Mom, Late 30s. Home Cook. Queer disaster. This is my main, because it’s where I talk about important things like being trans, parenting, doing trans stuff, cooking, trans topics, and how cute you all are! 😍🏳️⚧️🥰💜 I do Data Engineering in exchange for money, but find me over at @ willow_datawitch if that’s your jam. Please interact with words, not just boosts and favorites, if you would like to follow me. I appreciate your button clicks! But I need words for vibe checks. Since I may as well spell it out for the world, I enjoy compliments from folks I already interact with, but for clarity, that’s as far as it’s going, and it’s a strictly 18+, women-and-trans-folks-only activity. I think joy is way more important than I was taught in school. I categorize some toots thusly: # EstrogenLog , # EstrogenLogLabs , # WillowsFacialDysphoria , # WillowsTransDiscoveries , # InSqueeNews My Essays: # ThingsYouCantUnsay # NoBridge # NoIndex # NoBot # NoSearch
Mom, Late 30s. Home Cook. Queer disaster. This is my main, because it’s where I talk about important things like being trans, parenting, doing trans stuff, cooking, trans topics, and how cute you all are! 😍🏳️⚧️🥰💜 I do Data Engineering in exchange for money, but find me over at @ willow_datawitch if that’s your jam. Please interact with words, not just boosts and favorites, if you would like to follow me. I appreciate your button clicks! But I need words for vibe checks. Since I may as well spell it out for the world, I enjoy compliments from folks I already interact with, but for clarity, that’s as far as it’s going, and it’s a strictly 18+, women-and-trans-folks-only activity. I think joy is way more important than I was taught in school. I categorize some toots thusly: # EstrogenLog , # EstrogenLogLabs , # WillowsFacialDysphoria , # WillowsTransDiscoveries , # InSqueeNews My Essays: # ThingsYouCantUnsay # NoBridge # NoIndex # NoBot # NoSearch
When I Tell You I’m Trans
#ThingsYouCantUnsay #AddressingCisFolks
When I tell you I’m trans, I’m not telling you about the history of my body - my body is as you see it, and it’s uncomfortable that you think it’s okay to imagine what you cannot see because it’s hidden by clothing, time, or both. I’m not fishing for compliments - I already know I’m stunning, and I totally do fish for compliments, just not like that. I’m not telling you about my romantic and sexual life - I have lots of other words for that, and the relevant ones are “that’s private.” I’m not even telling you about my gender - my name, pronouns, and gender presentation are everything I intend to say on the subject.
I’m telling you about pain. I’m telling you that I’ve been pickled in emotional agony, like a specimen in brine - it was all I knew. Emerging brought new horrors, as I uncovered and mourned the ways my body was wrong for me, suffered to remake it, dug up my emotional daemons only to have them eviscerate me, tore at the people closest to me and stared with sadness and acceptance at the wounds I made, discovered gaping holes in my memories, hugged myself in the depths of believing myself unworthy of compassion, and cried in the dark with the need for affirmation. I’m telling you that I still cry when I feel truly seen - tears shed in the present for wounds suffered in the closet.
I’m telling you about joy. I’m telling you about the sting of lotion on skin that is dry, cracked, and bleeding. I’m telling you about what it feels like to choose to understand yourself and care about yourself despite everything society taught you, about building on that care one mundanity at a time, one rebellion at a time, one tearful moment at a time, until your clothes fit and your reflection fits and your relationships fit and you finally fit your place in the world just the way that feels good to you. I’m telling you that these simple acts of self love are so potent and ungovernable that nation-states outlaw them. I’m telling you that my everyday joy is so raw it’s illegal.
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