Transition is for me both internal and external. I have been luckier than I deserve. HRT, polish and makeup have made me at least ambiguous physically. Two years on, people who know me accept me. People who don't know me wonder and guess. Sometimes him, sometimes her - but it is me, that's for darn sure

. What living full time has done is confirm the Julie in my self view.
I have had to do endless sit ups, run endless miles to help estrogen shape me. The results are what they are. I will never look as curvy as "Jessica Rabbit" more like "Twiggy" in 1965. (shows how old I am) I have done what I can, chemistry has done what it can. The remarkable thing is that when I look in the mirror, I see Julie, and she is a woman, and she is okay.
What anyone else thinks is nothing I can control, nor something I have time to waste over. Shoot I got sired Saturday in a Safeway grocery store wearing a tight tee-shirt, my thought was, poor guy needs to have his glasses checked. I am wearing a pink top, bright red nails and if I do say so myself a cute gal with a smile. If someone misses that, I guess it sucks to be them. So is there a point to this drivel? Only this:
We are all an inside job, if you feel pretty, you are, if you feel feminine, you are. I transitioned because the person I saw, and the way that I felt didn't fit with who I was. HRT, exercise, diet, but mostly friends changed that. The incongruity between who I am and how I feel is gone. The girl I see is the woman I want to be. What anyone else chooses to recognize is just not that important any more. I try to hang out with other T-girls when I can. It pretty much guarantees that we will be read, and pretty much guarantees that it won't matter.
Fair Winds,
Julie