Devon Price began taking low-dose hormones in May 2018. Their voice deepened, their muscles became more toned. The 35-year-old Chicago resident was finally able to embrace a transgender identity. However, something felt off.
But what?
Price transitioned, detransitioned, then transitioned again. They believe that there isn’t enough discussion about detransitioning, perhaps due to a fear of delving too deeply into a topic that has become politically sensitive. By sharing their story, they hope to change that.
“As a trans person, you’re essentially grappling with the question, ‘Am I going to regret this?’ I believe the majority of us are,” says Price, author of “Unlearning Shame”. According to Price, anti-trans movements exacerbate the looming fear of transition regret.
“In transition: “There’s immense pressure on many of us to present our narrative to the public in as tidy a way as possible, that we always knew, since childhood, that transitioning immediately made us feel better about ourselves, that life was significantly better afterward,” Price says. “We’re trying to sell the public on this idea that we deserve bodily autonomy because we truly, truly needed it, or we were going to die. And we’re 100% better once we achieve that autonomy. But life isn’t always that clear-cut, especially for marginalized groups.”
Although the exact detransition rate is unknown, research shows that people detransition because of familial and societal pressures, not because they wake up and realize they’re not trans, as anti-trans groups may suggest.
“It’s just better for everyone involved if we don’t treat detransition as this scary taboo, that it’s just a person experimenting and exploring their bodily autonomy,” Price says. “To transition and then detransition is not the end of the world. And it’s not the end of the world to detransition, and then transition again; that’s sometimes the cost of finding yourself in a world that doesn’t fully accept you.”
Transition looks different for everyone. Some people opt for social transitions, such as dressing more in line with their gender identity, while others choose hormone therapy or surgery to align their physical appearance with their gender identity.
“We know that for transgender people, supportive care is beneficial over time,” says Dr. Joshua D. Safer, executive director of the Mount Sinai Center for Transgender Medicine and Surgery and committee member of the World Professional Association for Transgender Health. “Additionally, we observe that individuals receiving medical care sometimes pause or slow down those treatments for various reasons, including experiencing effects more rapidly than anticipated or due to negative reactions from those around them. Each person’s journey is unique, and that’s okay.” A recent National Center for Transgender Equality study found that out of 92,000 transgender individuals surveyed, 94% felt satisfied post-transition.
For Price, as their body changed with hormones, so did others’ perceptions of them. They were acutely aware that some people were unsure of how to interact with them based on their appearance. Additionally, they wondered if anyone would find them attractive.
Price sheds light on what some transgender individuals may not want to discuss: there are few black-and-white realities in life. That includes transitioning.
“Despite the physical benefits that transitioning provided for me, I also had concerns and doubts about how others perceived me. Would these have severe, detrimental social consequences?” Price says.
Their fears consumed them, and by the summer of 2020, amidst the confinement of the COVID crisis and the escalating discourse about transgender individuals, they halted hormone therapy. However, less than a year later, they resumed it, driven by concerns about laws aimed at restricting gender-affirming care in the U.S. Why?
They received their COVID vaccine, found community among transgender and queer individuals, and sought solace in queer spaces and gay bars. They found comfort. They found acceptance.
“It also meant that I could envision a future for myself again,” they say. “2020 was definitely a time where it felt like there was no future, and that I was trapped. And because there was nothing to look forward to on the other side, transitioning almost didn’t feel worthwhile.
Price began to understand how transformative thinking could be in their life. Instead of succumbing to fear, they say, “That really empowered me to actually take hold of what I wanted for myself and be motivated out of desire and passion and hope for the future.” They feel more comfortable expressing both their masculine and feminine sides.
“I’m growing my hair out a little bit,” they say, “and while I’m still on a high dose of testosterone, I still appreciate the deeper voice, the body hair, the muscles, the libido, and everything else that comes with it.”
In case you missed it: Transgender rights are under attack. But trans people just want to thrive and survive.
It’s not a linear journey for many people,” Price says. “And I don’t think the standard should be one where people need to be completely certain in what they’re doing all the time.”
