Jason had been supportive of my social and legal transition and had adopted my new name and pronouns, my new identity. When I came out as not-a-woman, he had said, “I always knew you weren’t the most feminine of people, but I’ve always thought you’re hot. And I like the tomboy version of you.” The day I came out as a man, he said, “I don’t care how you identify; I love you.” But the thought of me starting testosterone and getting top surgery to masculinize my chest completely mystified him; it was just too far. As I waited to cross a street on the top of Montjuic, I imagined myself getting that first injection of testosterone. Immediately, my heart swelled, and I cried tears of joy. I was glad for the sunglasses hiding my emotions as I crossed the street in a small crowd.
I knew. I knew that starting testosterone would be one of the happiest days of my life. It would be in the top three most significant things to happen to me, along with marrying Jason, and having our son. It knocked leaving the Mormon church, which had been number three for 14 years, down to number four.
On the video call, holding Jason’s hand, in tears, I described to him that moment of clarity, of knowing. Watching his eyes, I saw him finally get it. I explained how I hoped he could go on this journey with me, explore this new path, see where it takes us. Then it was his turn. He explained that as much as he wishes he were bi, he’s just not. That path was taking me somewhere he could not go. Still baffled that he could know that already, without having tried, I turned to the screen. Shane, my therapist, indicated he had a question for Jason.
“Has your attraction to him already changed?” he asked.
My heart felt joy when Shane referred to me as “him,” and my memory flashed to Jason saying he was attracted to the tomboy version of me. I realized I assumed that meant this version: visibly queer, asymmetrical haircut, bound chest, loose clothing.
Jason answered gently, “Actually, yeah. I am already less attracted.”
Now it was my turn to finally get it; the lightbulb above my head popped on with a ding! Here was the key missing information—he knew he wouldn’t be attracted to me on testosterone or post-top surgery because he was already unattracted to me in my pre-T androgyny. I had already transitioned from tomboy to man.
The rest of the therapy session was about lovingly letting each other go. The marriage was over. Afterward, emotionally exhausted, we both lay down in bed—two separate, single beds. Now I began to cry in earnest and asked him to snuggle. He welcomed me over to his bed, and we held each other and cried.
After an hour, I got up and emailed my doctor to schedule the appointment for my first injection, one week later. She’d been expecting it for months.