Transitioning Unconventionally
13-09-2025
Currently Eating: Shakarmakar, pb&j wraps
Currently Reading: Dungeon Meshi, volume 7
Currently Watching: Free! Eternal Summer; Adventure Time, season 5
Currently Playing: 100% Orange Juice, Stardew Valley
Currently Listening to: Somewhere Over the Rainbow ukulele play-along lesson
Warning: Minor self harm mention ahead.
I am currently four days post-op from my bilateral salpingectomy – ie. the removal of my fallopian tubes. It may sound strange, but this was the first step in my medical transition journey as a transboy.
On the internet these days, the only ftm transition timeline most people hear about is something along the lines of [HRT -> top surgery (mastectomy) -> bottom surgery (either metoidioplasty or phalloplasty)]. This is the most common route transmen tend to go.
There is nothing at all wrong with this. For most, this is the best way to achieve one’s transition goals. However, because this route is so common, I’ve heard a number of stories of transmen and nonbinary people having to detransition to some degree because they thought this was the only route available to them, or that they might not be “trans enough” for wanting something different. Therefore, I want to talk about my own experience, to let young queer people know that there is no one “right” way to transition.
First, why a salpingectomy? For the past several years, I’ve been struggling with tokophobia, the fear of pregnancy. At first, it was something I tried to ignore. A niggling discomfort at the back of my mind. It was only when I listened to a family member talk about her inability to have children – something that was a great source of sadness and conflict for her – that I realised I needed to address my feelings. Because when I listened to her talk about her infertility, I felt jealous.
Once I unbottled my fear, it was a lot worse than I expected. It quickly worked its way into my OCD. Just seeing an ad for diapers was enough to trigger a sense of panic. I’d have ideations of self-mutilation, to make it impossible for my body to ever be subjected to that horror. I had to sit quietly and run through brutal scenarios in my mind to close the compulsive loop, but anyone familiar with OCD knows that’s not usually enough to put the anxiety at ease.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
At this point in time, I’d gotten to know my doctor very well. I’d been seeing her a lot to investigate my symptoms of what we now know is POTS, and had come to learn that she is an incredibly kind, dedicated physician. A rare gem in the minefield that is the medical field. I figured she would be the best doctor possible to talk to about my feelings. Even still, it was terrifying. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how aggressively opinionated many people are about female fertility, trans identity or not. But when I finally told her that I wanted to be sterilized, my doctor leaned forward, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “We’re going to fix this.” It was all I could do not to throw my arms around her and burst into tears. Once I recover more, I’m going to be giving her a very hefty gift card the next time I see her.
But I digress. What does this have to do with being trans? It took me a while to figure that out. I had to sit on a waitlist for the OBGYN my doctor referred me to for a time, so I had a chance to really sit with my fear and how it made me feel. I still think the concept of pregnancy is absolutely horrific in its own right, but I had a hunch a good chunk of my phobia was due to dysphoria. In my mind, the concept of pregnancy is intrinsically tied to womanhood (it actually occurred to me just now as I’m writing this that, even when I was younger, this association would make me shudder). I know this isn’t necessarily the case – there are plenty of transmen and nonbinary people that choose to experience pregnancy, and it doesn’t detract from their identities in any way. But it’s just not something I can separate in my own subconscious. The sheer fact that my body was capable of such a thing gave me dysphoria.
It was a couple days ago that I got confirmation of this. I was laying in bed, still feeling bloated from the laparoscopy, when I suddenly realised, “Huh. I can’t get pregnant anymore.” The well of euphoria I got was so strong, it almost made me cry. The same kinda of euphoria I felt when I got my first masculine haircut. The same euphoria I feel when I introduce myself with my masculine name. And the same euphoria I felt the first time I got called “he”, that woke me up to who I was in the very beginning.
So what’s the rest of my journey going to look like? Well, it may surprise you to hear, but I still have no intention of starting HRT. I actually really like the shape of my body, my curves and my slender shape. I’d like it if my voice were a bit more masculine, but voice training is easy enough. And, lucky for me, my face has always had a rather androgynous look to it. The only thing that makes me sad is that I won’t have bottom growth. Bottom dysphoria is something I struggle with, but I don’t want to trade the entire rest of my body – my body that I love – for that one trait, that may or may not even come out the way I’d like it to. Until transplants of that nature become possible, I’ll just have to settle for prosthetics.
Instead, the next thing I’m aiming for is top surgery. My chest dysphoria isn’t quite as horrific as my tokophobia was, but I know I won’t feel at ease until I can run my hand down my body and feel nothing but smoothness.
So far, that is my story. There are a lot of feelings involved, now that I’ve truly realised I’ve started medically transitioning. But they’re nothing but good ones. That is my advice to any young queer people reading this: chase that euphoria. You don’t have to look – or function – a specific way to have a specific identity. Your body is your own, your cloth to cut and dye. There’s a whole world of body modification to learn about, both regarding your outside appearance, and your internal workings. Or, if you like the way you are now, then there is no reason you should change it to fit into some mould.
If anyone has any questions at all, or would like some advice on this matter, my email is listed is the ‘About Me’ section of my website. I wish all post-op folks a peaceful recovery, all lost kids a steady flow, and everyone else a perfectly comfortable evening.