It's so often the case that the last 5% of a project takes 50% of the total time spent. Normally, I'd think of this heuristic in the context of my work (a policy analyst), but I've been thinking about it lately in terms of healing.

No, not from the surgery itself (that's happening about as near to the time frame I was advised by the clinic), but rather from the bed sore I acquired while there.

While most of everything is healed up, the area with the absolute worst of the damage has stubbornly remained somewhat red and raw for what feels like weeks. This is in spite of me not sitting, sleeping on my side, (mostly) keeping it covered and polysporin-ed, and bathing and fully drying three times per day.

Back To Electro

Yet in spite of this, I'm heading back to restart electrolysis again today. I know I will be fine, bandaged up, and won't be putting direct pressure on it, but still, I'm a little apprehensive.

Still, none of that compares to the growing discomfort with feeling like I'm "falling behind" on getting hair under control. While this continues to be my face, it has teamed up with other hair to remind me of things Id rather not be.

Update: 3pm: No. I sat back just a little far while in the bath this afternoon, felt a jolt of pain, and couldn't help but continue to feel is as I got closer to having to leave. Instead of risking it, I cancelled, committing to the penalty instead. Next week should be better.

It's Got My Number

Reading Carrion Crow and writing this blog on my side (so as to avoid sitting) sort caused me to think about the whole weight thing.

Not so much in terms of specific kg or lb, but rather in how I've found ways in which, without deliberately identifying (or even measuring) it, to triangulate the narrow range of BMI for which I am considered good. Worthy. Not a problem. One of the good ones. Maybe even a little more attractive for it.

During a good run, I have the confidence and self possession to not care so much. Other times, when I feel the need to discipline myself (to accomplish something or to assert control fore more nebulous ends) or even punish myself (for excesses real or imagined, shame, or self-loathing), I'm at risk for running headlong toward that narrow BMI band.

What's especially challenging in these cases is that it works. When I'm in that narrow band, I do feel that I'm treated better and regarded more positively.

It reminds me a little of twenty-one years ago, when I was discharged from an eating disorder clinic and returned to work after a prolonged absence. Even when sharing a bit of where I had been and why, most co-workers' reaction was... well, they sounded like my internal monologue when I was at my lowest, telling me how they apparently really felt about my pre-restriction appearance.

While I was taken aback and somewhat hurt in what I felt was a positive afterglow of recovery, I filed that nugget away: people preferred a severely anorexic Charlotte. They were kinder.

It's Not All Bad Though

Dealing with the various dysphoria sources as I can has been a real boon and my most significant defence. At least against the social drivers and reinforcing mechanisms.

I've noticed this as I proceed in social transition, living a bit more of a visible life, as I began (and adjusted) hormone treatment, and even immediately following surgery five weeks ago.

One of the promises of transition is not that it makes life better by itself, but more that it reduces dysphoria (and to an extent some aspects of dysmorphia). Reducing these feelings, in turn, frees up cognitive load for other things.

While this may be in part a just so story, it reflects my experience too. The more I deal with the sources of dysphoria (where realistic and possible), the more confidence and self-possession I seem to have.

July 21, 2026