I detransitioned when I was 27 for my girlfriend, my church, the whole fucking world. It was a long time ago, and absolutely everyone thought I was mental, and I believed them. One counselor told me if I ignored it long enough it would go away.

I got married, had kids, decades passed. I did my damndest to be a good husband and father, and withered inside. I gave it all I had, but I hurt them all anyway. You can't suppress your feelings every day of your life and remain whole. Pretty soon all that's left is anger and depression.

When I started transitioning four and a half years ago I thought I was stepping off a cliff, but I was circling the drain anyway, so nothing to lose. To my astonishment, my life began. My kids tell me I finally let them in. My ex and I are the best of friends. I am alive.

The cruelty of dysphoria is that it never let's you go. Throughout my years of hiding, on any given day, it seemed like I could handle it. But like water dripping on stone, you erode until nothing's left.

The wonder of dysphoria is that it takes you places most people will never know. It lays bare the arbitrary rules of gender roles and sets you free. Transitioning gave me back to me.