(Not sure if anyone will read this, but at least I'll have written it.)
I spent last week at a music and dance camp at a session where people come back year after year and which I've been coming to for a number of years.
The difference was that in previous years, I've come as <deadname>, and this year as <new name>. I dressed pretty much the same (skirts and dresses), but wore my wig everywhere in public except when I went swimming (when I wore a bathing cap.) Oh, I wore a swim dress, which I thought didn't look good but others said it did (what do I know, anyway?)
I'd thought I'd do pretty much the same things as last year -- dance a lot, play some music, stay up til all hours. It turned out rather different. I've taken to describing the week as "the best of times, the worst of times."
The best part was that the people were incredibly supportive of my transition. No one misgendered me in word or deed (the dances are mostly quite gendered, so how people dance with you depends on what gender they see you as) and quite a few already knew trans people or were even related to trans people.
The downside was that it was an enormous emotional roller-coaster. There were times when it was a wonderful high. But I also had two big episodes of emotions from the past overwhelming me and taking me over so I could barely force myself to function. (I've been calling this "emotional flashbacks," because in the moment, I feel just like I did 50+ years ago -- it's as if the intervening years and my changes never happened.) They were very, very painful, and even when I became unconscious of the pain, I could tell it was still there. During them, I was the worst person in the world and my inner self was the most unacceptable and repulsive thing a person could possibly be and I felt I had to examine every move and every word to make sure that unacceptable self was never visible. I wanted to run off and find a hole to hide in and pull in after me, but I had already committed myself to doing stuff with people, and besides, the adult/rational part of me knew that was simply a bad idea. I dragged myself to events and onto the dance floor and force myself to sing songs and talk to people. Fake it 'til you make it.
Fortunately, I also found a couple of people who were always willing to give me a hug and a smile and to listen when I said "I'm having a bad time at the moment" and I knew I could just sit next to them and it would be okay. I started calling them my "security people." Several of them said I was welcome to call them any time even after we went home if I needed someone or could even just show up on their doorsteps. (Since they all live more than 400 miles away from me, simply showing up is unlikely, but still....)
So by the time I got home on Saturday, I was wiped out. But at work today, one of my co-workers said I looked a lot more relaxed than usual, so I guess it was a good thing.
One thing did come to me during the week, during one of my 3:00 a.m. bouts of feeling awful: the transition isn't about becoming a woman. It's about becoming myself. So I decided I won't take the voice feminisation class a local college is offering, because they're about becoming their (somewhat stereotyped) idea of What A Woman Is, which doesn't feel like me, even me-as-a-woman.
Besides, 100% passing is overrated, anyway. ("Those grapes were sour, anyway.")