Doctor Who and Embracing Change

There comes a time in every Whovian’s life where they have to embrace change. After a death-defying adventure, The Doctor starts to glow, and you feel a pit in your stomach because you know what’s about to happen...the Doctor, and quite possibly your Doctor, is about to regenerate. If you're not familiar with the series, Regeneration is a neat trick The Doctor possesses, where they can cheat death by exploding with energy to form a new body. Instead of dying, they live on. New era.

Usually, it takes a few episodes for me to grieve the loss of the previous Doctor and to truly get into the flow of the new actor. There is always a distinct moment where I connect with the actor and think, “Yes. THAT is MY Doctor.” I thought it would take at least a season for me to get used to any new incarnation after the loss of my beloved 12th Doctor, played by Peter Capaldi. But I was wrong. In the episode “The Woman Who Fell to Earth,” Jodie Whittaker made her debut as the 13th regeneration of The Doctor. In this episode, The Doctor herself is still coming to terms with her regeneration and getting used to her new form—at the time, this was the first female incarnation of The Doctor. I related to her awkward fumbling around in the oversized outfit still worn by her previous incarnation. It made me think of how wearing dresses to certain events made me feel like I was wearing a costume of a person I was expected to be, even though I no longer related to that version of myself.

But the true moment that gave me chills and connected me with this version of The Doctor was when she explained that “[…] we’re all capable of the most incredible change. We can evolve while still staying true to who we are.” In that moment, I felt so understood.

I wrote this back when I hit the milestone of one year on testosterone. At the time I was eager for all the changes, inside and out, but I was surprised by a profound feeling of familiarity. I felt myself returning to roots I thought I had long withered away. The more I explore and unpack about my gender, the more I feel like I am uncovering parts of myself that I lost along the way through puberty and the expectations and roles that came with it. Yes, I have changed and continue to change, but even so, I am staying true to my core.

A similar sentiment is brought up by Matt Smith’s 11th incarnation of The Doctor during his regeneration scene in “The Time of The Doctor.” This quote still gives me chills when I think of it: “We are all different people all through our lives, and that’s okay, that’s good. You’ve got to keep moving so long as you remember all the people that you used to be.” For the longest time, I felt ashamed of my past, as if I was being disingenuous by not coming to terms with my gender identity earlier, when in reality, I was just figuring myself out. All the previous versions of myself remain a part of me—lessons, achievements, precious memories, and much more! Not only did it help me find more love and respect for who I used to be, but it also reminded me that change is a normal part of life. Sometimes, my anxiety latches on to anti-trans rhetoric and makes me feel like the world sees me as this alien. But change is a part of life, alien and human alike, as my favorite alien, The Doctor, and his many human companions demonstrate over and over again.

Dust Yourself Off

“Okay, I know this person keeps taking me for granted, and I’m always disappointed when I give them another chance to treat me better. But I really care about them and I truly believe things will be different this time. I’ll give them another chance. A final chance. A final-inal-inal-inal chance!”

“I’m sure they don’t mean to hurt me. They’re complicated!”

“I know I’ve brought it up with them before and history keeps repeating itself but they just need reminding. Maybe they don’t know that they’re causing me pain…”

Sound familiar? It does to me. It can be a good thing, seeing the best in people. I truly believe people deserve time and patience to improve themselves. I’m grateful for the people who didn’t give up on me during my low points, and I like to be that person who always roots for others too. But… There’s always a “but” in there somewhere, isn’t there? In this case, the ‘but’ entails a whole lot of circling the drain. Sometimes I find myself giving chances over and over again and reliving the same disappointment and heartbreak repeatedly. The cycle never ends. I don’t let it. I just let it pick away at my sanity and self-worth.

I always thought the saying “pick yourself up and dust yourself off” was a bit harsh. It reminded me of a kid clumsily hurting themselves, and instead of consoling them and helping them, the cruel phrase “pick yourself up and dust yourself off!” is barked at them. Dismissing their pain and forcing them to internalize it all. But lately, I’ve been seeing this scene play out differently in my mind. What if the kid was pushed down by a bully? Yes, they’d cry for a while, but the bully won’t be the one to help them back up again. Eventually, even if begrudgingly, the kid will have to get up by themselves.

I’ve caught myself sleeping in too late, falling out of my routine, skipping meals, scrapping the habits that bring me peace and just overall ruminating on words that cut me deep while sinking deeper and deeper into self loathing. Completely disregarding the concerned messages from people who care about me, unconditionally. All because I got my heart broken by people whose conditions entail “all you have to do is sacrifice your authenticity, comfort, and happiness. Only then will you be worthy of our love and respect.” Easy, right?

So back to the fallen child. Muddy and cold. I realized that my inner child is surrounded by love and care but he’ll never believe that he’s worthy of that love until he extends love to himself. Otherwise, he’ll always shy away from and trivialize the uplifting words of people who genuinely care about him.

I never write because I think I’ve got everything figured out. I write because I don’t. I write because even the lessons life teaches me can be forgotten if my glasses are rosy enough. I need reminding, and maybe you do too.

When you’re hurting, you can’t rely on the people who caused the pain to make you feel better. You’ll be weeping in the dirt for a long time. Maybe one day they do come around, but waiting for them to show remorse for the pain they’ve caused can put your healing on hold. Why give them control over how you feel? It’s better to take charge of your own emotions, focus on self-nurturing, and grow from the experience. That way, you get to walk away to brighter days. So, yes, feel your feelings but keep in mind that you’re gonna have to find the strength within yourself to pick yourself up and dust yourself off.

Nice to Meet You

“Hi, I’m Stiles, nice to meet you!”

I recite the greeting a few times in the mirror, like many times before, but this time it feels different. There’s a hint of excitement, and dare I say it, self-confidence instead of the dread and social anxiety I usually feel when I hype myself up to meet a group of new people. I take a minute to inspect the person staring back at me in the full-length mirror. The smile on his face feels warm and comfortable; his eyes are even smiling along, unlike the forced Joker-esque grin I’m used to seeing. His hand is stretched out for a handshake – even his hands look different, the bones I used to see sticking out have been covered with healthy weight, and a few veins can be spotted in their place. I like looking at them now, my hands. I used to examine them trying to form a connection but they felt like they belonged to someone else. Now, I admire them and everything they went through. The scratches from playing with my cats, the callouses from lifting weights, they tell a story – my story! I move my gaze up and marvel at the little wispy chin hairs and dirt ‘stache that have become my pride and joy over the last five months. Even the acne on my chin from my skin not being used to shaving yet excites me. I don’t feel stuck anymore. I’m moving forward, changing. Finally.

I breathe a deep sigh of relief, adjust my collar, fluff up my hair, and recite a few more greetings: “Hi, I’m Stiles!” “Hey, Stiles.” Clearing my throat in between mock introductions.

My girlfriend, Skye, and I have been invited to a game night tonight. This might sound like a casual get-together with friends, but, to me, it’s a huge milestone. This will be my first time meeting a group of new people after starting testosterone and presenting more male. I’ve been so fortunate to have the most supportive and loving people in my inner circle who have been so onboard every step of my transition that, so far, I never really had to worry about meeting new people and how I might be received. “You’re nonbinary? Cool, my first nonbinary friend – they’re the best!” “You want me to use he/him pronouns now? Will do!” “You’re a trans guy? I’m so excited for you, dude!” “New name, you say? I think it suits you, Stiles!”

I clear my throat and do a few tricks I’ve picked up from the Internet to stretch my vocal cords so I can speak in a lower register (which is lower than I used to be able to go – getting there!) – “Hey, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Stiles!”

Another deep breath, and I’m ready to go. Skye and I get there before anyone else, which gives us time to catch up with our friends who invited us, acclimate, and get acquainted with the household pets – ah yes, pets, the introvert’s best friends at a house party. We cuddle the bunnies and share funny anecdotes about our pets. “The bunnies grunt when they’re feeling grumpy” “Haha, our cat Twig always twitches his tail when he’s grumpy!”.

All of a sudden there’s a knock on the door which spikes my heart rate, and I can feel my immune system preparing to hunt (or be hunted) by a lion. It’s times like these I envy people who don’t have to deal with anxiety draining your soul even in the most mundane situations like a fun game night with a group of chill people. I take another deep breath while the hosts greet their guests and get ready to introduce myself. I recite “Hi, I’m Stiles. Nice to meet you” in my head as I walk over as nonchalantly as possible. Oh yeah, super chill. Mr. Cool, that’s me alright. “I don’t know how you do it, you’re so good with people,” I’ve had people say to me before. If only they knew about the hotchpotch of panic and worst-case scenarios speed running through my head at every moment during any social interaction ever. Good to know you can really fake it till you make it. When I become too overwhelmed, I remind myself of these compliments because clearly, it’s not as noticeable to others as it feels to me. We finally get through introductions, and I only overthink about my handshake grip and method for a few minutes before more guests arrive, and more, and wow even more.

Before I know it, the game night is in full swing. Everyone is getting their drinks and grabbing a seat and starting a conversation among each other. I often get stuck in between conversations, so I listen a little here and reply a little there – become overwhelmed, beat myself up for feeling overwhelmed, gently reassure myself that it’s okay and I’ll get into the flow of things in a second, I just need to take a minute, rinse, and repeat, all with a smile on my face. Eventually though, I overhear a conversation about games “Oh that reminds me of that other apocalyptic zombie game uhm, shit, what’s the name? There was a series recently…” I hear myself chime in “The Last of Us!”. The group all turn their attention to me. My heart rate picks up again. “Yes! The Last of Us!” The conversation continues, and I mentally pat myself on the back for being such a social butterfly. I notice the household bunny hopping about; I let him sniff my hand and I gently pet him. Just as I was getting worried, I might fade back into the background after my measly contribution to the conversation one of the guys gestures to me “Hey Stiles! If you like The Last of Us, you should try Hellbound” and then another guy suggests I try “A Plague Tale”.

We play a few rounds of a word association game which was super fun – making connections between words is my jam and speculating with my group why a certain word makes more sense in the context of the clues than another was so amusing. I love seeing how everyone’s minds work; everyone has their own way of making connections which adds to the experience and makes you rethink your initial guess. In the middle of the first round my mind eases up and I can actually just enjoy myself without the overthinking clouding the conversation. The rest of the night goes by in a flash of laughter and engaging conversation. My girlfriend and I check-in with one another every now and then “Look at us! We’re being social and having fun!” we telepathically communicate with a reassuring smile, nod, or wink.

At 11 pm someone brings attention to the time, and I can tell everyone is about to say their goodbyes. On the other side of the room, I can hear a group still recounting a funny moment during the last game we played before people started to pack their things and find their car keys. “It was so funny; I saw they were expecting Stiles might be the wolf, but she was trying her best to hide it”

She She SHE

Damn it.

The floodgates open, and a million thoughts race through my mind at once: “Just gently chime in ‘oh, you mean he’ it’s fine everyone is so nice and chill” “No, it’ll make things uncomfortable.” “But now you’re uncomfortable and he just didn’t know is all.” “I thought everyone was seeing me as a guy. I’m almost certain I heard people use he for me earlier.” “Maybe you misheard, and they’ve just been seeing you as a girl.” “Maybe you look like you’re trying too hard.” “What does that even mean? Trying too hard?” “It means you’ll never be seen as a guy and you’ll just have to live with the discomfort that comes with it forever.”

I feel a hand on my shoulder, it pulls me back to reality for a moment. “Sorry babs, it’s okay. We’ll tell him later, okay?” Skye already read my face and knows what’s going on in my head. “Yeah, it’s okay, I’m definitely okay!” I nod. Knowing I’ll definitely torture myself for not saying something in the moment later.

I notice the mood change in the room, it’s subtle but everyone’s attention is shifted to me. My palms feel sweaty, and I can feel myself losing focus, drifting somewhere far away.

Damn it!!

As everyone is getting up to leave, one of the guys approaches me: “Sorry, can I just ask. Is it…” I know what he’s trying to carefully ask so I interrupt slightly “Oh, it’s he/him” with a reassuring smile that says: I appreciate you asking, you’re not being rude. “Oh, you transitioned?” he asks. “I err, am, transitioning…currently.” I reply. He nods approvingly while I try to focus my attention on the moment and away from the onslaught of thoughts. Suddenly the atmosphere softens. All the guys come over to shake my hand and say their goodbyes making sure to make extra eye contact and enthusiastically pat my back in that bro-manner. No one had to say anything further, the gesture was there. They see me. I’ve got nothing to prove.

Later that night as Skye and I were getting ready for bed, we received a voicenote in between my fifth “Did I make things weird?” and fourth “But everyone seemed chill, right?”. The message was from the guy who used she. “I hope I didn’t make Stiles too uncomfortable. Could you pass this on to him? When I met him, I just assumed he was a guy, but then you mentioned my boyfriend and I weren’t the only queer people in the group and Stiles and Skye were too, so I thought dang not me the gay guy assuming pronouns maybe he uses she??” Turns out he was worried that he was misgendering me by using “he” and switched to “she” to be respectful. We laughed over the situation and thanked him for the voicenote. I showered off the jitters and went to bed thinking about how all the guys assumed I was a cis guy but when they found out I was trans they gave me extra firm handshakes and bro hugs. Gestures to reassure me. This doesn’t change how we see you.

I entered the party feeling nervous and shaky. I left feeling refreshed. As a visibly queer person I’ve grown accustomed to reading the room, watching my surroundings, being careful. In a world indoctrinated against you, it can be a scary place for a queer person. It’s important to follow the light – and there will be light when you look for it. You’ll be surprised how much kindness and love is out there for you!

Confetti

I’ve come to realize that, from the moment I was able to grasp a pen and paper, my life has unfolded as a perpetual cycle of losing my mind and reconstructing it on the pages (or screen) before me. Recently, I find myself back on track, piecing things together.

Following a particularly hazy day, I decided to randomly select a notebook from my collection of half-used journals and dive into it. However, not before purging some notably outdated and, in hindsight, cringe-worthy entries. This cleansing process, though, left the notebook in a state of disarray. Consequently, I opted to channel my inner scrapbooker, a hobby long forgotten among many, and unleash my creativity. But first, I needed glue.

It was in the stationary aisle that the train of thought leading to this blog entry was set in motion. While searching for glue, my eyes quickly caught sight of a paper punch, triggering a childhood memory that, like most of my recollections, left me pondering, “…why did I do that?” I reminisced about a ritual I had when crafting gifts for my family. I would meticulously draw and color a picture—often a landscape or anthropomorphic creature. Once satisfied with the level of detail and pizzazz, I’d fold it in half multiple times, grab a paper punch, and go to TOWN.

I transformed my artwork into confetti— not all of it, but a significant portion. I’d be left with the essence of a picture, one that could make a trypophobic person’s skin crawl. I’d then place it in a box or tupperware, grandma’s glasses case, an old coffee can…whatever I could find. Finally, and crucially, I’d vigorously shake it before presenting the gift.

The only other vivid memory is the sense of offense or betrayal if I didn’t receive the grandiose reaction I anticipated when someone received my hole-y gift, my dadaist creation of confetti and suns wearing sunglasses, or was it a dog riding on the hood of a car? I can’t quite discern it now, but trust me, it’s innovative and demanded a considerable amount of time and effort, so you’d better be awestruck!

Though I can’t entirely comprehend my motivations for this ritual now, I believe this memory serves as a fitting metaphor for what creating art signifies to me. Whether it’s written, drawn, or played on an instrument, it feels like the only way for me to gather all the scattered pieces of my mind, heart, and soul. Sometimes, I even catch a glimpse of the bigger picture. And if not, well, at least I get to revel in the confetti that remains.

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