She looked at me and was quiet for a minute. “Is this something you’ve just decided?”
“What? No!”
“Please understand—I am required to ask these questions.”
“I really need this,” I said. And then I explained how I had felt this way for as long as I could remember, that I thought it was the right thing for me at this point in my life to begin my hormone therapy journey. I talked for what felt like a long time, and she was there, receptive and listening and kind.
“You know,” she said finally, “I’ve been waiting for this day because I always thought this about you.”
I was shocked to hear this. “Really?”
“Yes, really!”
“Why didn’t you say nothing?”
“Because I was waiting for you to come to me.”
Wow, I thought. She knew this whole time! I was so relieved, so affirmed, so seen. I already felt confident about my decision to transition, and this made me forget any hesitation I might have had. I knew this was the right path for me.
“Let’s start you off with a low dose of spironolactone, which is a testosterone blocker, and some estrogen as well. We’re gonna do low doses because I want to make sure you’re on the right track. In a month, we’ll do some blood work to check your levels.”
I couldn’t believe this was happening! I called my sister as soon as I left the office to tell her the news. It was a hot summer day, and it felt so good to have the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. Things were finally going to be different. Finally, I was going to be starting a new life—the kind of life I’d always dreamed of as a kid.
RIGHT AWAY, I wanted to see physical changes. At Jackie’s house, I stood in front of the mirror, examining the shapes of my hips, my breasts for any hint of change. Of course, it takes time! That I knew. But I was excited to see the new—the real—me.
For the first month, I took two spironolactone and one estrogen pill every day. I went to Dr. Raquel for my checkup, and again she made me feel like this was the right decision for me. “Wow, you are doing really good!” she said. “Your levels are great, you are looking great! I think this is working for you.”
I wasn’t seeing the physical changes yet, but I was feeling others. My emotions were all over the place. My first breakdown happened while I was with Jackie, getting ready to go out to the clubs.
“That lipstick looks ugly,” she said.
“What? Oh my GOD!” I yelled and starting crying all over the place. Normally, I would have just brushed her off and said, “Girl, bye!” But for some reason her little comment really got to me, and I was a mess.
Ten minutes later, though, I was laughing my ass off.
“What was that?” I asked, wiping the tears from my eyes.
“Girl!” she said. “It’s like you’re getting your period!”
“What?! No way!”
I wasn’t really getting my period. But hormonally, I was experiencing something similar. I was so happy after our little fight. These pills were working. My body was actually changing. Soon, I didn’t even mind the crying. This is a natural thing! I thought. Happens to girls all the time! But it was difficult. I was still fighting my depression, and the hormones made everything feel more intense.
The first physical change I noticed was in my skin. Many trans women’s skin becomes softer on hormones. For me, I felt like my skin took on a glow. And then, I saw that my hair was growing, that my face was looking more feminine. I was carrying weight in places that hadn’t ever filled out before. I’d hear all the other girls around saying things like, “Yes! I am getting my knots!” I couldn’t see anything at first, but when I felt a little firm bud behind my nipple, I knew my breasts were growing.
After about a year of taking pills, I began injections. For the first month, I went to Dr. Raquel for the shots, but I knew that the ultimate goal was to have patients administer the shots themselves, and I felt confident that I could do it on my own. She prescribed me the needles and the syringes, and every other week, I’d give myself an injection on the side of my butt cheek, right under the muscle.
The following day, the site of injection was always sore. And the mood swings were even more intense than they were on the pills alone. Now, I feel like my body knows when it’s time for another estrogen injection. I get a little sad. A little tired. I feel emotional about everything. I have mad cravings for random foods. It can be difficult to manage, but for me, it is so worth it.
UNFORTUNATELY, NOT all trans folk have such an easy time getting their hormones. Because a psychological evaluation is typically required before you can begin the process, it can be difficult to find the right therapist who will vouch for your mental well-being. And once you’ve passed the psychological evaluation, it can be difficult to find a doctor willing to write your prescription. These processes are not only timely but also expensive. Many of my trans brothers and sisters resort to buying hormones on the street, and this is incredibly dangerous—not only because the drugs are unregulated, and you can never fully know what you are taking, but also because of the fact that, for many, sex work is the only way to pay for them. While hormones are just one reason why trans folk may decide to engage in sex work, doing so puts them at risk of becoming victims of violence and even death. This is because sex work, like many other illegal activities, normally happens behind closed doors. What’s more, because it’s illicit, people engaged in sex work don’t report instances of violence or stalking to the police out of fear that they will be considered criminals and prosecuted themselves.
But even with the proper medical care, the simple cost of hormonal treatment can be a barrier for many. When I began my hormones, the gender marked on my identification had not yet been changed, so I was forced to pay out of pocket—around $65 for a month’s supply of pills. Injections can cost as much as $400 a month. Luckily, by the time I began my injections, my marked gender had legally been changed, and Medicaid covered my treatment. And this applies to many other kinds of insurance. If more people knew this simple fact, my trans brothers and sisters could live safer, happier lives.
For anyone thinking about beginning hormone therapy, it’s so important to seek care from a medical professional. Not only will you be confident in the hormones that you are taking, but also after a physical exam to ensure that you’re healthy enough to handle the medication, a doctor will monitor your blood levels and make adjustments to your dosage as necessary. Sometimes, taking too much of a hormone like estrogen can cause your body to produce more testosterone, thus negating the effects of your hormonal transition.
But what I want to stress to my trans brothers and sisters considering hormone therapy is that the emotional effects can be devastating. As trans men and women, we are already subject to so much ridicule and fear—fear of being called out on the streets, of being shamed, of being targets of violence. And once you begin hormones, all of those emotions you feel in response to this kind of aggression are amplified. For many, these emotional side effects are too much, and they stop their hormones altogether. The decision to begin hormones is deeply personal and individualized, but I believe that it is so important to speak to someone—a therapist, a social worker—so that you can have the tools to confront what is emotionally to come.
Today, therapy is an essential tool on my journey of self-discovery and healing. It is hard work, and it didn’t magically solve my problems. Some days, it forces me to confront a lot of shit I’ve worked hard to bury and ignore. But my therapist has given me confidence and taught me that, at the end of the day, I am the only one who can decide what I want out of life. I am the only one who can allow myself to move forward and heal. I didn’t have this kind of support when I began my hormones. And though I was aware of the emotional side effects, it was a lonely, confusing, difficult journey. I am grateful for Dr. Raquel for affirming my gender identity and being there to assist me with my hormonal transition, but looking back on it now, I wish I’d had the courage to ignore all of the
stigmas and go to a therapist so that I didn’t have to deal with those changes on my own.
Chapter 16
MARIZOL & SELENIS
After a major fight between Jackie and me, I needed to get out and find somewhere else to live. I called my brother Tony. He and his wife, Ambar, lived in a one-bedroom apartment and were expecting a baby, but they said that I could stay with them for a few months, as long as I respected them and their rules. Stick to curfew, clean up after myself, no friends in the apartment. I could do that.
Since I’d been living out of my parents’ house, I was existing in the world fully as Marizol. This was true even before I began my hormone therapy. But around my family, I toned it down. I still wore makeup and got my eyebrows and nails done—but I wasn’t as glammed out as I was when I was out with Cameron or Jackie. My clothes were tight, but more gender neutral. I was still hesitant about them seeing the real me, and I never told them about the name Marizol. One day, Tony pulled me aside.
“Listen,” he said. “I don’t care that you are the way you are. I really don’t care. Just respect the rules, and make something out of yourself. You can be somebody.”
I love him so much for this. He is a tough, macho guy, and even though he teased me when I was young, he has always been supportive of me. During that time, though, I still didn’t let myself be fully me. Old memories from childhood haunted me: how as a kid, I was always editing myself, worried about how everyone was going to react. Even though Tony told me to my face that he supported me, I struggled with the fact that I still wasn’t completely open with my family. I wished that I could have been myself, that I could have said to him, “Call me Marizol,” but I was too afraid. My family meant so much to me, I think I was especially afraid of being rejected by them. And the fact that I was back living with them and being called by the name given to me at birth made me feel like I hadn’t really gone anywhere over the past few years, like I hadn’t really grown. My depression worsened.
When it was almost time for the baby to be born, and I needed to find somewhere else to live, I decided to go back to Jackie’s. We had our issues, but I decided we could make it work. And with her, I felt comfortable living fully as me. I saw my twenty-first birthday as a chance to make a fresh start. It was a new year, and I could be a new, happier me. I planned to celebrate at Lucky Chengs, the famous Drag Queen Cabaret in Manhattan. I wanted my sister and our sister-in-law Melodie (Melo, for short) to come out with me and my closest friends. I wanted them to finally meet Marizol.
But I was anxious. I worried about what they would think and whether they would still accept me.
I WAS NERVOUS when Jose invited me to his twenty-first birthday party. I knew that I’d be meeting Marizol for the first time, and I just wasn’t sure if I was ready. Jose would say to me, all excited, “Girl, I cannot wait for you to meet Marizol!”
And I’d reply enthusiastically: “Yes, I can’t wait either!”
But deep down, I was hesitant. Oh my God, I thought. I’m losing my baby brother. And on top of everything else going on in my life, I worked myself up about it.
How am I gonna be okay with this?
I was afraid that I would say the wrong thing or that I would stare too long or that I’d use the wrong name. But looking back, I think I was just as nervous to meet Marizol as she was to meet me.
THE NIGHT of my party, I wore a gray strapless dress. It was very architecture-like and structured, with a sweetheart neckline, a little collar, and buttons down the front. The skirt was plaid and pleated. I wore gray heels, put bronzer all over my skin, and wore my hair up in a high bun with my bangs swept to the side. I got ready at Jackie’s place. She was really into makeup at the time and helped me with my eyeliner. For herself, she decided to go full-out dramatic. Bright blue eyeshadow, thick eyeliner, heavy blush. Emma was coming out with us, too, and she was as gothy as ever, wearing all black.
This was the first time my family was gonna see me all dolled up. The first time they’d see me looking so feminine. It was the first time they’d see me after I started taking my hormones, too. I was so excited. It was my birthday! And I was going out, with my sister, as me.
The three of us walked from Jackie’s house to my sister’s apartment, which was right next door to my parents’. And this was major. It wasn’t yet dark, and here I was, fully decked out as Marizol, on my own block. As we got closer, I started freaking out.
“Oh my God,” I said. “Oh my God.”
But Jackie kept reassuring me. “It’s gonna be okay! She’s gonna think you look beautiful!”
“I just need tonight to go perfect—do I look good, girl? I don’t look like a man, do I?”
“Oh my God, NO! You look so good. Super classy and beautiful.”
My sister and Melo were waiting for us outside with a car.
This is it, I thought.
WHEN I FIRST saw Marizol, I was struck by how pretty she looked. I remember thinking, Wow, she’s so happy. Everything felt natural, nothing was awkward or uncomfortable. We were having a girls’ night out—drinking, eating, laughing, having a good time. And I was happy to be there, celebrating Marizol.
At one point in the evening, I looked directly at her, in the eyes. I thought to myself, I know who this person is. I saw the same soul that I’d always loved and protected. I felt then that there was no going back to referring to her as my baby brother or as Jose. This was it. From now on, I thought, she is my sister.
WE WERE seated at a round booth beside the stage. The restaurant was very colorful and decorated to make you feel like you were in a tropical place like Thailand or the Philippines. The energy of the crowd was mad enthusiastic, and I was excited to be there with my sister and sister-in-law. I felt like I had my family back. But still, all of these voices were swarming inside my head: Am I good? What do Seli and Melo see? Do I blend in? Do my shoulders or hands give me away? It was as if I was back in school wondering if I looked cool enough to sit with the popular kids, worrying if I fit in. But these anxieties were amplified because it was the first time my family was seeing the real me.
The show began, and we were all cheering for the Drag Queens and the Lady Boys as they worked the crowd. Seli bought me a drink, one that was lit up in the middle like fire. I started to feel more comfortable, to let myself get lost in these legendary performances. It was like I was at a Kiki Ball again!
And then on the stage I saw a familiar face: Laverne Cox. She and my sister weren’t on Orange Is the New Black yet, but I recognized her from years before when I was still in the stages of figuring out who I was. She was a contestant on the reality show I Want to Work for Diddy, and she was the first trans person I had ever seen on TV who wasn’t being made a spectacle. Seeing her was when I realized that, as a trans person, you didn’t have to settle for just being the man in the wig. You could be yourself, and you could be successful. When she came out on the stage, I cheered even louder.
“Oh my God!” I said to my sister. “She’s the girl from I Want to Work for Diddy!”
And Laverne was going all out, doing splits and kicking high and whipping her hair all around. There is a stigma that if you are trans, you cannot be a Drag Queen. But seeing Laverne perform that night reminded me that trans women also have the right to express themselves, to perform, to be creative. We are all just as valid as anyone else.
After their performances, the girls came around the tables for tips. When the trans performers saw me, they all stopped to say something. “Yaz, girl!” Or, “I see you!” Or “Yes, girl, work!” It made me feel good, like I was connecting with other girls like me. I was happy.
DAMN, THIS IS nice, I thought.
At the end of the night, when Marizol was walking away with her friends, I said to Melodie. “Wow, she looks so happy.”
Melo agreed. “Oh my God, yes!”
I felt that she was finally going to be okay. It was a good night! And look at how happy and beautiful she looked! This was her truth.
For
the first time, I thought, the interior matches the exterior.
Chapter 17
SELENIS
Marizol’s twenty-first birthday was, in a way, like the quiet before the storm. Everything seemed calm. As Marizol, she seemed happy. And I was grateful that she had somewhere stable to live.
Meanwhile, for me, I was reaching a boiling point in my personal life. With my career, with my depression, with my marriage. And then, once again, I got a call. This time from Marizol herself. She and Jackie had gotten into another one of their major fights, and she couldn’t go back. She was, in a sense, homeless, and all of that happiness and light I had seen at her birthday party had come to a shrieking halt.
You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. I couldn’t believe that I still had to take care of her—who was taking care of me? But what was I going to do? Let her live on the streets? Absolutely not. And so I let her stay with me, in my dark, suffocating apartment.
After the party at Lucky Chengs, I didn’t think I was going to see Jose again. When I met Marizol, I had to come to terms with the fact that I was saying goodbye to my baby brother, and I began to mourn that loss. But then, when she came to my door after the fight she had with Jackie, she wasn’t dressed like Marizol. She wore baggy jeans, a big hoodie. Her hair was long but unkempt, hidden under her sweatshirt. I was confused—I thought that Jose was out of my life for good, and then here he was. It felt like I was seeing a ghost.
Now, when I think about this time, I recognize these clothes as Marizol’s uniform of depression. When I looked at her, I didn’t quite see Jose. Something about her appearance had changed, and instead of looking like my baby brother, she looked like Marizol dressed in Jose’s clothes. They weren’t the clothes of the Jose I remembered—the Jose I knew was always put together, with a shape-up, eyebrows done, some nice cologne. This was weird to me. This was something new. But I didn’t see it for the depression that it was. Instead, I thought to myself, Well, I guess she’s not ready.
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