The Big Acceptance

Posted on Dec 11, 2021

Content Warning, as the kids say nowadays: This is a very personal post about me as a transsexual woman. There are references to body parts, intimacy, and many other things that may not be what you’d like to read about, to be honest. Of course, you know me, you know I talk about this stuff in an adult manner… with humor and lightheartedness, but adult anyways. Yet, I understand these topics may be disturbing.

Act One: Storm in My Therapist’s Office

Last month I had an appointment with my therapist. I was running late; I had overslept… because the day before I was feeling like the worst I had in ages. Not physically, but spiritually and mentally… I was so furious with myself… and having overslept just added up more rage against me on top.

I ran to my therapist’s office from home. It’s like a 30-40 minutes walk… that day I did it in less than 20… in high heels. I arrived there panting, and carrying over my shoulder the worst thoughts possible… I remember the quick shower I had taken before going out had been a hell of nightmarish thoughts…

All these thoughts revolved around one single thing. They had for weeks, but they had become increasingly intense… I was very close to break under the weight…

I went up the stairs after announcing myself at the reception desk. I saw the door of my therapist’s office open so I just got inside. There she was, with an intern. She wanted to present him to me, but I was quick, even cruel:

“I want him out.”

Yeah, it’s a legal right I have as a patient, not to consent to the presence of an intern in any medical appointment… I could’ve definitely managed that in a much more civil way, though. He complied, because he was legally obligated to.

My therapist is a woman in her mid 50s, very competent, very experienced as a psychologist and sex therapist. She immediately noticed I was about to slip off… so she did a thing that went against all COVID-19 regulations within public healthcare facilities: she hugged me for a second.

When we sat down on our chairs, she asked me how I was.

“Why the fuck am I trans?” I responded.

And yeah I used that language. Well, in Spanish, not in English, but yeah, that was how enraged I was. I had been torturing myself for many weeks if not months with this question… Look, I’m very science-oriented even though I’m also religious… I wanted a scientific explanation, I had read papers and all… all of them are pretty inconclusive…

“No one knows, Ariadna.” She answered. “I could lie back to you and tell you a story about hormones influences during your mom’s pregnancy or something like that, but it’d be a lie. There’s some interesting evidence, but no answers. The truth is… we don’t know.”

“But why?”

“But why do you need to know why?”

With that question thrown back to me, she had me.

“Because how can it be that I’m feeling so good…”

“But weren’t you upset and all angry?”

“I am,” I cried, “but only when I think about these things… when I shut these thoughts down, when I’m on the street, having a coffee, or just wandering around, or doing my job, I feel awesome… I feel happy, incredibly happy…”

“So why do you need to know why you’re trans, then, if you’re happy?” She asked back.

Something clicked inside of me. Suddenly I saw the connection… and the connection frightened me a lot. I started sobbing… My therapist handed me over a box of tissues, because yeah, my tears were about to run wild… for the first time in that office after over a year of therapy. I hate people see me cry.

“Because… how is it possible that I have achieved almost perfect passing so easily with just a couple of months into HRT, some makeup, having longer hair, and that’s it?”

I started crying. I had to take off my facemask. I was drowning in my tears. My therapist didn’t tell me anything about that move of mine. I started rambling…

“It’s like it’s always too easy for me. I’ve always been a prodigy. I hate it. It’s like… boom… I transition for a couple of months, and I get the rewards in no time, people like me, they admire me… I even get the luxury of going to conservative places, even to Church, and I’m just another girl for everyone. It’s almost unfair. I love it, but it hurts… Wasn’t this supposed to be hard? I wanted it to be hard!”

“Why would you want such a thing, Ariadna?” My therapist asked, with a troubled look on her face.

“I don’t know! It’s like I don’t know what it is to feel good and I don’t know why!” I bursted into a river of tears. I was broken, feeling lots, lots, and lots of pain. “And now, I even start to think I don’t need any surgeries? Why?”

“Maybe because you don’t really need them.” My therapist replied. “Maybe, you were using the idea of those surgeries as a way to actually make you feel worse about yourself. You are the only one who knows what’s in your heart, but look, Ariadna…”

She came a bit closer and continued:

“You’ve been through a lot these last two years. You say it’s been too easy for you. Maybe that’s true in your medical transition, but you know it wasn’t easy at all in a lot of other things. And you overcame every single obstacle. You need to forgive yourself, Ariadna. It’s the only way you will be able to feel you deserve what you’re experiencing now. You feel bad; it’s quite common… you’re still adjusting. But let yourself enjoy the great gifts you’ve earned yourself! For that, let go of the past. Forgive yourself.”

I listened with all my attention to her words. I had stopped crying. I was feeling like she had been waiting to tell me this for ages, for the moment I was ready…

“I… I have to say…” I said. “I think I always need to feel that the goal is further away than I really need to… so I can always punish myself…”

She raised an eyebrow. One thing all my therapists always tell me is that they love working with me because I happen to be very, very educated in Psychology myself. OK, I’ve never worked a psycholinguist, but I did collaborate with their department many times over the years.

“It’s like I told myself I needed bottom surgery just because it’s the right thing,” I continued, “when in reality… OK, I might not love what I’ve got down there, but it doesn’t really trouble me that much? I mean, I can live with it… I guess? And… I don’t know… Yeah, I’ve got very feminine traits… it’s… yeah, you’re probably right… I’m ashamed of true gifts I’ve been given by God.”

There she smiled.

“Ariadna,” she told me, “I don’t believe in God. I know you do. If you feel these are gifts given by Him… maybe you should thank Him.”

My eyes opened wide. A smile in my lips… My makeup utterly destroyed, but I always carry my makeup with me in my bag; no problem…

“Yeah, you’re right, I will.”

Act Two: Accepting My Power

Some days later, I was at a cafeteria I absolutely adore in Pamplona. It’s a place run by a French girl and her husband, a guy who’s originally from Colombia. Now imagine the chicness of French coffee mixed up with the universe of flavors and smells of Colombian coffee…

There’s a friend of mine, a girl from Venezuela, who I often run across at that place… OK, sometimes we actually set a date, but most of the time we meet by accident. And we meet quite frequently. She’s an artist, she’s gorgeous, very smart… I adore her.

For some reason I told her about my conversation with my therapist.

“I feel like I’ve been putting a lot of unnecessary pressure on myself, lately… like trying to be perfect.” I told her.

“Ari, I know.” She told me. “It’s quite common in a trans woman… I used to date one back in Venezuela, you know?”

“Oh, did you?”

“I never told you?” She replied, actually surprised. “I thought I had! Well, anyway, yeah and I remember how difficult it was for her to see herself as everyone else saw her.”

“Is that what’s happening to me?”

“Perhaps?”

This place has quite a bunch of mirrors, in no particular order, for some reason. She told me to see myself on the one we had just in front of the table we were sharing.

“What do you see?” She asked.

“I like what I see, I mean, I can’t imagine myself more feminine… OK, OK, my nose is a bit on the big side of the scale… but it’s actually the same nose my dad’s sister has… so… in fact, I look very much alike to her…”

“You’ve got a narrow chin, very nice eyes, very nice eyebrows… you’re very pretty… and hey, your boobs are growing, your hips are amazing, and you know how to move them… Your energy is so, so, so great… What else do you need?”

“Voice training for sure.” I told her.

“I’m not that sure about that, but OK, that’s different to surgeries…”

I let a sigh out. I told her I was still thinking about the whole bottom surgery deal. On the one hand, I told her, I do sometimes have like the feeling that down there I should have something else… but it’s… not a permanent feeling. It’s just sometimes and easily manageable by distracting myself with some music or anything. The sensation is real, but not distressing. On the other hand, I know the risks of that surgery… and just thinking that there’s a risk of losing all sensitivity down there… ugh… No, I don’t want my sex life destroyed like that even if you promise me that there’s a 95% chance it won’t happen. I can’t bear the thought that there’s still a 5% it might happen. No, not with that.

She listened to me very carefully.

“Ari,” she started, “when I dated this trans girl, I knew a lot of her trans friends. And let me tell you a secret they told me… They always told me that that was an advantage, not a liability… and how much fun did they have!”

I was shocked… I think I even felt slightly offended? She sensed my discomfort, drank another sip of her latte, I drank another of mine… and I replied:

“I’m not sure of that… at all…”

“Trust me, Ari.” She said.

Later at night, after a whole day thinking about what this friend of mine had told me, I went to my bookshelf. There I had a copy of one of the books the publishing company I work at. Excuse the small product placement here, but it’s this one: Orgas(mitos) by psychologist and sex therapist Laura Morán. The title is a pun on orgasmito being the diminutive of orgasmo (‘orgasm’) in Spanish… and mito meaning ‘myth.’ I had the book lying around for weeks; I had gotten it as a gift because that copy has a couple of (minor) defects and can’t be sold to the public…

That book is mostly about sex health of biological women, but not exclusively. The tagline of the book, translated into English,1 reads: “Sex is to be enjoyed, not something to comply to.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to put myself in a cage because I’m afraid.”

That night I had my first orgasm in months, the first one after I had started HRT. And the first one I enjoyed in my whole life, to be honest. I will never forget how it felt like a storm breaking the barriers I had trapped myself in.

Act Three: Coming Out, Again

Fast forward some weeks later. My energy had become incredibly great. I had been feeling free, owning it, I had closed great deals at my job, was excited about a new challenge my boss asked me to go after… So one day I randomly went into a very posh café-bar… not excessively expensive, but classy. One of those places where you definitely meet some MPs of the Navarrese Parliament, high executives, you know the type… It wasn’t the first time I went into that place, but… it definitely was the first time I did bringing such a bright energy with me.

I sat on a stool at the counter. I love sitting there in bars and pubs, legs crossed, watching all the people… When I’m on my own, I prefer it way over sitting at a table.

“Hey, I didn’t notice you were here.” Someone told me.

It was the supervisor of that place. A very nice guy I had met there a couple of times. I answered back with a smile and ordered a capuccino.

On the TV there were some COVID-related news. Not going into this territory here, but this guy and I started talking over the news… and then we moved into talking about our lives, and we both realized that we were both from Argentina, had lived in Barcelona…

“What is this you’re feeling, Ariadna?” A sudden thought came to my mind.

It was a weird feeling of fun, freedom, feeling super sexy, and knowing that this guy found me attractive… all in one… Yet… Wait… I… Wasn’t I supposed to only be into girls? What is going on!?

I was just a milisecond away from leaving my coffee behind (yeah, me!), pay as quickly as possible, and get the hell out of that place.

“Don’t flee. Stay. Let’s see where this leads to.” A second sudden thought crossed my mind in a fraction of a second.

And I stayed and it led to one of the funniest moments in my life. An older man came in and explicitly told the supervisor:

“You’re about to lose your clients if you keep staring at this beautiful lady!”

All three, the supervisor, the old man, and me bursted into laughter.

“You really think I’m beautiful, sir?” I asked the old man.

“Of course you’re, ma’am.” He replied and went back to his seat.

When I went out, after like over an hour staying there, I started laughing and crying… I felt like a little child. People on the streets looked at me like what was going on with me… I couldn’t resist it, I couldn’t. Something had changed in me…

“So, I like men now?” I told myself.

Telling that to myself immediately sparked the other question:

“Do I really like women or was it all me projecting my transitioning desires onto them?”

I felt… scared? Maybe even a bit of ashamed?

Maybe it’s a bit surprising for a woman to tell this on a blog post, but who cares? My sexual experience is reduced to just two girls in my whole life… and an asterisk. When I was closeted, I did have some dates and stuff, but I always managed to turn things to the worse on purpose because I really didn’t want to be with anyone. Those two girls were weird exceptions and sex was… terrible… In fact… and this is very sad, I had to get heavily drunk to actually do anything. I hate to say this, but I’ve never let myself enjoy myself in any of this…

What’s the “asterisk,” then? My first sexual attempt, which led to nothing, was at age 13… with a male friend of mine. I remember I lured him into playing more sexually in my own room at my parents' house… He accepted, he actually enjoyed it, I enjoyed it, and I vividly remember playing a female “persona…"2 until I realized that that was going to get me into serious trouble with my parents and I coldly and very violently told my friend to leave me alone.

But no, I’ve never been with a guy in my life…

I tried for some weeks to let the “am I bi or straight?” question aside. I didn’t want to rush into going from apparent full lesbian into full straight. I wanted to know the depths of what was going on… So I decided to do a thing that I never had done before: getting used to imagine myself with a man, in a relationship, what would I like in one, what would I dislike…

Some time has passed, I’ve talked this with another therapist I also visit, who’s more specialized into sexual orientation rather than trans issues themselves… And girl, the more I’ve opened myself to the idea, to the fantasies, to my most intimate feelings around this… wow… I guess I must say, yeah, I’m a good old-fashioned straight trans woman.

But probably the best sign is the huge relief I’ve felt, even despite the lack of experience with men. Accepting this was… the last step in a succession of things… but it was all related from the beginning. I feel like myself in a way that I’ve never have in my life…

Am I scared? Maybe a little… but I’m open to this adventure. 💖

As a Conclusion, Sorta…

Ari, Dec 2021


  1. If you happen to be someone working as a fellow Foreign Rights Manager anywhere in the world and you’re interested in licensing the English translation subrights from us, I just wanna let you know that my translation of the book’s tagline is by no means binding or official in any way whatsoever! Now, do we talk business? ↩︎

  2. OK, footnote time, again. Back then I thought it was a persona… Now I see it was my real self screaming that she wanted to be let out of her cage. ↩︎