in ourselves through self-acceptance, only to find that love unconditional now has conditions.

No trans isn’t the hip thing to do. It is financially impossible at times. Stressful and dangerous. It means being the girl never picked for the dance. The boy, just another one of the girls, not considered.

No trans is not cool. It is hard and it changes you. Not in the ways you might think either. It changes you like trauma changes you. You endure a death of a thousand tiny pricks by people unwilling to take the time to reflect. To see us as human. As compatible lovers. As friends.

By Amanda Jette on upworthy.com —

Society, pay attention. This is important.

My wife, Zoe, is transgender. She came out to us — the kids and me — last summer and then slowly spread her beautiful feminine wings with extended family, friends, and neighbors.

A little coming out here, a little coming out there — you know how it is.

It’s been a slow, often challenging process of telling people something so personal and scary, but pretty much everyone has been amazing.

However, she dreaded coming out at the office.

She works at a large technology company, managing a team of software developers in a predominantly male office environment. She’s known many of her co-workers and employees for 15 or so years. They have called her “he” and “him” and “Mr.” for a very long time. How would they handle the change?

While we have laws in place in Ontario, Canada, to protect the rights of transgender employees, it does not shield them from awkwardness, quiet judgment, or loss of workplace friendships. Your workplace may not become outright hostile, but it can sometimes become a difficult place to go to every day because people only tolerate you rather than fully accept you.

But this transition needed to happen, and so Zoe carefully crafted a coming out email and sent it to everyone she works with.

The support was immediately apparent; she received about 75 incredibly kind responses from coworkers, both local and international.

She then took one week off, followed by a week where she worked solely from home. It was only last Monday when she finally went back to the office.

Despite knowing how nice her colleagues are and having read so many positive responses to her email, she was understandably still nervous.

Hell, I was nervous. I made her promise to text me 80 billion times with updates and was more than prepared to go down there with my advocacy pants on if I needed to (I might be a tad overprotective).

And that’s when her office pals decided to show the rest of us how to do it right.

She got in and found that a couple of them had decorated her cubicle to surprise her:

And made sure her new name was prominently displayed in a few locations:

They got her a beautiful lily with a “Welcome, Zoe!” card:

And this tearjerker quote was waiting for her on her desk:

To top it all off, a 10 a.m. “meeting” she was scheduled to attend was actually a coming out party to welcome her back to work as her true self — complete with coffee and cupcakes and handshakes and hugs.

NO, I’M NOT CRYING. YOU’RE CRYING.

I did go to my wife’s office that day. But instead of having my advocacy pants on, I had my hugging arms ready and some mascara in my purse in case I cried it off while thanking everyone.

I wish we lived in a world where it was no big deal to come out.

Sadly, that is not the case for many LGBTQ people. We live in a world of bathroom bills and “religious freedom” laws that directly target the members of our community. We live in a world where my family gets threats for daring to speak out for trans rights. We live in a world where we can’t travel to certain locations for fear of discrimination — or worse.

So when I see good stuff happening — especially when it takes place right on our doorstep — I’m going to share it far and wide. Let’s normalize this stuff. Let’s make celebrating diversity our everyday thing rather than hating or fearing it.

Chill out, haters. Take a load off with us.

It’s a lot of energy to judge people, you know. It’s way more fun to celebrate and support them for who they are.