Monday Morning Brava

Every Monday morning, I end up lying in bed, trying to get up. I end up laying in bed most Mondays for at least an hour. I'm on my phone and I'm waking up. Sometimes I'll nod off in that waking period. But I just don't want to get out of bed. Every week, new horrors are being released against marginalized people in America. Of course so much of that is attacking trans rights, but this is not exclusively a trans issue. Also under attack are migrants, refugees, Black people, indigenous people, other people of color, LGBTQIA+ people, the disabled, women, the homeless, those with low levels of education, and so many others with intersectionality compounding this for many. It's hard to get out of bed and face that.

But that's what I do. I inevitably go into the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. As I put the toothpaste on my toothbrush, I look up in the mirror. Most Mondays, my thoughts and attitude completely shift. Because after so long, I'm finally looking at myself. Yes, there is a lot of dysphoria in that image looking back, but I really wasn't there in the before times.

This is a Monday morning no makeup, no hairstyling, no filter picture

I remember somewhere around 2010 when my rosacea had gotten so bad that my nose started to change shape, getting more bulbus in the tip of the nose. I remember looking in the mirror when I noticed these changes and I couldn't even recognize myself. I was filled with horror. This side effect from rosacea primarily impacts only those with lots of testosterone in their body. I didn't like what I looked like before, but for years after this shift I had trouble even knowing that what was looking back at me was supposed to be me. This period was so hard.

Much later, when I was preparing to socially transition, I pulled my pictures off of all electronic spaces. I couldn't have an old image of myself posted, and I couldn't take a new one. My dysphoria was off the charts. For months, I tried taking selfies in my mirror and I hated every picture where I smiled. The dysphoria was hitting so hard that my face looked distorted if there was any type of a smile in it. After waiting months, I had a professional photo shoot (with professional touch ups) taken so that I could put an image of myself out there that I was OK with. It took many more months to get comfortable with how I looked. Transition is really difficult.

But now, for the first time in my life, I really like what I see in the mirror. There's still significant dysphoria, but the real me comes through louder than the dysphoria most days, I can't believe that I got here.

This past week, I had an interesting exchange with my therapist. We were talking about how when I am living my life no one misgenders me anymore. People just address me as the woman that I am. If I get called the wrong name, it's Victoria, which is still pretty affirming. I made a comment to my therapist how so many trans people don't have the luxury of being recognized as their authentic gender and that I'm fortunate that I get gendered correctly. My therapist pushed back: "But you claimed that for yourself. That wasn't given to you. You're 5'11" and aren't exactly invisible in a room full of people. You claimed your womanhood." There is fortune to me being here that helps me blend in. I have enough of my hair, I'm white, my gender identity matches one of the two most societally expected options. I am authentically feminine. I had the money to build a wardrobe and I have access to excellent makeup products. But she's also right. I worked really hard for this because very little in life is more important than being comfortable in your own skin. Holy crap did I work hard. I'm color blind and often color combinations can be challenging for me to put together. So I worked on perfecting my makeup skills. I worked so hard on my voice (see my articles "Finding My Voice" Part 1 and Part 2). I spent hours and hours on my fashion sense and I think it's paid off. I spent so much time on my hair in my first nine months of transition, only to have my testosterone finally get suppressed which changed my hair profile. This brought out my natural wave and curls that were suppressed by testosterone previously. Yes, there is fortune in play, but I've done so much to claim this path.

So now, when I finally make it out of bed on Monday morning and see myself, it's tough not to be overwhelmed in all the best ways. Yes, the world seems to be on fire right now, but holy shit can I deal with so much as long as I can face that shit as myself. How the hell am I so comfortable with myself that I can look in the mirror on Monday morning, with bed head, no makeup, and in need to my morning face routine, and I’m still thrilled with what I see. That I can have a career as myself that was literally impossible only a generation ago. I cannot believe that I get to finally have the life that I have as myself. Teenage Veronica would have been so happy to know that the day came when she could finally be herself. Even with all the hard shit trying to dehumanize us today, a look in the mirror on Monday morning fills me with so much joy it can often power my week.

May we all be able to find joy in being ourselves this week and every week.