Everyone Transitions
My evolving memoir.
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Excerpt:
I was born in 1983 and I will die someday the end
Imagine life like that, with no punctuation. No chapters. No breaks. Just one long run-on sentence, speeding ahead without taking even the slightest moment to pause.
It’s so simple to veer onto that track, and be miles off in the wrong direction before you realize you haven’t even exhaled.
Why is it so hard to stop and celebrate things?
I started testosterone in May 2019. It’s been four years full of shifts, a world literally and figuratively on fire, and exhaustion. So much. And I’m just now realizing I’ve been running on...and on. I haven’t given myself a semicolon’s worth of praise or pride for taking this next big step. For being bold enough to wade through my layers of tin-can armor to get here, which is back to where I originally was as a kid, before the heaping on of what I should be.
It’s time to stop. 39 years of moving in various directions and u-turning when things felt too uncomfortable. 39 years of avoiding the spine that binds my book. It’s like I was wrapped with an ill-fitting dust jacket, a different tale, a different synopsis, where a scrappy tomboy blossoms into a tough, fearless woman. A small bio on the back that distilled me down to a few sentences that were a bit more palatable to the masses. But now, the jacket is off. And underneath, embossed on tattered cloth, is another title. Another story all together. A story where I choose my own adventure.
So this book is my pause. My way of punctuating these last few years. A way of giving myself room to celebrate. A new chapter is something. A new sentence is something. It’s time to recognize that. Because if we can’t even pause at a period, then when do we give ourselves a moment to stop running on?