Critical mass.

This is exactly how I answer when people ask me why it took me 48 years to come out if I’d known since I was at least 6.

I may have known I was a girl back then but the whole damn world was pretty bloody insistent that I wasn’t. And so I figured I must be wrong. I worked hard to conjure rationalisations for the thoughts and feelings I had.

But then came a moment of retrospection that focused on my history with gender variance and there, plainly, was a critical mass of evidence, culled from a lifetime of denial, that made that one central fact inescapable - I’m transgender.

The weight of every aspect of society presses against us. But that does not mean it’s right.

I’m glad we both shed those shackles, Emma, love. Because the only moment that would have been too late is the one after out last breath.

Much love, many hugs

Abbie.

Capricious by name, steadfast by nature. Trans femme dyke. Smutsmith. Provocateur. Poet. Idiot. Kicking names and taking ass.

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