It is 3:43 in the morning on a Tuesday as I’m starting to write this. The sun rises in less than an hour, work starts in roughly five hours and I have nothing better to do than being on my laptop and blasting hyperpop into my AirPods. Guess my sleep time is cut short yet again today. Somehow this is becoming the kind of routine to me that I don’t really mind having.

I’m just so excited all the time!

Just recently it has been 4 months since I’ve come back from my wonderful trip around Asia. To think that this year started for me with something similar to what I’m doing at the moment – the only difference was that I was chugging Strong Zeroes in a living room somewhere in Tokyo. They don’t really do new year celebrations in Japan. What a strangely unique experience that was.

Shortly after having made it back to Berlin, on February 25th this year something that I call my personal independence day went down. Just a day before that, every year on the 24th – Estonia celebrates its own. And while my home country had it at the time in order to get free from the shackles of its eastern conqueror, my own date celebrates the freedom I gained from myself.

My egg finally cracked that day.

I no longer had any power left in me to suppress or deny that, indeed, I am trans. As liberating of a feeling as it was, so it was overwhelming and, quite frankly – pretty terrifying. Because just like with Estonia’s case of its independence day, now I had my own independence war ahead of me.

This war is far from over as I am writing this. But it reached a stage where I could start looking back, draw some first conclusions, and at long last – switch from being constantly stressed out to enjoying the ride.

Seeking acceptance

The very moment my egg cracked I knew there was no going back. Something had to be done now. I needed a plan, ASAP. How could I pull off the transition? How fast? Can I handle the speed? Can I manage the stress?

And most importantly – how will I know what I’m about to do is right for me?

No one would be able to answer those questions for me, so I started planning. Looking for ways to get on HRT quickly (and hopefully legally), getting myself in better shape, as well as working with the scars years of testosterone and forced masculinity left on my body and mind.

June – the pride month, was the deadline for all the thinking. I better be damn sure by then if this is something I want to keep doing or not. Too much is at stake. For better or worse, I’ve been working on a solid foundation to get something like this done for many years, because deep down I knew I had to face it one day.

And just like most of my important life decisions, it all starts with friends.

From teenage years on I knew that I needed to be very careful and selective with my friends, as they would have to be the ones to bear some of the mental stress I’ll come to experience in the years that followed. Going forward there wouldn’t be anyone else, no matter how much I’d try to make myself heard.

Considering how long I’ve been hiding all this from everyone for, I did not expect many of my friends to be accepting to me coming out like that, given the sheer shock such an announcement could come with.

But they all were, no exception.

And fucking hell I’m so grateful for it you have no idea. To think that having suppressed all of this for years, knowing the kind of social environment I grew up in, and the pride this environment takes in its cozy but ultimately insecure and cowardly ignorance – I would have the support that I got from those who matter to me the most.

This gave me some strength to keep going, but I knew that at some point this wasn’t going to be enough. I needed to get back into psychotherapy, and I’m really glad I did. There is still so much to process – from childhood trauma to facing struggles that queer people deal with in the society daily.

Now that trans people in particular are the favourite scapegoat of the far-right on both sides of the Atlantic, coupled with constant anti-queer sentiments flowing westward from Russia, I knew that this would be an uphill battle possibly until the end of my days. So I better have solid mental health to get through this. I can’t afford to make rash decisions right now.

Turns out I wasn’t the only person who chose to see a therapist for that. A colleague at work said they are now looking for one – so that they could better support me with my transition. To have someone older than me voluntarily take these steps when they could just go about their day is a selfless deed I will never forget. Means the world to me to know I’m not alone out there!

It goes without saying that having a work environment that is accepting to trans people (it’s not just me in the office being one) is a major relief. Knowing I won’t be discriminated and can still be useful to the society with my labour is more important to me than just making a living at this point in life. Though I am transitioning for myself, I still have to seek some sort of acceptance.

That includes accepting myself.

Back when I started having the thoughts that, just maybe – I could be a girl one day, I knew that the level of support from people around me would be close to non-existent. Just recently Estonia became the first formerly Soviet-occupied country to allow same-sex marriage – to which somehow there is still a lot of pushback from all the proudly ignorant people.

Especially among the people of my ethnicity. Thanks, Russia. 🖕🏻

If that is a pill some find hard to swallow, what does that say about trans people and their participation in the society? The good old intolerance of the unfamiliar, which is so common for this small country that aims for the Nordic way of life while still fighting its ugly Soviet demons meant that not a single soul could know what was on my mind. Not even my queer friends.

Having been quiet about this for so many years, it takes a lot of time and effort to learn to love yourself for what you are, now that the secret is out. Questioning yourself for weeks whether something you’ve considered daily for 17 years is indeed the right thing to do. Unlearning that it is weird to refer to yourself as a she – and I’m still working on it as my transition progresses.

After all, just learning to accept myself isn’t enough to me. I have to make sure that my inner world radiates outward too. So now I’m working on it, very intensely.

Second puberty

Though the overwhelming physical training the military service required gave me slightly broader shoulders than I’d currently want, it’s not really the end of the world with my other features. I’m not particularly insecure about my hands or feet either. For now, at least. At the end of the day, femininity comes in all shapes and sizes, and I think I can work with what I have.

Given the context and seeing the results of my first puberty, it is a bit of a mixed bag. At first everyone thought that growing up I would become pretty tall – until I didn’t. No matter where I go in Europe I’m just kind of average in that regard, which in retrospect is clearly a blessing. I also lost a lot of fat during my time in Asia, which revealed body proportions unusual for a male.

On the grand scheme of things, there isn’t much housekeeping I need to do in order truly see myself for what I am – yet the very few steps I do need to take are extremely tough.

My new body proportions became good foundation for lower body exercise. Ever since my egg cracked I’d be doing squats and glute bridges almost daily for some weeks, after which I’d switch to high intensity group trainings and EMS sessions while chugging lots of protein. A month in, my body was within the female waist-to-hip ratio. That ass is fat and so are my thighs.

Not a bad start, but that’s not enough. Much more had to be fixed.

Perhaps one of the most annoying consequences of testosterone on my body I’ve been facing is body hair. Nothing new there, plus cis women have it too. But those who have known me personally throughout the years know it was always a bit of an overkill. Luckily I have been doing laser for some years before even starting the transition, so now I just have to maintain that.

The hair in other places required quite some work though.

Not much remotely compares with the frustration that I’ve been having with my facial hair. Knowing how long it’d take to get rid of it with laser, I went for an alternative. Seems that barely anyone knows what electrolysis is, because whenever I explain it to someone, I get asked “oh so like laser?” in response. That’s genuinely my life’s most asked question at this point.

In short – electrolysis or needle epilation is a process when a small needle is being put underneath your skin where a hair follicle is stored, then this follicle is electrocuted and pulled out with tweezers.

Sounds painful, right? Well that would be an understatement.

Every single time you’re being electrocuted in these sensitive areas of your face feels excruciating. Especially the upper lip. And once you’re done with a session, the treated area stays swollen for around 4 days. It also leaves scars on the skin that I’m currently in the process of smoothing out with some skincare and facials.

No matter the pain, what was important to me was that it removed the hair instantly and without fail. After 30+ hours of going through this fantastic process I’m barely seeing facial hair growth. Yes, there still are single hairs all over the place, but those I can now finish off with laser and hormones within a few months. At least the beard shadow is gone.

How ironic it is that for removing so much hair in one place, I’d have to compensate by restoring it in another.

My hairline started receding around the time I turned 26. The recession hasn’t really progressed severely in the past 3 years, but the consequences were visible enough for me to have had to undertake a hair transplant surgery last week. While hot girl shit and bald girl shit aren’t mutually exclusive, I’d prefer to avoid the overlap in the case of my aesthetic. I like my hair.

As I’m writing this, the scabs mostly fell off, but I do still experience severe itching at the back of my head every night, where the follicle collection process damaged my nerves. It’s not a fun feeling, but I’ll take it over my head bleeding for three nights after the surgery. Hopefully this goes away in a few weeks.

Other than that, all went quite well and my head looks pretty good. Had some swelling draining down from my forehead under my eyes, shaping a juicy bruise for around 3 days. That too is gone now, so my face looks fine. The things you go through to eventually have nice long hair. Thanks for nothing, testosterone. And I’d still have to do buzz cuts until the regrowth starts.

Having gone through this, I rewarded myself with a few days in Madeira, just to relax, work on some projects of mine and enjoy looking at the ocean. Since the weather in Funchal isn’t constantly sunny I could enjoy being outside with my exposed scalp for some time.

Speaking of Madeira, shameless plug – my friend Merje who lives there is launching a retreat at the end of this year. Trust me when I say that you won’t meet anyone who lives and breathes this island as much as she does, and I’m confident you’ll feel her love and energy at its fullest once you spend some quality time with her. She was truly meant to live a happy life there.

Girl juice

So with all these massive changes – what about the hormones? HRT is central to every full gender transition, until the surgery comes along. And while I still have to plan and think around how and when I want to do the snip-snip, the earlier in life I start popping estrogen the more effects it will have on my second puberty. Good thing I’m still technically in my 20s.

I will not be going too much into the science of HRT – in fact I believe that all deserves a separate post. But I’d like to mention just how difficult it is to get hold of it even in a country as socially progressive as Germany.

No matter the kind of health insurance – public or private, the GPs and endocrinologists who are willing to prescribe this medicine are extremely hard to come by. We’re talking months just for the first appointment and it won’t guarantee that they still meet you halfway going forward. This is why many trans individuals procure hormones via black market and go DIY.

Out of the two options, which do you think is the safest? Shame on those doctors for refusing medicine that can be life-saving. And I mean it when I say that it is.

During the 2-month period that I had to deal with electrolysis, I faced some severe gender dysphoria. Not being able to make myself look pretty because of my fucked up face all the time, and the fact that I had to grow some facial hair out in order to remove it. Being constantly turned away by doctors when asking for HRT. It felt like I wasn’t moving ahead at all.

Though I’ve read many times before transitioning that trans people may feel like harming themselves – sometimes lethally, whenever they couldn’t get their hands on hormones, I never thought I’d be tempted to do that myself. And while nothing of this sort happened, I was dangerously close.

What helped was that I never stopped exercising, so I could channel all this desperation somewhere else, and there was enough stuff in daily life to deal with anyway. My substance abuse spiked at the time, but it was a necessity until I figured out how I could bypass the kind of torture that is the German healthcare system.

So in the end I signed up with a private clinic outside of the country. For all its shortcomings, the European Union saves the day (and my life) yet again.

I knew that I’d probably have to pay out of my pocket if I wanted things to go my way anyway. Good thing that I’m loaded, because this was and remains far from cheap. But at least I managed to get my prescription delivered from a doctor in Spain. It’s still valid in German pharmacies so no need for useless local doctors.

Now the fun begins

All these difficult things that I had to put myself through I managed to get done in June – exactly when I told myself I was supposed to be clear with my thoughts. So where do we go from here?

The first steps I had to take to become who I truly am were meant to be difficult anyway. Being assigned male at birth and the consequences of it isn’t something to easily disregard, and quite frankly I don’t see why I should throw most of past life away anyway. All the experiences around the world made my life so much richer and more fun.

Yet thanks to everything I’m going through now, I got to learn and understand some things about myself I couldn’t realise before.

I’m now getting close to having been on HRT for a month. For a process that takes the longest time for any change to be noticed, the hormones have been quite generous to me already. One of my favourite changes is just how much smoother my skin has become – I love it so much. As for some other things, I’ll leave it at that for now.

Having patiently gone through all these things in the past few months, I finally had my time to relax in Madeira. Once my face looked normal again, I could finally start seeing the changes that estrogen has been making to my body.

I was so euphoric I cried for an hour.

For all the great things that happened in my life – from making amazing friends and getting the job that I love, to travelling around the world and being successful on my own terms, it turns out that I was never truly happy. Years of substance abuse and mildly self-destructive behaviour that I took to so I could distract myself now made a lot of sense.

But I don’t have to run away from myself anymore.

In fact, ever since I started transitioning people kept telling me just how much more I was glowing. I truly feel it too. As tough as it has been so far, all the effort I’ve been making is really paying off already. But now it is time to double down on the social transition – and legal one too.

This week I’m sending an application to local authorities for changing my legal name and gender. One of the few things where Germany is actually much faster than Estonia, but still it will take some months to get approved. I will share more on the whole process as it progresses.

My war on testosterone will continue in the meantime – the hardship is far from over. At least I’m blessed to be taking the hardest steps of my transition in a place as accepting as Berlin. I’ll be surely facing hate in some way, but given my newfound resilience with everything that happened in the past months, as well as my friends’ support, I know I’ll manage.