After my wife found out about my crossdressing, something unexpected happened: I began exploring something I would later come to understand as soft femininity.
She didn’t shut me down. She gave me space.
And for the first time in my life, I had permission—from her, but maybe even more importantly, from myself—to explore. Not just the clothes. Not just the fantasies. But the life.
That was the beginning of something I didn’t have a name for at the time, but I was already living it.
💜 This is a small part of my personal journey. Want the full story of how I figured it all out? I broke it all down here:
Crossdresser vs Transgender: How I Finally Figured Out Who I Am
What Is Soft Femininity?
It turns out, there’s a name for this kind of energy: soft femininity.
It’s not about being submissive or weak, or about pleasing someone else.
It’s about embracing traditionally feminine qualities like gentleness, warmth, empathy, and grace.
It’s the way you move, the way you speak, the way you show up even when no one’s watching.
It’s not about looking a certain way.
It’s just… what happens when you stop hiding the soft parts of yourself.
At the time, I didn’t know that word. But I knew I wanted to try.
Building My Own Version of Girlhood
I didn’t grow up with a mom. No sisters. No real female role models aside from teachers or the women I saw on TV.
So yes, I leaned on stereotypes. I pulled from what little I had.
Whatever version of girlhood I could find, I tried to taste it.
I started reading romance novels.
Watching rom-coms and teen dramas late at night, wrapped in a blanket, with tea in hand.
Learning to sew and crochet.
Learning to cook—something plenty of men do, I know, but I’d always seen it as “the wife’s job,” and that idea stuck with me.
Tried perfume—just letting myself smell pretty because I wanted to.
Lighting candles (I got obsessed).
Sure, not all women do those things. And yes, some men love them. But that wasn’t the point.
These were the things I’d seen girls doing. And I had always been so jealous.
Trying them brought something to life in me—something I didn’t yet have words for.
Letting It Into My Body
From there, I began exploring how I moved and carried myself.
I started walking more delicately when I was crossdressed. I paid attention to my posture. I sat more intentionally, even at work.
And yes, I even started sitting down to use the bathroom. (Probably TMI, but it’s the truth.)
It was about feeling softer.
Letting that softness show up in how I moved, how I carried myself, how I took up space.
Not for anyone else—just because it felt good.
It felt like me.
Some parts were hard. Not because they didn’t feel right, but because I had a man’s body—and it had been holding tension and masculinity for decades.
Unlearning that didn’t happen overnight. Still, even when it wasn’t comfortable, it felt correct.
Letting Myself Feel Something
I also began paying more attention to how I was feeling.
That part was the hardest.
For years, I’d been conditioned to respond with anger instead of sadness, or silence instead of honesty.
I wasn’t suddenly nurturing or graceful, not by a long shot. But I started noticing when I wasn’t.
I began wanting to be softer—not just in appearance, but in how I existed.
Little by little, I let myself feel things I had pushed down for years: guilt, shame… and even comfort.
And for once, I stopped punishing myself for enjoying the things I enjoyed.
It wasn’t easy. But it opened a door. And through that door, something tender started blooming.
I highly recommend keeping a journal to document your feelings. Keeping a journal was incredibly useful in helping me understand myself better.
When Soft Femininity Got Scary
It wasn’t the emotions that scared me.
It was the fact that I liked any of this at all.
I liked the clothes.
I liked the candles, the calm, the sweetness.
I liked the way my body felt when I moved differently—when I allowed myself to exist differently.
And that terrified me.
Because suddenly, it wasn’t just curiosity.
It felt like confirmation—of things I’d been afraid to say out loud, even to myself.
This wasn’t just exploration. It was real.
And I wasn’t ready for that truth yet.
I Wasn’t a Woman, But I Wasn’t a Man Either
I wasn’t “being a woman.” Not exactly.
But I definitely wasn’t “being a man” anymore either.
Every little experiment brought peace.
Each one helped me feel more me.
Through this quiet, careful exploration, I found my own version of soft femininity.
And for the first time, I had proof—proof that the feelings I had buried weren’t fake or shameful.
I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t making it up.
I was different.
And maybe I always had been.
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