I didn't hate my body in the beginning. I wished for another, but I was fairly ambivalent to what I had, and generally assumed I would be able to make do with it. As I progressed through therapy, hormones, etc, my discomfort with my body increased. It really ramped up last January.
I tended to consider my trans identity a predominantly mental/emotional issue, and dealt with it mostly through therapy. January 21, as most of you know, was the Women's March. Being a good progressive and feminist, I made my way to the state capital, expecting that I'd feel a bit left out. True, there was a ton of genitally based rhetoric there, but one sign caught my eye over and over again--the old standard reproductive rights adage "My Body, My Choice". That line hit me like a ton (or tonne, for those you across the pond) of bricks, and I felt that it applied to me for the first time.
I'm still not hating my body, but I am treating it as my own vessel and rapidly progressing toward procedures that were not previously on the table.
YMMV.