Posting before-and-afters had long been a fairly popular activity for trans people. Well, at least some trans people, and at least in the social media era. Usually tied in some way to an anniversary for starting hormone replacement therapy, or when another wave of "it's never too late" hits, you don't need to spend much time around trans people before you see it.

It's never too late?

Two things are true about transition: (a) the younger you begin, the more likely you are to have a transition the brings you closer to a sort of cisgender result (especially beginning before puberty); and (b) that (a) is generally true doesn't mean you won't be pleased with your own results when you begin later.

Unfortunately, many have taken (a) to mean that there is a point - often comically young (ex. 19 or 20) - where it is too late to successfully transition and that one should just give up.

As someone who socially transitioned at 40, began HRT at 43, and had bottom surgery at 44, you may correctly imagine that I reject the premise that (a) negates (b).

Despite not giving credence to some sort of transition deadline, I don't participate in the before-and-afters.

Looking in One Direction

I have very few photos of myself from before 2022. While a major reason for this is that I didn't like being in photos while wearing the "▇▇▇▇▇ costume", an even bigger reason is that I deleted more-or-less all of what did exist.

I may have inhabited a certain identity for decades, but I don't see it as mine: it was mostly assembled from things others wanted to see in me and I wore it out of fear and for their convenience. Sure, it's all the same body and brain, but I don't (and can't) see see any "before" photo as being of me.

Not really.

▇▇▇▇▇ didn't become Charlotte. ▇▇▇▇▇ was a disguise for a Charlotte that already existed and who felt the need to hide. As such, photos made before I made myself known in 2022 are not of me and don't belong in a sequence.

Writing it out, I realize that may be interpreted as evasive, but it's consistent with my comfort. I deeply value a clean break.

Tipping the Scales

As I've written before here, I have struggled — intermittently, but for decades — with restriction, no, an eating disorder, no, anorexia, and the last time was very recently: leading up to surgery in June. I've only really come out of it since then, but while I've been doing well, the tapes tapes still play in my head. The more my healing progresses, the louder the volume gets. To make matters worse, some of the weight I'm gaining seems to be settling in places I'd prefer it didn't.

In so many ways, my physical transition is inextricably tied up with my weight. Much of how I had chosen to eat, the type and amount of alcohol I drank, and the extent to which I took care of myself pre-transition were a major part of my performance as ▇▇▇▇. Cumulatively, those resulted in me looking noticeably different than today.

As a result, I would be lying if I didn't say that I have a bit of a hard time telling the difference intuitively what HRT has contributed to my appearance, what proper hair, clothes, makeup and grooming have, and how much of it is just weight loss.

I haven't owned a scale since I was admitted to the eating disorder clinic in 2005. I was rightly urged to get rid of it, since I was not using that information responsibly and was unlikely to. They were probably right.

Because of this, I can't say for certain, but I'm reasonably confident that, at last weighing (when admitted for surgery), I was about 50-55% of my COVID-era peak.

I suppose that if my goal was to have body and mind in greater alignment, then none of those questions really matter. Who cares how I got to where I am? So long as I am (and continuing to head in the right direction), then does it matter?

On the one hand, no it doesn't.

Although dysphoria brain has different solutions than anorexia brain, neither fill the mind with reliable words and neither make for a clean mirror, so wondering if I look that different because of dysphoric feelings is listening to a voice I know to be unreliable.

At the same time, I might know that the train of self-perception is never on schedule, but when I look at myself today and remember the reflection that would look back at me when disassociation failed, the first thing I think isn't "✨🌈✨ HRT IS MAGIC!! ✨🌈✨", but rather something rather less celebratory and more uncertain.

Not really bad, like before, but more like transition feeling a bit like walking through molasses. Sticky, slow, and exhausting, wondering how I could be in last of three heats, but also knowing that if I keep going, then the complete Charlotte I picture can finally look back at me.

Until then, I've got nagging questions: is it the weight? Is my HRT effective? When does it feel like magic? Is that something people just say?

...and until then, unless you happen to have known me through transition...

August 2, 2026