Imagine that you are the person you are right now, but only on the inside. On the outside, you have the body of a person of a different gender. Everyone knows you as this other person--the one they can see, rather than the one you know to be real. When you interact with other people, you do so as the outer person, the one you know to be false.

The inner person is very special to you; you'd like to be that person, and put an end to all the lies about who you really are. But you know that if you act as that inner person, or dress as that inner person, people will think that you are strange. They will reject you. They will not know you, even when you say, "Look! It's me! I'm the same person you've always known." You will be alone.

This is the closet from which the transgendered person emerges.

Imagine that you are going out in public as the inner person, the person no one else knows. It feels good, and it feels right. You look at yourself in the mirror, and you see the inner self emerging at last! But the image is mixed with the outer person that everyone knows. Will anyone else see this? Will you see anyone who knows you? What else could give you away... Your voice? A gesture? Is your clothing appropriate for the occasion?

You feel right long before you look right in your new gender role. You look right long before you have the behavior, the voice, the vocabulary, or anything else. One thing that you'll never have is the history of growing up in the gender role you'd prefer to have. You were never the gender of your birth, but you'll never completely be the gender of your choice, either. But that's all right; somehow, you'll be OK.

Transition is many long and difficult journeys, all taken together, all without end. Emotional, physical, behavioral, and social patterns must be challenged, perhaps shattered and rebuilt. Each person finds some of these to be easier than others, and some are harder. Each journey is unique, and each is taken in many small steps. Each step is full of surprises.

Yesterday my partner gave me a black turtleneck sweater. I tried it on and looked in the mirror. The sweater fit perfectly. Summer was just ending, and it was the first time in months that I'd tried on anything knit and clinging, so it was the first time that I'd ever seen what such clothing would do for my new breasts.

I've been out in public as a woman on many occasions. Before I had breasts, I'd stuff a bra with foam rubber, then forget about it. I knew the day would come when I could go out without padding, but this was the first time I'd realized that from now on, when a man looks at my breasts, he'll be looking at me. I covered my breasts with my hands.

Welcome to my world!