One Year on Testosterone
The other day I went on a walk with my dog, Roo, where she was running and pulling me almost the entire way. When we arrived at the park, she suddenly stood her ground, taking a seat to rest in the sunlight. I kept trying to encourage her to follow me, eager to get home to eat lunch, but she wouldn’t budge. Instead of getting frustrated, I decided to allow myself to slow down, to pause and bask in the sun of my own love of being alive. I listened to the birds, I felt the cool air on my face, I kneeled down and pet Roo as she sat in the grass. There was no urgency. No need to be anywhere but in the present moment.
On April 8th, it will be one year since I started hormone therapy. One year of reminding myself to slow down, to embrace change, and to put myself first. At that moment in the park, lunch could wait. I have had a lot of moments like this recently. Since the start of 2021, I have found myself leaning into a more intentional life with the purpose of finding joy in simple things. Like standing in my neighborhood park, noticing the shadows of the trees spread out across the grass, and tuning into the sounds around me.
There have been a few times in the park recently where I have had the privilege to witness bikers go down the steep hill that it is situated on. I watch as they let themselves go, sometimes even extending their arms like an airplane, flying downwards at a rapid speed. It is a sight to behold, this clear representation of pure bliss.
Before this year, I don’t know if I was ever any good at observation. I think I previously lived life in a headspace where I was actively trying not to observe, where I just wanted to float through my days untethered. I have a sense of awareness that feels heightened now after spending a lot of time observing the changes in myself in this last year. In the beginning, I recorded every tiny shift in my appearance that I noticed. Honestly, it was a confusing way to live, mostly because I felt like I was changing so much, and sometimes I wasn’t met with others acknowledging those changes in a way that felt fulfilling. Even before the first shot, I wanted so badly to be able to control the responses of people in my life, to escape being misgendered, and to feel in alignment with who I know myself to be across all areas of my life.
What I’ve learned is that a good observer doesn’t interfere. The best observations are made while practicing patience. I am glad that I took detailed notes in the beginning, but I feel a certain kind of relief now that I have pulled away from that type of documenting. I imagine it feels similar to how the biker feels after they reach the bottom of the hill. That was exhilarating. I’m glad I made it.
In her collection of essays Upstream, Mary Oliver says: “attention is the beginning of devotion”. I have been thinking about this and how after a year of paying close attention, I have found that I care deeply for myself in ways I never did before. Of course, feeling connected to my body due to the changes from testosterone makes a difference, but that paired with the analysis I have done through my writing practice and documentation I believe has brought me closer to myself.
Lately, I have found that I am hungry for stillness in ways I never thought I would be. After so much time spent craving rapid change and a lifestyle where spent a lot of time running away from people/places/situations, I have been discovering a newfound desire to sit with myself. I have really enjoyed quiet. I have a fondness for nature walks where I pause and study the shapes of trees. Instead of a phone filled with selfies, my camera roll is made up of photos from these walks of nature I encountered.
I am unsure what this next year on T will bring me. I have an inkling that I will be focusing my devotion outside of myself now, leaning into the intentionality of where I put my attention. Only time will tell. I am okay with being patient.
