July 18, 2025

The following is a post from earlier this year that I am putting here as a test.

July 18, 2025

In February 2024, I posted about my near brush with death, and the joy and frustrations of recovery. This was what I said:

I felt so sure that I was going to turn over a new leaf and start fixing the problems that had been burdening me even before I became ill. That I would start spending more time with friends and creating more beautiful things and writing thoughtfully and using my time well.

Since then, a lot of things have changed. For me, most of them have been for the better. (For the world, not so much.) Looking at my Fitbit, around that time I was averaging less than 2500 steps a day (it was a great deal of effort to even walk). My average resting heart rate was in the high 90s (it had been in the 100s when I got out of the hospital). I had to very carefully meter out my energy for the day, and got winded easily. And I don't have weight records from then, but I would have been around 580 lbs (I left the hospital in the 590s, after arriving at 736).

This month, I've cleared 5000 steps every day, and my resting heart rate average this month was 80 bpm. I'm around 500 lb and my last blood test showed that my diabetes is well-controlled and my kidney and liver function is normal. I have to work a lot harder now to get my heart rate up – I actually have to exercise, rather than just moving – and I'm comfortable getting around, going for walks, going to social things in new places, and so on. My cardiovascular fitness is still far lower than it should be, but it's improving.

I've also regained confidence in my work (after quite a lot of struggle), although I'm still worried about the long-term prospects of a career in tech amid the economic clusterfuck the regime is inflicting on us. And, generally speaking, my mood and mental health are far improved.

Which leads me to the biggest thing that's changed, which might have been spoiled by the byline. In June, after months of exploration and experimentation, I came to the conclusion that I was transgender and wished to transition to living as a woman. Once I made this decision, I acted pretty quickly on it, because I felt completely certain about it but I also am very good at talking myself out of doing things that I know I should do. As of last Friday, I'm out to everyone, and living as Marcy.

I could write about this at novel length, and I do intend to write more about it in the future, but there's a few things I want to mention now.

This is a scary time to transition. To put it simply, the federal government of the United States thinks that I'm insane, morally corrupt, and a presumptive sex predator, and is actively working to legally oppress me and others like me. I don't know how much of a claim I have to sanity, but I can say that transitioning has made me feel the most sane that I ever have been. For the first time in my adult life, I can look into a mirror and see my reflection and be happy and satisfied with who I see looking back. I am very lucky to live in a solidly blue state in one of the most progressive cities in America, and also to be working for an employer in a blue state that has not been cowed by the regime into a retreat on social progress.

The fear of persecution certainly fit into my analysis, but I came to three conclusions:

I would not let vile men like Donald Trump, Pete Hegseth, Stephen Miller, Elon Musk, and Mike Johnson make decisions for me.

If things continue to decline, I am going to need to be as emotionally and physically strong as I can be, and transitioning has been a source of incredible inner strength.

If things get bad enough that they're coming for trans people here, it would be the height of cowardice for me to hide behind cis conformity when so many people that I love and care about are being hurt. They can come for me first.

I am unbelievably fortunate. Not a single person in my life has reacted badly to this news. A few very close friends have asked questions to understand how certain I was, and my parents are still sorting through their feelings, but I have not been afraid to tell anyone. Friends, former colleagues, current coworkers, everybody has been supportive and shared in my joy. (I've noticed my coworkers going out of their way to greet me by my new name.) The process of changing my preferred name and pronouns at work was resolved within a few days (and the main obstacles were technical). Living in Portland, I feel comfortable and safe dressing and presenting as female outside, in public places, restaurants, going to women's clothing stores, etc. I also haven't had any trouble accessing healthcare.

This is as it should be. What I'm doing is harmless to anyone, and it makes me happier than I've been for most of my life. And yet, every day I am reminded that things could be so much different. I have friends who live in red states and don't feel safe transitioning, or have to frequently conceal their transition. I have friends with non-accepting family members, even abusive ones, or who were disowned. I have friends on disability, who can't afford the expenses I've been able to handle (both medical and social, like buying new clothes). I know that right now, countless thousands of people like me are at daily risk of being harassed, fired, persecuted, dispossessed, abused, assaulted, or killed for who they are.

Transitioning has made me a more integrated, whole person, and I've begun to find meaning and purpose where there once was just kind of fuzzy gray noise. One of the things that gives me purpose right now is my commitment to the struggle – both to pick up and shield the vulnerable from the danger they're facing right now, and to fight for a better world where everybody's transition can be as joyful as mine has been.

The end of "I'll deal with it later." My life has been spent kicking the can down the road. It's not like I haven't faced challenges and overcome them, but so many things I've just closed my ears to and ignored, or let fester until I have no choice but to resolve them. Many times in my life I've had thoughts like "once I'm thinner and healthier and more secure in my life I can experiment with androgyny". I've thought "I don't feel comfortable being a man but the idea that I might be trans is scary, I'll deal with that later". When I got out of the hospital, I still had some idea that I was going to basically pupate for 5 years or so until I came out healthy, reasonably fit, and ready to have a life.

I understand now that this is a recipe for madness. You don't make yourself better so you can live your life. You live your life and make yourself better in the process. I'm turning 39 in October. I'm still fat, disabled, and not a particularly convincing woman at my best. I still have social anxiety and bad habits. I don't care! I'm happy. I'm getting better. And I'm not going to waste any more time.

The long-term prognosis for heart failure isn't great, although I'm an atypical case and all the signs are positive for me. I could get worse at any time. I could have a heart attack, a stroke, a bad fall. Hell, I could get hit by a car. However long I have left – I hope a lot – I'm going to do it in a way where, after my passing, whoever comes across this post and reads it will nod and say "she made the best of it."