I spent 6 years deciding when to have top surgery. It never felt like the right time. First, COVID cancelled any chance of elective surgery. Then, I always had an event coming up or a promise I made to someone else. I clearly wasn’t going to try it during van life when I didn’t have an address or AC. That experience was chaotic enough without adding in surgical recovery. 

When I finally sat down to make the call in March of 2025, I was filled with excitement. I was so ready to imagine life after top surgery. I was crushed when she told me the first available appointment was January of 2026. Disappointing, sure, but hey. I guess I waited 40 years. What was one more year? 

25 days ago, that day finally came. I had my top surgery. I knew every little detail of the surgery after reading and watching a thousand videos. I knew the type of stitches they use, what day you get the drains out, and what kind of pillows I might need to sleep sitting up. My girlfriend even had straws ready to avoid lifting my elbows above my head but there was one part I never could have expected: the feeling of seeing myself for the first time. 

See, I think I was 5 the first time I remember how good it felt to hide my hair under a hat and tuck my ponytail into my shirt. It’s not that anyone shamed me or said they were bad. I just knew that long curly hair and feminine features didn’t fit me. Like a left shoe on my right foot, I remember the discomfort of trying to conform to the code of femininity. I felt suffocated every time I had to put on a dress or makeup to fit in. 

When I decided to dive into speaking almost 20 years later, choosing clothing made me feel a parallel discomfort. I could rehearse for weeks and deliver the perfect presentation, then be disappointed when all the pictures highlighted the feminine features I hated. That discomfort showed up in how I showed up. It made me not want to attend the networking or other sessions. I was running away from that feeling I experienced all those years ago when I put on a dress. 

I don’t remember the first day I looked away but I will never forget the first time I looked myself in the eye again. Two days after surgery, I opened my surgical compression vest for the first time. I looked in the mirror at myself and cried. Past the drains, dried blood, and yellow anesthetic staining my skin, I could see myself for the first time in many years. Everything felt new. There was a light in my eyes. A light that could only be provoked by falling in love with myself again. 

When people ask me why we celebrate Pride, I’ll always think of that day. The way my eyes lit up and a smile ripped across my face. Everything feels possible after this day where I could see myself and the world the way God intended: free.