David Thomas’s transgender diary

The meltdown that began at Christmas continued into the new year. As the post-op swelling went down and my features re-emerged, all I could see was my old, male face. I became obsessed by the black dots of stubble that had suddenly reappeared around my mouth, despite years of laser treatment and electrolysis.

No matter how hard friends and family tried to tell me that I just wasn’t seeing what they were seeing, which was a very different, much more feminine appearance, I didn’t believe them.

The blues that often follow a major operation, and the emotional impact of a recently raised oestrogen dosage, hardly helped my grasp on reality.

Things came to a head at the first choir practice of the year. My fellow choristers have been nothing but supportive and accepting towards me and I’d normally love seeing everyone again. But when I did, it was a disaster.

I hated my reflection so much that it took every ounce of willpower to drag myself out of my flat, so I arrived late in a total tizz. Unable to relax, I felt cramped by the people around me. I couldn’t sing or even breathe.

I panicked. Halfway through a song, I got up and fled, just as I had from my father’s house on Christmas Day. And for the same reason: I was ashamed of myself.

Something had to be done before I cracked completely. I reached out to my friend, and fellow transwoman,

Juno Roche. She told me a harsh, but oddly comforting, truth: my terror of going out in the world in my new identity was perfectly normal. ‘It’s a tough gig,’ she said. ‘For the first year of transition, I was afraid every time I left the house. So be easy on yourself.’ Her good news for me, however, was that one’s fears were often overblown. Juno was a primary-school teacher when she transitioned. She couldn’t sleep for days before taking her first class as a woman. ‘But the kids were brilliant,’ she said. ‘And if one of them called me Sir by mistake, I’d hear all the others whispering, “You’re supposed to call her Miss!”’

Even my stubble crisis was par for the course. Many years after transitioning, Juno keeps a mirror by the front door to check for unwanted hair. ‘I was talking to a very beautiful trans actress,’ she said, ‘and she told me she still shaves every day.’

It seemed I just had to grit my teeth and get out there. I had a postoperative check-up three days away, and my surgeon, Mr Inglefield, would certainly be expecting to see a woman walk through the door of his consulting room.

But what should I wear? I began with a pair of knee-high black suede boots, with flat crêpe soles: incredibly comfortable, easy to walk in and very relaxing.

From there I worked up, ransacking wardrobes and shelves until I’d found a satisfactory combination of practicality and elegance. (I’m actually quite confident about my appearance from the neck down. My problems are, in every possible way, in my head.)

I ended up with a cream cashmere polo neck from M&S and a Toast midi-skirt in black and dark-brown stripes, topped with a long, fitted (and slimming) black quilted jacket by Me+em, all tied together by a long cream scarf.

Then I asked my lovely neighbour Maria to come over and answer the single question: ‘If you were standing on the station platform and you saw this person, what would you think?’

‘I’d think she was a woman,’ she replied. And though we chatted for ages, as we do, that was the key sentence I needed to hear.

Maria left. I went to the mirror to see how my make-up had held up over the hours since I’d put it on. I didn’t want to leave home nicely painted, only to arrive at the clinic two hours later looking like a wreck.

And then something amazing happened. I saw a new face in the mirror. It wasn’t the fright-mask I’d been looking at for the past fortnight. It was the face everyone had been telling me they could see.

It wasn’t perfect. It was still a work in progress. But it was a perfectly acceptable, normal, middle-aged female face.

She would do fine. And suddenly the clouds that had been hanging over me parted, the sun shone again, and I felt ready to face the world.

I’m actually quite confident about my appearance from the neck down. My problems are, in every possible way, in my head