This op-ed is the first in a series of pieces through our TransLash News and Narrative platform, launching in 2022. Subscribe for alerts. For more #TransBodiesTransChoices content, explore our film series guides for My Abortion Saved My Life and I Didn’t Think I’d Make It.

My own experiences with annual gynecological exams as a trans person have been consistently negative. I had grown accustomed to the base level of discomfort and fear—until my most recent visit. Feeling out of place usually starts in waiting rooms or during intakes. While gender nonconforming language in waiting room literature and on intake forms are not guarantees of trans competent care, these introductory elements can either include me or alienate me. At many offices, I was required to select “male” or “female” for my gender, leaving me totally unsure of what to do. I would be asked, “If you’re a woman, could you be pregnant?” The question made me feel invisible because I am not a woman, but I still have the ability to get pregnant. At the visit where I felt safest, the waiting room was full of information for people of all genders. The forms allowed me to indicate that I am trans and nonbinary, and medical questions related to specific body parts—not to gender. 

During regular intakes, I would typically be asked about my last menstrual cycle. Even before starting testosterone I had a highly irregular cycle and felt deep dysphoria about my period. When explaining why I didn’t know when the last period was, nurses often seemed surprised or annoyed. However, during my most recent visit where I felt welcomed, the person I met with asked questions about my experiences and needs as a trans person. She had a clear understanding of testosterone and simply asked if I ever bled during my menstrual cycle anymore. It was the first time I felt like I was going to get gynecological care that made my body feel accepted. 

But OBGYN visits weren’t the triggers for my dysphoria.

It was years before I realized that I was having dysphoria about my chest. This is why breast exams made me so uncomfortable. Every visit, without fail, I would laugh nervously and start to feel nauseated while the person doing my exam pressed their hands into my breasts. I would apologize for how nervous I was, but the examiner would say “you’re just ticklish,” or ignore what I was saying completely which left me even more anxious. This pattern continued after I came out. No providers ever offered any kind of solution or support.

During my recent gender-affirming visit, the registered nurse had me place my hand on top of hers and take deep breaths throughout the breast exam to lessen the sensation of surprise. For the first time, my body relaxed. I was able to get through it without any nausea or uncomfortable laughter. When I realized how simple the solution to my anxiety was I felt relieved and disappointed in every other provider I had been to. For trans people who often experience body dysphoria and have high rates of sexual trauma, going to a gynecologist for an annual exam can be anywhere from triggering to downright retraumatizing. According to a 2015 study of over 27,000 trans people across the United States, 47% of respondents had been sexually assaulted in their lifetime. One-third of these respondents also reported having a negative experience with a health care provider as a result of being trans. While I don’t know exactly where this nurse learned trans-affirming and trauma-informed approaches, there are plenty of resources that provide information on trans-specific health care needs and alternatives to standard testing procedures. 

In a study referenced in the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists’ page on Health Care for Transgender and Gender Diverse Individuals, transmasculine patients expressed an overwhelming preference (90%+) for self-collected vaginal swabs. A training module from Michigan Medicine describes some of the potential impacts of hormones and encourages providers to discuss options for testing with patients, like self-insertion of the speculum. The University of California San Francisco Gender Affirming Health Program provides a variety of techniques for providers to establish trust and perform pelvic exams, like using a mirror so patients can directly observe and checking with patients about their preferred language for their body parts. Additionally, examiners should clearly communicate what they are going to do before interacting with patients. Patients should have an opportunity to process these requests and verbally consent to each part of an exam. 

The registered nurse who provided a safe and comfortable exam for me demonstrated that she had a comprehensive clinical understanding of my needs, but also showed patience and empathy in her approach. She took time to listen to and acknowledge my previous negative experiences, and when she did, it felt like she made an effort to begin healing the wounds caused by medical institutions. She had a conversation with me about how we could proceed, asked me if I felt ready to move forward, and reminded me that I could stop the exam at any time. 

This is another crucial element of trans-affirming and trauma-informed care.

Medical professionals should slow down and clearly ask what the patient’s experiences with medical exams have been in the past. While some patients may know exactly what they need and be able to express it, others may not. With a strong understanding of trans-specific and trauma-informed health care, medical professionals can provide positive care to those who do not have specific requests by using good communication and giving as much control to the patient as possible throughout the exam. The opportunity to discuss safety at home is important, but some patients may also need the support of a partner, relative, close friend in the room, or on the phone. 

The stakes are high when gender-affirming care is inaccessible. Annual breast and pelvic exams are opportunities to screen for multiple types of cancer in addition to STD testing. When these are not caught early, they can develop into issues that are much harder to treat. It is essential that medical professionals stay up to date on their continuing education. 

For the safety and wellness of trans people, providers must adopt a trans-affirming and trauma-informed approach to annual exams because it can save our lives.

Trans Bodies, Trans Choices: Resources

Trans Bodies, Trans Choices Films

• Watch I Didn’t Think I’d Make It here and access the transcript.
• Watch My Abortion Saved My Life here and access the transcript.
• Watch the Trans Bodies, Trans Choices: Having a Baby IG Live replay here and access the transcript.
• Watch the #TransBodiesTransChoices Online Townhall replay here and access the transcript.

Getting an Abortion

• Under 18 and need an abortion + free legal representation for judicial bypass? Call or text Jane’s Due Process: 1-866-999-5263
• The National Network of Abortion Funds connects abortion seekers with grassroots organizations that can support financial and logistical needs here
• Tips on how to choose a good abortion provider and questions to ask a clinic
• The Brigid Alliance arranges and funds travel, along with related needs, to support individuals across the country who are forced to travel for later abortion care. 

For Clinicians and Providers 

• Trans-Inclusive Abortion Services: a manual for providers on operationalizing trans-incluslive policies and practices in an abortion setting 

Calls to Action

• Sign on and Demand #AbortionWithinReach: Abortion funds have come together to deliver an unprecedented bold statement, explicitly identifying what it means for abortion to be truly accessible for our callers. As we shine a light on these demands, we also want to spotlight independent clinics, who are our partners on the front lines giving support and care to abortion seekers. Independent clinics perform the majority of abortions in the U.S., and show up big as plaintiffs in the monumental cases of the past few years. 
• Expand the Supreme Court & Save Abortion Rights. Sign the petition here.
• Urge federal elected officials to end the Hyde Amendment, the Global Gag Rule, and the Helms Amendment. Learn more and take action to expressly urge support for the EACH Act, the Global Health, Empowerment, & Rights Act, and the Abortion is Healthcare Everywhere Act. 
• Invest in abortion clinics, especially community-led health care facilities. 
• Talk about abortion! Change culture and shift stigma through powerful, values-based conversations. We believe dialogue, storytelling, and intentional conversations are powerful tools to organize and strengthen our movement. This guide for heart-to-heart abortion conversations from NNAF   and this toolkit from Chicago Abortion Fund will support you to hold a small group gathering, house party, or action space where you can invite your friends, family, and acquaintances into meaningful conversations about abortion, issues that relate to abortion, and why you support abortion funds.
• Support the Black reproductive justice policy agenda, which outlines proactive policy solutions to address issues at the intersections of race, gender, class, sexual orientation, and gender identity within the situational impacts of economics, politics and culture that make up the lived experiences of Black women, femmes, girls and gender-expansive individuals in the United States.

• Invest in long-term sustainable models of care that supplement existing structures of support and center the expertise of those who have been laying this groundwork for years so that communities have reliable support systems that contribute to one’s current and future ability to thrive. 
• We urge all individuals knowledgeable about a person’s reproductive choices to make a commitment to not – under any circumstances – punish, criminalize or report any person for any pregnancy decision or seeking medical assistance for a decision. This includes abortion funders, public health authorities, clinicians, law enforcement, prosecutors, and community members.

Resources on Pregnancy as a Transgender Person

• The Queer & Trans People of Color Birthwerq Project
• BOOK: How We Do Family: From Adoption to Trans Pregnancy, What We Learned about Love and LGBTQ Parenthood by Trystan Reese
• Meet the birth workers helping transgender parents bring babies into the world and break stigmas.
• Preparing for Pregnancy as a Non-Binary Person (Family Equality)
• Transgender Pregnancy: Moving Past Misconceptions (Healthline)
• From erasure to opportunity: a qualitative study of the experiences of transgender men around pregnancy and recommendations for providers.
• TransLash Podcast, Episode 13 ‘Trans Love’ feat. Precious Brady-Davis, who appeared with her husband Myles on the TLC special, My Pregnant Husband.
• If a transgender man stops taking his testosterone, his menstrual cycle often returns, reportedly within about 6 months.
• Explore TransLash’s guide for trans dads and TGNC parents.

‘Trans Bodies, Trans Choices’ Press

• Teen Vogue [EXCLUSIVE]

Featured image courtesy of Broadly’s Gender Spectrum Collection.

Alex is a trans and sober 29-year-old living in Alaska with their partner, their cat, and their dog.  After graduating from law school and getting licensed as an attorney during the pandemic, Alex quit working as a lawyer. Since then, Alex has started working on a local farm, writing, and providing child care. Follow Alex on Twitter: @alexpetkanas

Did you find this resource helpful? Consider supporting TransLash today with a tax-deductible donation.

The post Finally Feeling Comfortable: The Necessity of Trans-Affirming, Trauma-Informed Care appeared first on TransLash Media.

States across the country are introducing waves of legislation that target LGBTQ+ people, but especially trans people. The ACLU is currently tracking a staggering 491 anti-LGBTQ bills in the 2023 legislative session. Conservative states like Texas, Florida, Iowa, and South Carolina are homes for particularly aggressive bills. 

The Florida Senate has already passed an extreme ban on gender-affirming care for minors, criminalized bathroom use for trans people, and restricted drag performances. Trans people in Florida are already feeling the effects, are planning to leave, or have already left the state — especially families with trans minors.

The decision to move away isn’t available to everyone, as some trans folks who would like to leave the state are unable to due to familial, financial, or legal reasons. For those who do flee, coping with this decision is much more than just logistical. It’s also deeply emotional, with many feeling a mix of grief, guilt, regret, and relief. 

TransLash spoke to six trans Floridians, some who have already left, and some who are preparing to leave, about the emotional impact of escaping a place that is dangerous — but is also your home.

Oliver  

Oliver (he/him) is a 22-year-old transmasc Miami resident who left Florida for New York City. In Florida, he worked as a teacher and made the decision to leave because he “could not build a life down there [in Florida] as a transgender educator.”

For Oliver, the decision to leave made sense from a logistical standpoint: “As a transgender individual, Florida is scary enough (and that was before I left), but being a transgender worker in the very field in which my community is being attacked is terrifying. It was also, logistically speaking, not the right decision for me to start building a pension and saving for retirement in a career that I could potentially be fired from in the coming years due to my identity. From a financial standpoint — passion and love aside — one of the only things that makes teaching worth it is the stability of the career. Florida’s teacher salary is among the lowest in the country, and without job stability due to me being trans, it wasn’t a viable option for me. I moved a few months ago. Had I stayed in Florida, my access to healthcare would probably have been compromised as well.”

Emotionally, Oliver says it’s heartbreaking that for some people, their home always gets to feel safe. “But for me, it’s different. I always say that I don’t hate Florida, Florida hates me,” he says. “I wasn’t forced out in the sense that I was forced to move to another state or I would be killed, but I was forced out in the sense that I would lose my humanity and dreams for every day I stayed there.”

As a teacher, Oliver says he feels guilty leaving his queer students behind, in a state where “their right to a safe learning space is being challenged every day. I feel like a hypocrite for telling them that everything will be okay if they just keep fighting, but I couldn’t even do it myself. My heart breaks every time another law passes that could endanger a trans kid’s life, or threaten the wellbeing of a queer child. I also worry about my queer friends who can’t afford to just up and leave the entire state they grew up in. I just have to keep reminding myself that I don’t owe anyone a fight. I’m tired of fighting. I just want to be happy.”

Though he was initially worried about moving away from family and friends, Oliver says his mental health is so much better in New York: “Now that I’m here permanently, I can breathe easier. I can go out and see people like me thriving. I feel freer in every sense — freer to advocate for myself and my community, to meet people, to explore, to be open about who I am and what I believe in, to teach effectively and passionately, to love and be loved publicly.”

Oliver said he never thought he, a child of immigrants who came to the US for freedom, would have to move to ensure that freedom. “As hard as it was, the move made my relationship with my family so much stronger. Moving out of Florida was the best decision I’ve ever made. Even though it felt literally impossible, I did it, and it was so worth it,” says Oliver.

Hollen

Hollen (they/he) has lived in Florida for nearly 20 years, and spent the last decade in Jacksonville. Now, the 29-year-old trans-Floridian is leaving along with their family: their fiance and co-parent, both of whom are transfemme, their co-parent’s partner, who is two-spirit, and Hollen’s child. Together, they are planning to go to Portland, Oregon.

“We all have different factors to consider for our lives but Oregon seems to cover all of our needs with its protections in place for trans people and its healthcare, plus we have some friends out there who left Jacksonville about a year ago, so I know it’s possible and it wouldn’t feel like starting over completely,” says Hollen. 

There are a few factors that determined Hollen’s need to leave: access to gender-affirming care, co-parenting a child as two trans adults, and bathroom bans. Most pressing, is the care of Hollen’s child:

“My co-parent and I have been dealing with the legal system while trying to get divorced. We’ve been separated for a long time, but it’s not a pleasant experience, in general, to get a divorce and go in front of a judge and all. With the current legislation in place ‘protecting’ children from becoming transgender, we have been afraid of anything backfiring for us and feel we are at risk of having our identities play into how ‘safe’ a child is in our care because we are trans. We’ve used a few different sets of pronouns for our child through the years at their request. They came out as non-binary at age three and we don’t want to live somewhere where that is cause for concern. We are terrified of losing our child. While it probably won’t happen, it legally could.”

Already, Hollen has made changes to protect their child such as homeschooling them to avoid exposure to “the ridiculous educational standards that DeSantis is enacting, particularly with the new legislation in place that directly affects trans youth in schools by not validating their names and pronouns, [or] bathroom bans,” says Hollen. “We want our child to be comfortable in their identity, to know about things like diversity, and the evils this country has put people through instead of ignoring anything that doesn’t correspond with a very narrow set of beliefs supporting white nationalism.” 

Hollen grew up in Florida, and he says leaving here comes with so much sadness, however necessary the move is:

“My independence and life habits were formed here. I learned to drive here, to maintain a house here, to meet people and make friends in this culture. It is sad to me, the idea of leaving. Every time I walk out my door and see swarms of lizards scatter in every direction with my footsteps, I get choked up. When I see white herons flying overhead, or think about the crystal clear springs I grew up around, or go to the beach for a day with my friends and family, I feel all hollowed out and echo-ey inside. Florida is beautiful, and much of my life has been here, and the idea of moving to somewhere I have so little experience with is terrifying. I talk a lot with friends about how awful Florida is, but the reality is that it’s familiar, and it is my home, and I am sad that I’m leaving due to factors beyond my control.” 

The hardest part, though, is leaving family.

“My family is here,” says Hollen. “My niece and my child are the same age and are great friends. To leave my niece behind when she can’t fully grasp what’s happening or why this is happening is so heart-wrenching. She idolizes me, and I want someone in her life to be representative that you can be who you want to be, no matter what that looks like. I don’t want to take away that aspect of her experience. I don’t want her to feel like she’s being abandoned. I just recently opened up to my mom about leaving so soon and she’s grief-stricken at the idea of never being able to see my child again, not being able to be present in our lives, and not knowing what life holds for me so far away.”

Hollen has a strong community here of transmasc friends, coworkers, and family. The reality of leaving these pillars brings Hollen “anguish beyond words — turmoil.”

But at the same time, there are happier aspects of the move.

“I do feel relief! I feel joy. I feel excited,” he says. “I’m excited to live with my girlfriend and build a new life and routine and home, to rely on each other in new ways and to get to have more depth in our relationship. I’m excited for my child to be able to have more opportunities for friendship and be around more people who are going to understand them, to have more educational opportunities and a welcoming environment. I’m a little jealous that they’re being set up to be the coolest person ever, and glad that we can give them that, in addition to giving them safety and security.”

Cyrus and Grayson

Cyrus (he/they) and Grayson (he/they) are both trans men living together in Orlando. The couple met in cosmetology school in the area — Cyrus, 19, was studying to be a hairdresser and Grayson, 21, a nail technician — and the two moved in together. As soon as Cyrus graduates this Fall, they plan to move together to Philadelphia, to live with Grayson’s sister. 

Both feel they have to leave Florida, as Grayson’s hormone provider is no longer offering testosterone prescriptions.

“My biggest concern right now is having access to our hormones because, obviously, that is important. But also I have PCOS [polycystic ovary syndrome], which is a hormone imbalance. So my testosterone really helps to level out my stuff [and get me] where I need to be,” says Grayson. “We’re sharing our hormones right now, which is not legal or good. I have a few friends who are giving us their spare hormones. That is literally like the only thing that will help us get through the year. The kind of running joke right now is that the community is really just passing around the same $10. [But] what we really need right now is support from everyone.”

“I’ve been fighting with my insurance to have my top surgery covered for probably two years now. I’ve had a lot of consultations, probably five, and all of them have been individually traumatic,” says Cyrus.

Safe access to hormones and gender affirming care is a main motivator to both Cyrus and Grayson. But leaving also comes with risks: Cyrus, 19, received housing support through Florida’s foster care system and stands to lose his benefits when they move. 

During their time in Orlando, the couple has found joy living in “one of the gayest parts of Florida” as Cyrus puts it, building up not only a community, but also financial footholds. When we spoke, Grayson had just started his first day of work as a nail technician. He worries about starting over again and finding a new client base when they leave town. 

“I think it’s important for anybody to leave their hometown, but it’s terrible that I’m being forced into this,” says Grayson. “It’s incredibly sad. Talking to my other trans friends, I feel like it’s just a community-wide sigh, this feeling of like, ‘fuck, this is what is happening right now. This is the place we’re at.’”

For Cyrus, who dealt with housing instability before moving to Orlando, he worries that moving will also impact his education. “I’ve created myself a home and I cannot believe I’m leaving so soon. I had so many more plans and it’s so unfortunate I’m losing my benefits.  I planned to stay in school as long as I can afford it. I wanted my bachelor’s in business. And now I really don’t know when I’ll be able to go back to school. If I go back to school [at all],” they say. 

Along with feeling through their major losses, both are excited for a life in Philly, and with family. They plan for a two-bedroom, where Grayson says, “Our friends can come and stay, and they can figure out their shit. If they wanna go to Colorado or they wanna go to New York we can be a safe space. And it’s something that we both severely value.” 

Haris and B

B (they/she) and their spouse Haris (he/him) have both spent much of their lives in Central Florida. After meeting in Lakeland, Florida in 2014, B and Haris got married in 2017. They moved to Maryland but eventually came back down to Florida to reconnect with their community.

B and Haris made the decision to return to Maryland, with Haris going up first and B joining a few months later.

Haris, a 30-year-old trans man,  says “The decision to leave Florida was simple to me. I feel forced out in more ways than just anti-queer legislation. I felt forced out by rent skyrocketing. I felt forced out by jobs that told me I was family, but disposed of me when I was in need. I felt forced out by so much fake allyship who would rather give you crumbs than take two damn minutes to make a PB&J when you’re in need.”

Haris began his transition in Maryland, but says he had a much harder time accessing care in Florida.

“I never had any issues with [in Maryland] with insurance covering testosterone, and top surgery would’ve been covered but I moved too soon. There was a program that helped me change my name and gave me all the tools to change my gender marker with ease, and it was all free and covered either by government assistance or insurance,” says Haris. “When I got back to Florida, I immediately experienced difficulty in finding a healthcare provider who could both prescribe testosterone and be my primary care doctor. I ended up without a primary care doctor because my insurance got worse and visits became more expensive even though I was making less money. The most recent situation encountered was that I had a hysterectomy consultation scheduled that got canceled immediately after Desantis signed another bullshit law.”

For B, a 29-year-old queer and nonbinary person, watching their sense of safety and community be jeopardized by the government “feels utterly gut-wrenching.” They’d been struggling to reestablish themselves in Florida during the pandemic, but it was getting more and more difficult every year. 

“Haris isn’t my only trans partner. The fear and reality of him and them not only losing access to his medication —  but all of us getting targeted for our genderqueerness — has made the idea of establishing roots here feel utterly impossible,” says B.

Haris says it’s been a huge relief to leave Florida, and he already has access to a primary care doctor and prescribed testosterone. “I feel calm and at rest with myself,” he says. “I’ve been able to start the conversation about getting grant funding for affordable housing for queer Florida refugees. I feel like I have some purpose here and that I can make a difference.”

For B, it’s a bit more complicated. There is some shame, she says, for leaving and a lot of grief:

“[There is a] weight of leaving. Of feeling like most of the choice got taken from us. Feeling like staying meant putting our lives and families’ life at continuous risk. Feeling like leaving is a disservice to the community we want to help fight for and protect. Feeling guilt that protecting our safety felt more important. It all holds a lot of weight. I would love to be able to stay and feel like I can fight and help turn back what has been created. I also want to live. I also want to feel safe. It could be selfish, or it could be dramatic, but I spent a lot of my life not thinking my existence was important and I care about shifting that now. I am grieving the life we could have had here, the roots we could have planted deeper, and how they could have potentially flourished.”

Sara Youngblood Gregory (she/they) is a non-binary lesbian journalist and writer. She is the author of THE POLYAMORY WORKBOOK and a former staff writer for POPSUGAR. She covers sex, queerness, disability, culture, and wellness. Her work has been featured in Vice, Teen Vogue, HuffPost, Bustle, DAME, Cosmo, Jezebel, and many others.

Sara serves on the board of the lesbian literary and arts journal Sinister Wisdom. As a poet, Sara has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Best New Voices. She’s also attended the Kenyon Review Workshop in 2019 and 2022, as well as a Winter Tangerine poetry workshop. Her chapbook RUN. is out now.

The post Relief, Loss, and Freedom: 6 Trans People Discuss the Grief of Leaving Florida appeared first on TransLash Media.

What was first puberty like for you? Those of us who knew we were trans, queer, or gender-nonconforming probably spent our teen years actively raging against the process. Others deeper in the closet may have simply sensed that something didn’t feel right. 

Compulsory cishet* culture presents puberty as miserable, embarrassing, and extremely inflexible. For queer and TGNC people who are initially excited about their transition, they may begin to view their second puberty with the same negative outlook. Because of anti-queer violence and censorship, we have been deprived of a whole, healthy connection to generations of queer and trans elders. This means that whatever traditions of queer coming-of-age which used to exist seem to be lost to time. 

While we mourn that reality, we also are presented with an exciting opportunity to shake off what doesn’t suit us from dominant culture(s) with flamboyant agency, and embrace our second puberty with a wily, trickster joy. Whether you’re micro-dosing, seeking a full hormonal transition, or doing neither, I want to help my trans and queer kin sense our empowerment and potential for magic at this incredible turning point. The single story of transition as a traumatic medical slog that we hope may end with cis acceptance is not the only one. We can dare to feel the parts of second puberty that are actually wonderful, potent, and magical.

You Have Time and Wisdom on Your Side.

In first puberty, most of us were rocked by devastatingly low self-esteem. To suggest that this doesn’t happen to trans and queer adults in second puberty would be very misleading: we still struggle deeply once we come out and become invested in making changes to our gender presentation. The mirror may lie or hurt us, and we grow impatient to see our future self bloom. 

Thankfully, as adults in second puberty, we have a great deal more perspective on our feelings than we did as teenagers. We can schedule regular therapy and talk to other queer people who remind us of our worth and beauty at every stage in the journey. 

When you’ve faced fears around things like medical access, transphobia, and coming out to those you love, some of the challenges that stymied you as a disempowered 13 or 14-year-old will now feel like child’s play. You aren’t a kid anymore, and the life experience you bring to your second puberty lends you confidence that will help you navigate this time. (It helps that once we start HRT most of us begin to age backward for a time—so it’s hard not to feel yourself!)

You Get to Create Your Own Rituals.

It may not surprise queer readers to know that many cisgender kids grow up into adults who feel deeply uncertain about their identities. Many cis adults aren’t sure if they are “real” men and women, or if they have done enough to prove their gender identities. Trans and queer people also question our validity all the time—the push to be “real” feels so much more important when our survival may depend on “passing.”

The uncertainty we feel due to missing out on adulthood rites of passage can also lead to depression and misdirected anger as uninitiated teens grow older without fully transitioning into self-assured adults. 

In second puberty, we can harness this knowledge and forge meaningful initiation traditions that help us grow into grounded, confident adults. You could choose to be recognized by community in a traditional ceremony from your faith. You could set yourself a difficult challenge or goal and find a mentor to help you achieve it. Your initiation could be a private ritual of intention done in Nature. Whatever path you take, slowing down and honoring the spirit of this moment is something most teenagers don’t think about. Now’s your chance to honor your transition in ceremony and grow up into the version of yourself that you’ve always wanted to be.

You Can Seek Community that Celebrates Your Authentic Self.

The greatest treasure in our second puberty is undoubtedly our chosen family, community, and queer kin. If your parents had awful things to say about your changing body the first time, odds are you won’t want them commenting on this transition. If your friends in school thought your bold fashion choices were ‘kind of gay,’ now you can surround yourself with the *definitely gay* crowd who are going to cheer you on with every strut (and share their cute clothes to help you build your closet and your confidence). Seek out people who uplift you, who remind you you are worthy and loved. With the wisdom you’ve gained through the years, you have a better idea of who deserves to be close to you during moments of vulnerability and upheaval. You deserve for your transition to be serenaded by a cheer squad, not by your worst critics.

Second puberty is full of second, third, and fourth chances that bloom in sequence, enriching our experience of life in ways we never thought possible before. People around you may not understand why you are taking a positive outlook—and they are entitled to feel however they feel about their own puberty, but one of your greatest qualities is that you are a free thinker who desires a felt sense of authenticity. Your spirit’s striving for authentic grace and beauty means your true coming-of-age can only be a powerful expression that has never been seen on this earth before. 

There is a unique trans magic infused into every step of your path and you deserve to enjoy it deeply. 

The post The Unique Joys of Second Puberty appeared first on TransLash Media.