Based upon a membership of folk comprised from various walks of life, assorted histories, differing experiences, diverse backgrounds, and folk from different parts of the world, there is a lot of fantastic information, advice, and collective wisdom to be found within the pages of this forum.
And to be sure, over the past four years of my membership, I have certainly benefited more than my fair share from the relationships I have been so fortunate to forge here, and from the written words of many good people on this forum who contribute much, who contribute often, and who contribute selflessly with a genuine desire to make a positive difference in the lives of others - others who are suffering from gender dysphoria and who are in the midst of some very serious, heavy-duty, intense, and often chaotic and brutally disruptive and life altering change and metamorphosis .
For some who come here, just like I did four years ago, it’s pretty much tantamount to a desperate, blind stab in the dark. At the time, I needed something.
I needed something real bad.
I just didn’t know what.
Or rather, for the sake of accuracy, and based exclusively upon the benefit of hindsight, what I knew or did not know back then was pretty much irrelevant in that moment.
Because the real deal was that I was completely unprepared, incapable, and unwilling at the time to acknowledge to myself what I really needed.
Pure, simple, straight to the heart of the matter, I was scared shitless, and scared completely out of my freaking mind.
I was absolutely terrified. Petrified, even.
The fear that I allowed consume me, the fear that I allowed to grow so unabatedly and disproportionately out of control, all but unchecked, unfettered, and spiraling out of control exponentially so day after day after day was paralyzing and debilitating.
Just making it through any given day became a challenge in the extreme.
Just maintaining even the slightest modicum of sanity and control became an impossible task.
I was dysfunctional. I was broken. My brain and my emotions and my feelings and my being were shattered, smashed, crippled, mangled, fractured, and mutilated beyond recognition.
I wanted to die, die, die more times than I care to remember or count.
It was awful. It was horrible.
My gender dysphoria was a beastly, horrifying, bleak, depressing nightmare that had no end in sight.
Perhaps worse than anything else, life seemed completely devoid of any and all hope, as if I had been judged guilty for the unforgivably heinous and despicable crime of being transsexual and sentenced to a lifetime of soul-crushing hopelessness without any possibility for parole.
So why even bother? Why even care? Why even try?
Because none of it mattered anyways. Because I didn’t matter. Because I was worthless. Because there was simply no point.
Except that there was a point, and there is a point, because I *do* matter.
Each and every single one of us matter, in fact.
All trans-folk matter.
We ALL matter, goddamnit, and I know this now with every fiber of my being.
But I didn’t come to this realization overnight, and I wasn’t randomly by sheer happenstance and dumb luck struck by some epiphany that opened up my addled brain and blind eyes to a truth that was so obvious on its face to so many people here.
I had to work for where I am now.
I had to work really, really hard to get to this point in my journey, in fact.
None of this has happened by accident. And many, many good people have contributed much to help me with my transition.
So when I see some folk around here so nonchalantly advise would-be transitioners to just get over their hang-ups, ignore their fear, just do it, and enjoy the ride and have fun along the way, quite frankly, it pisses me off and leaves me with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Because at its core, at least in my opinion, for whatever that is worth, transition is a process.
Maybe I am completely wrong about this. Maybe there IS a magic switch in the brain one can simply flip to turn all that is dark and painful and hard relating to gender dysphoria into glitter, magic, rainbows, and unicorn kisses.
But I am pretty sure that that switch doesn’t exist.
In its absence, I am also pretty sure that it is unbelievably reckless, naïve, thoughtless, and dangerously negligent to goad and cheer-lead a would-be transitioner into throwing caution to the wind.
Yeah, I was wrong about many, many things heading into my transition. And the world is not the big, scary, evil place that my fear caused me to believe that it was.
Still.
Transition is a process, and a difficult one at that.
As transition is so frequently wont to do, it is a process that will leave a rather significant swath of collateral damage in one’s wake.
It is a process that will change you in ways you cannot even begin to conceive of, comprehend, or imagine until you are actually proactively going through it. It is a process that will change how everyone around you views you. It is a process that will change how the world treats you.
Transition changes absolutely everything. For good, bad, indifferent, positive, or negative, there is no part of life that goes untouched or is not influenced in some manner, some how, some way by transition.
A close friend of mine constantly reminds me that life is long. Maybe that sounds silly, but I have found it ridiculously and counterproductively easy to get caught up in the moment of any given gender crisis I may be in the midst of. These things happen. They just do. And the thing is, these things are part of the process, too.
But my friend is absolutely spot on – life IS long. Life is also what we make it to be. Life is the single longest thing each and every one of us will ever experience. From the moment of birth right up until the very moment of passing – there is nothing longer to any given individual than his or her own respective life.
And as is so frequently the case in damn near every aspect of life in general - there are no short cuts. This proposition and basic tenet of life holds particularly true here - there are no short cuts in transition. Period.
Transition is a process, and life is long.
So beware the short-cut, rah-rah, pink-fog, life-is-all-about-fun cheerleaders.
These folk have NO idea what they are talking about. No idea whatsoever. As in absolutely none.
They sit back, relax, and with no basis or foundation in real life experience, they write from a risk-free position of comfort, all the while safely tucked away behind their computer screens, blissfully unaware of the true realities associated with those who suffer from real gender dysphoria, about how silly it is to not be happy, as if that should solve everybody’s problems.
The thing is, though, that these folk do not understand. They do not understand because they cannot understand. It is simply impossible for them to understand. They will never, ever, ever understand. Not ever. They are clueless. But they think they know. They think they get it. Some of them even can talk a semi-decent game. At the end of the day, though, they are bereft of all relevant substance. There is none to be had from these folk.
And yeah, I get it – most of them mean well, and many of them are compassionate and care. As well intentioned as they may be, however, this does not change the fact that such people will be forever clueless through no fault of their own. It also does not change the fact that because of this, that some continue to insist on speaking to issues they know nothing about, that they can be dangerously seductive in their naivete and in their substantively hollow and meaningless words.
Make absolutely no mistake about this, though. No matter how much they talk, no matter how much static they introduce, no matter how charming or ideal or warm and fuzzy and comforting their words, no matter what happens thereafter or how it ultimately goes down in the end, they will not be the ones who pay the price or the consequences for a transition gone awry.
Sure, some of ‘em may feel bad if things tank and go south. Maybe some of ‘em will even offer a good “keep your chin up, relax, and just breathe” or two for good measure. But all to what end?
These things don't help. They can't help. And because they can't help, a best case scenario is that these words affect no change at all and have no bearing on the life of the transitioner. A worst case scenario is that they serve to contribute to a blown up life.
Transition is a serious business. Transition should be and needs to be treated seriously.
The good news – so I’ve learned over the past couple of years – is that transition is absolutely, one hundred percent doable. And with the evolving climate of today’s increasingly more socially aware world, it’s more doable than it ever was before.
The fact remains, though, that transition is a process, and transition is all about process.
Process, process, process.
So to any up-and-coming transitioners who care to consider my two-cents worth, do yourself a serious favor and ignore all of the rah-rah-life-is-too-short-do-whatever-the-hell-you-want-and-have-fun-being-yourself bullshit around here.
Because if there is anything more worthless than my words on this forum, it’s their words on this forum.
I’m just sayin’ . . . .
Rachel Smith May 2017
Warning: This post may contain up to 63% post consumer recycled Sarcasm ... or Peanuts." 
Originally Posted by Eryn
