godmother of my people. Her book, Gender Outlaw, pulled away the layers of emotional cotton I had wrapped around my problems. At the time, I was living in Portland, Oregon with my partner and our kids, trying to stave off despair. I had also reconnected with an old flame, Andrea, who told me that whatever I did about my gender, she would be “consummately okay.” Brayden, meanwhile, wanted me to grow my hair longer and wear nice ladylike pantsuits to events, perhaps to compensate for my insistence on boxer briefs. In March, I moved to a tiny sideways apartment in New York with Andrea. By mid-April, we had arrived at my new name. Then came our research phase, trying to find out how this would all happen. I bought a lot of books and scoured the internet for guidance and role models. At the time, I wasn’t sure I would ever start hormones, but I knew that getting rid of my breasts through what trans guys call “top surgery” would be a good start.