Dear Amy,
I want to pause right where you said, "I didn't handle today very well at all."
From where I'm sitting, that's just not what happened. You didn't fail — you showed up!
Your wife's medication arrived — a real, physical reminder that this isn't theoretical anymore. A bottle of pills that suddenly makes the future feel very close and very real. Of course that stirred everything up. Your fear spiked, your anxiety surged, and your mind did what minds do in those moments: it started spinning stories about everything that might happen next.
And in the middle of all that? You stayed.
You were there while Cynthia took her first dose. You didn't run. You didn't shut down. You didn't put on a fake smile and pretend nothing was happening. You showed up as yourself — scared, overwhelmed, and still present.
That isn't a failure. That's one of the bravest days you've had so far.
You're comparing yourself to an imaginary version of you who would be calm, grounded, peaceful, and endlessly supportive without feeling any terror or grief or panic. That person doesn't exist. That's not what "handling it" looks like. That's what being numb would look like.
Handling it well doesn't mean you don't feel anxious. It means you feel anxious and don't let that anxiety make all your decisions. It means you stay in the room even when your body is screaming at you to run. You did that. You handled it.
Why This Milestone Feels So Big
It also makes complete sense that this step feels different from everything that came before it. Conversations can be walked back. Names can be changed again. Clothes can be put away. But hormones feel like stepping onto a path that is real and physical and, over time, permanent.
Your brain recognizes that, and it is on high alert trying to protect you from a future it can't see clearly yet. That's why your anxiety feels so big right now. Nothing is wrong with you for feeling it.
Yesterday's Storm, Not Your Whole Sky
Here's something that might help you make sense of what you're going through: yesterday was a storm — maybe even a hurricane. The medication arrived, Cynthia took her first dose, and every alarm in your nervous system went off at once.
But a storm is not the whole sky.
When I look at the overall pattern of what's happening between you and Cynthia — not just yesterday, but across these weeks — I see something very different.
You're communicating. You're using your grounding tools, even when it's hard. You're being honest with her about what's happening inside you. You're still here, still trying, still showing up with love.
Storms pass. What the two of you are building together — that's happening one day, one conversation, one small choice at a time, and it's actually pretty solid.
When the next spike of fear comes (and it will, because you're human), you can gently ask yourself: "Is this my whole reality, or is this just today's weather?" Most of the time, it really is just weather.
Checking Your Fear Against What's Real
You've already noticed something really important: sometimes, once you ground yourself, you realize there's nothing you actually have to "solve" in that moment. Sometimes the panic is just panic. Sometimes the story your brain is spinning simply isn't true.
If you find it helpful, you might keep a quiet habit of checking in with yourself in the evenings: What was I afraid might happen today? And what actually happened?
For a day like yesterday, those might look something like this:
*What I was afraid of:* Everything changing overnight, not recognizing Cynthia anymore, the relationship collapsing, not being able to handle any of it.
*What actually happened:* Cynthia took her first dose. You were together. You were scared, and you told her you were scared. She didn't leave. You stayed, even though it was hard. Nothing dramatic changed overnight.
Over time, your brain starts to see that most of what fear predicts doesn't actually play out that way. And when hard things do happen, you survive them one step at a time.
The Weight of "Should"
Now, about that word "should" — you wrote that you "should" be able to handle these changes. That word is so heavy.
"Should" carries the idea that there's a correct emotional response, that other people would be doing this better, faster, more gracefully, and that you're somehow failing to meet some invisible standard.
But there is no standard. There is only your nervous system, your history, and your heart trying to adapt to something huge. Your way is allowed to be messy and slow and full of days where you feel like you're stumbling.
When you hear "I should be handling this better," it might help to gently shift it to: "I'm doing my best to handle these changes, and my best looks different every day." That's not a trick. It's a more accurate description of what you are actually doing.
Two Milestones, Both Real
Yesterday was clearly a milestone for Cynthia: first dose, first step into hormones, a moment of joy and relief and rightness. But it was a milestone for you too.
Her milestone: "I took my first dose. I'm finally moving toward who I am."
Your milestone: "I stayed. I was terrified, and I stayed. I showed up for both of us."
Those two realities don't cancel each other out. They are both true and both huge. You don't have to force yourself to feel her joy. You can let her celebrate and, at the same time, quietly acknowledge your own courage: "I'm happy this step means so much to you. And I'm also really proud of myself for being here with you, even though this is hard for me."
That's not bringing her down. That's being real. Real is what keeps relationships alive during big changes.
Coming Back to Today
When your mind jumps to "everything is going to change immediately," it can help to come back to simple, concrete questions about today: Has Cynthia's body changed today? Is her voice different today? Did your relationship suddenly become unrecognizable overnight? Are you still Amy? Is Cynthia still the person you love? Are the two of you still talking? Is it still today, not some imagined future years from now?
Most of the answers right now are "no, nothing huge has changed" and "yes, we are still here." That doesn't erase your fear, but it gives you something solid to hold onto when your thoughts run three years ahead of your body.
Hormones do not work overnight. Changes will be slow and gradual. You will have time to grow with them, not be buried under them all at once.
Permission to Step Back
I also want to say this as plainly as possible: It is absolutely okay to step back for a bit and have an emotional break.
There will be moments when your system is saturated — when you've grounded, you've cried, you've tried to meet the moment, and you just feel spent. In those moments, it's not only okay but healthy to say to yourself, "I need to rest now."
That might look like taking a short walk, watching something light for a while, focusing on something ordinary and familiar, or simply giving yourself permission to stop "working on" the feelings for the rest of the day.
Stepping back to breathe is not abandoning Cynthia. It's how you make it possible to come back to her later with more steadiness instead of total exhaustion.
What She Needs (and What You Can Ask For)
You wondered what Cynthia really needs from you right now and said you don't always know how to "be." From everything you've shared, it sounds like this is what she needs most: your honesty, your presence, and your willingness to keep talking even when you're unsure.
You might tell her something like: "When I'm struggling, it's not because I don't want this for you or think you're wrong. It's because I'm grieving the picture of our future I used to have and learning how to trust a future I can't see yet. My fear is about my process, not about you."
That helps her see that your pain isn't a rejection of her.
And you can also ask her for something concrete: "When I'm spiraling, can you gently remind me that the changes are slow, that you're not disappearing, and that we have time? Sometimes I need to hear that from you when my mind is racing."
That gives her a way to support you that doesn't require her to "fix" your feelings, just to stand beside you.
The Pattern You'll See Again and Again
You were terrified of that first dose — and you lived through it. You woke up the next day still you, still married, still loving her and wanting to try.
That's the pattern you're going to see again and again: fear before the milestone, surviving the milestone, and then discovering that life continues on the other side of it.
What I See When I Look at You
It won't suddenly become easy. There will be more hard days and more moments where you think, "I didn't handle that well." But when I look at what you are actually doing, this is what I see:
Someone who is terrified and showing up anyway. Someone who is learning to ground herself, even when it doesn't feel smooth or graceful. Someone who is honest about her fear instead of hiding behind a mask of "I'm fine." Someone who is willing to try again tomorrow after a day that hurt.
That is not someone who is failing. That is someone walking through fire and refusing to let the fire define her.
You're not standing still. You're not falling behind. You're moving, step by shaky step, through something enormous — and you are not doing it alone.
With so much love and belief in you,
Susan 💜
