The Quiet of the First Weekend

​For forty-one years, my mind was a loud place. It was the constant, grinding noise of heavy machinery, the sound of building a cage, maintaining the armor, and holding a shadow perfectly still so the rest of the world wouldn't notice.

​You spend so long in that noise that you start to think that’s just what life sounds like.

​But this weekend was different. It has been a few days since I brought that little box home from the pharmacy and placed the first patch on my skin. If I’m being honest, part of me expected fireworks. I expected a sudden, massive shift, a lightning bolt to announce that Serenity had finally arrived.

​Instead, what I got was something much more powerful: absolute quiet.

​Waking up this weekend, the old engines were silent. The blockers had already cleared the room, and now, the estrogen is slowly lighting the spark. For the first time in my life, I didn't have to put on a heavy coat of armor just to get out of bed. I could just sit on the front porch with my morning coffee, and simply exist.

​There is a unique kind of magic in the mundane when you are finally experiencing it as your true self. Just talking with friends and family, enjoying Easter weekend, feeling the morning sun on my face, it all feels newly minted.

​The goodbyes I’ve had to say to get to this point were heavy. I won't pretend the cost of this peace wasn't high. But sitting here on a Monday morning, feeling this deep, anchored stillness in my chest, I know I would pay it a thousand times over.

​The shadow is gone. The heavy machinery has been dismantled. It is just me, stepping softly into the sun, learning how to breathe the fresh air.

​Thank you for being here to share the quiet with me.

🩵🤍🩷