On Monday, I wore jeans to work as usual.
On Tuesday, I thought sod it: the weather's nice and sunny, I'm a
woman and there's no reason why I shouldn't wear a skirt to work. I
somehow took a step back in my confidence a few years ago when I
went from almost exclusively wearing skirts to almost exclusively
wearing trousers. So I wore one of my ankle-length skirts. This wasn't a
particularly good idea considering how much harder it made it to
walk up the hill where I live, on top of me being slightly nervous
and paranoid that I looked too masculine to pull it off.
So on Wednesday and Thursday, I wore one of my denim miniskirts
instead. I could walk properly, and it showed off my knee-high wedge
boots much better. (If the opinion of a co-worker from a previous
job was any indication, apparently my legs were worth showing off,
too.) Whenever I looked in the mirror, I thought I looked attractive.
Sexy, even. I think I was worried about whether it was too short
more than about whether people realised I was a woman. It wasn't
too short, anyway. I could only just touch my black opaque tights
with my fingertips if I put my arms at my sides.
I think this week was the first time I'd ever worn a skirt to my
current job, and I've been working there for over two years now.
After so long feeling jealous of other women who were more confident
than I had become, I finally just did it and decided to look nice;
attractive; desirable. I felt confident and liked how I looked.
Maybe I am an attractive young woman after all. I didn't appear
to be getting any strange looks from passers by, at least. For the
first time in years, I was smiling to strangers not out of politeness,
but because I was genuinely happy. Some even smiled back. I vividly
remember a woman with platted pigtails giving me a lovely, warm smile
as I left the train on the commute back home.
On Friday, I wore jeans again, for variety. I'm sure I'll wear
skirts much more often from now on though, if not quite exclusively
this time. While walking to the station, the woman who returned my
smile on the train the previous day pulled up in her car and offered
me a lift. I wouldn't normally accept a lift from a stranger, but
she had such an honest face and such a warm smile that I accepted
her offer. We got talking and I gave her my e-mail address. By the
end of the day we'd sent a few e-mails back and forth. It turns out
she's a vegan too, which is a pretty amazing coincidence. I appear
to have made a new friend just by being confident and happy.
On Saturday, I went shopping for some more clothes, including another
short skirt. After all these years, I'm still not entirely used to
the freedom of being able to wear clothes that suit me without being
hassled. Every time I shop for clothes, though, I get slightly less
nervous about seeming out of place. I'm finally even starting to
enjoy the experience, like I ought to.
Sometimes cisgendered people ask transsexuals how they knew their
journey had finally come to an end, when they had finally fully
transitioned. It's been years since I had the main surgery. I'll
let you know if I ever stop being nervous because of my past.