I’ve been sitting with something big lately. A question I think a lot of us ask ourselves at some point, even if we’re too scared to say it out loud:
Would I transition if I could?
Fully. Medically. Socially. Publicly.
If there were no consequences, no fallout, no one hurt in the process…
Yes.
A thousand times yes.
But of course, life isn’t consequence-free.
And that’s what makes it complicated.
What “Would I Transition If I Could” Really Means
When I say “would I transition if I could,” I’m not dreaming up some perfect fantasy land. I mean real-world freedom. No judgment, no loss, no risk to the people I love.
- My kids wouldn’t get bullied.
- My wife wouldn’t be judged or shamed for loving me.
- Our finances wouldn’t be rocked.
- I wouldn’t have to walk away from a job that supports my family.
- No awkward conversations, no side-eyes, no fear of losing anyone.
Just me. Living as myself. And the world simply letting it happen.
Why I Haven’t Transitioned (Yet)
For me, it all comes back to family. That’s the only reason I haven’t transitioned. It’s not fear, doubt, or shame.
It’s love.
I know what could happen—maybe even what would happen—if I came out fully. Kids can be cruel. And adults? Sometimes worse. I was bullied growing up, and there’s no way I’d put my own children through that.
The same goes for my wife. I love her so deeply, and the idea of people mocking or judging her just for staying by my side? I couldn’t stomach it.
I can take the hits. I’ve done it for years. But if those hits started landing on the people I love most?
That’s where I draw the line.
What I Would Risk to Transition
Everything else? I’d risk it.
My job? Honestly, whatever. I’m good at what I do. I’d find another, or maybe finally build something of my own.
The medical side? Hormones, surgery, voice work—yes, to all of it. No hesitation. I think about it more than I like to admit. Hell, I’ve already started in the ways I can. I’m exercising and reshaping my body. I’m eating differently (and better). I’m learning how to move through the world in a way that feels closer to her.
Because when I show up as Michelle, I don’t feel like I’m trying to be something I’m not.
I feel like I’ve stopped hiding.
There’s peace in that. And if I could live that way every day—without wrecking the lives of the people I love?
Baby, I’d already be there.
Would I Miss “Being a Man”?
No. Not even a little.
I don’t feel masculine—I just act like it when I need to. I do the dad stuff. I fix things. I show up the way I’m expected to. But it never feels natural.
It’s a role. One I learned. One I got good at.
But not one that feels like home.
Feminine energy? That’s where I live. That’s where I breathe, create, and feel whole. It’s where I actually feel like I exist.
So… What Does That Say About Me?
I’ve journaled. I’ve spiraled. My journey has led me through the questions over and over:
“Am I just a crossdresser?”
“Am I genderfluid?”
“Am I actually trans?”
And the more I ask “would I transition if I could,” the clearer it becomes—
I already know the answer.
Even if I never do it. Even if the timing never works. Even if life never opens that door.
The desire is real. The knowing is quiet but constant.
I may not live fully as her.
But I am her.
And the only reason the world doesn’t see it is because I’m still shielding the people I love from the impact.
Final Thoughts on “Would I Transition If I Could”
So yeah.
Would I transition if I could?
Yes. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
If you’re sitting with the same question, I want you to know—your answer doesn’t have to be neat or easy or final.
It just has to be yours.
Even if you can’t act on it. Even if you don’t know what to call it yet. Even if the truth scares you a little.
You’re still valid. You’re still real.
And baby… I see you.
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