My First Gender Therapy Session and Everything It Brought Up

So, I had my first gender therapy session this morning.

And I’m feeling… a little wrecked.

Not in a dramatic way. Just raw. Like I’m still buzzing and exhausted at the same time. My head’s all over the place and honestly, I probably should’ve waited before trying to write. But if I don’t do it now, I’ll lose the realness of how this feels in the moment.

Walking Into My First Gender Therapy Session

Going into it, I was this weird mix of nervous and excited. Or maybe just frazzled. I don’t know—I’m not going to use bigger words right now. My brain is still tired.

Anyway, I came prepared. I had everything laid out in order: stress, trauma, depression, and then finally gender stuff. Like a well-rehearsed little script. Because obviously I’m that girl.

And to be fair? That plan mostly worked.

We started with stress. It’s there, but not overwhelming. Just the usual work stuff, which I’ll come back to in a sec. No major relationship or money problems, thank god.

Then we talked trauma. There’s stuff in my past that matters. Two big things, specifically. I won’t go into them here, but I don’t think they’re the reason I feel like I am transgender. More like background noise that shaped who I am.

After that: depression, mental health, medical history—basically making sure I wasn’t spiraling. I’m not. (I mean, not today. Give it time.)

And then, finally, we got into gender.

And if you don’t know my full story, you can read about that here.

Talking About Gender Out Loud Was… A Lot

Saying all this out loud, face-to-face, felt totally different from writing about it here.

Even though none of it was new—memories, crossdressing, envy, experimentation—I still felt like I was gonna cry the entire time. I didn’t, but it was close. That lump-in-your-throat feeling that just… lingers.

No major breakthroughs happened. But honestly, I wasn’t expecting any. There’s just a lot to get through.

Why My First Gender Therapy Session Still Mattered

It still meant something, though. Just being able to talk about this stuff openly. Without hiding or sugarcoating it. Without trying to be “not too much.”

The therapist asked to see a picture of Michelle, which caught me off guard a little. (I didn’t go dressed because I had work immediately afterward—ugh.) But still, it was validating. Like she wanted to see me.

We also talked about a concept called “delayed individualization,” which ties into some of my trauma. I’d heard the term before, but hearing it in the context of me? It hit harder than I expected.

Basically, it’s the idea that certain things in your past—like trauma, loss, or even just survival mode—can interrupt the normal process of figuring out who you are. So instead of getting to grow into yourself like other people do, you end up… waiting. Performing. Surviving.

And yeah, that landed. Like maybe part of why all of this is happening now is because I never really got the chance before.

It stung. Not because it was surprising, but because it connected dots I wasn’t totally ready to look at. And now that I’ve seen them, I can’t unsee them.

And yeah… we talked about my biggest fear: transitioning and what it could mean for my wife and kids. That’s still the thing I can’t breathe around. I’ve said it out loud before. I’ve written about it. But it still suffocates me.

That fear hasn’t let go. Not even a little.

Am I Making It All Up?

Before we ended, I had to ask her: “Is there any chance this is all just in my head?”

That fear is still alive and kicking. The one that says maybe this is all just a phase. That I’m inventing problems. That I’m not really trans, just obsessed with the idea of being feminine.

She didn’t dismiss it. She just said it’s not her job to disprove me. If I’ve come this far—therapy, journaling, exploring—there’s probably something real underneath it. And if something feels off down the line, she’ll say so.

That was enough. Not perfect. But enough.

I Should’ve Taken the Damn Day Off

Work was the worst today. I don’t know what I was thinking. I had therapy at 8am and clocked in by 9:15, like I was some high-functioning powerhouse of emotional resilience.

Spoiler: I am not.

I couldn’t focus. Everything felt loud and dull at the same time. I was there and was aware of it, but like…I felt 2 inches behind my own body? It’s weird to describe out loud.

So note to others: don’t schedule your first gender therapy session on a workday unless you’re trying to emotionally implode at your desk.

Where I’m At Tonight

I’m not okay—but I’m not broken either.

I showed up. I was honest. I let myself be seen.

That’s all I have in me for today. And maybe… that’s enough.

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Have you had your first gender therapy session yet? Or are you still working up the courage? I’d really love to hear from others in the messy middle of all this.

Seriously. You’re not alone. And I’m trying to remember… neither am I.