My life, like most people's, is composed of many different chapters and roles. I am biologically a 49-year-old person of Filipino descent. In drag queen years, I am a 28-year-old Seattle host and entertainer who has worked everywhere from bars and pageant stages to community fundraisers and corporate events. Most recently, I am a nine-month-old male-to-female Transgender woman.

Depending on the day or night, or the people I am with, I can flow between all three parts of my life, weaving back and forth effortlessly. Somedays, I feel 49, complete with midlife aches and pains but with the confidence of someone who has been around the block a few times and doesn't really care about the little things anymore.

But as someone going through a second puberty due to hormone replacement therapy (HRT), I also feel like I've turned 21 all over again, figuring out myself as a straight-identified transwoman trying to (re)find my place in the world, maintain friendships, and date men in a COVID world.

For this special Pride issue of the SGN, I was invited to write about my experiences as a Transgender woman who transitioned publicly with the support of my chosen family and community. My life continues to be filled with highs and lows — not only impacted by COVID, civil unrest, and contested elections but also a set of new challenges that I assume anyone newly living their life as their authentic selves would face. One of my biggest lessons has been getting to know my newly Transgender self, GS Matencio.

Like most entertainers this past year, I've had to adapt and learn how to captivate an audience in the virtual medium, and I'm appreciative to have been invited to host a few LGBTQ+ events. But the pandemic was a perfect time to be alone with my thoughts and take a break from being out in public. Living alone for two months, not seeing anyone, I had the freedom to explore my true self. In the eternal tug-of-war between my male and female selves, the female side finally won. Soon after, in June of 2020, I began the legal process to change my identity.

For my name, I chose GS, short for Gaysha Starr, as I use that to sign off on all my social media posts anyway, and it's androgynous — I don't look like a typical Becky, Jennifer, or Lauren. I also wanted to keep my last name, to honor my family.

I am changing

Often people associate Transgender people with physical changes, as those are the most apparent. But we should all talk openly about and support the mental and emotional changes too, because those are the most important ones to celebrate, as they require the most work daily.

So in addition to the physical changes I experienced, I have also been trying to manage the emotional and intellectual ones, especially as the HRT and other daily experiences have changed me with each step I take as my new nine-month-old self.

To be honest, I wasn't sure how my life was going to change after coming out. I think I expected it to be like in the movies, when the lead actress get a makeover and it seems that everything should go her way — but it still doesn't. Instead, I'm very lucky that I have a career with a company and health benefits that afford me the ability to live the life I do and transition safely. Overpriced apartment on Capitol Hill? Check. Reliable car so I don't have to take public transportation? Check. Money for food, water, and cocktails? Check. Modest savings, 401(k), and a few credit cards for emergencies? Check.

In the early stages of the pandemic, I learned who was comfortable seeing one another and who was not — and that if one did not really make the effort to keep relationships going, they would eventually crack. On the flip side, I also had a few of the most important people come into my life who never really knew Gaysha, entering my pandemic bubble just in time to meet GS.

But I still feel like I still spend quite a bit of time alone with my thoughts, feeling all kinds of high highs and low lows.

Who do I want to be (now that I've grown up)?

One of the first lessons I continue to learn is figuring out what I want to look like when presenting as a woman. The beauty standards that all people try to obtain can be hard to achieve as we chase perfection by looking to celebrities, advertising, magazines, the news, social media, television, and movies. For Transgender people, it's even another challenge, as we are first trying to physically identify as the gender we were not assigned at birth, and then trying to "pass" or not get clocked as we lead our day-to-day lives — sometimes for vanity, but also for emotional reasons and personal safety.

The beautiful and special thing about Transgender people is that how we come out and how we express our authentic selves are different — no two people's journeys are the same. While for personal reasons not everyone who is Transgender will choose to undergo physical changes, most do choose to alter themselves, starting with hormone or testosterone treatment, depending on their gender identity, and then leading up to surgery.

Some of the dangers, however, include self-dosing or prescriptions that are not supervised by a medical professional, as well as underground surgeons that are not professionally trained, work in unsanitary conditions, and/or cannot help with any post-surgery follow-up. Nonetheless, some Transgender people will do whatever it takes to go under the knife in order to ultimately feel like the best versions of themselves, or that is all they can afford.

Only recently have I allowed myself to think about surgery. I know how far I will go (top surgery) and what I am not planning to do (bottom surgery and facial feminization surgery). I am undecided on any hip or other surgeries.

Outside looking in

I started to do drag in 1993, when I was 21. I was told for the first decade or so that I was "fish" and could "pass." Maybe in my early twenties, it was easier, when I could eat anything, my skin was naturally producing collagen, and the beauty idols back then were larger-than-life '90s supermodels. The wigs were shaggy bangs in my eye, and lots of disposable fashions from the bebe and BCBG sale racks were designer knockoffs.

As I got into my mid-thirties and mid-forties, I accidentally found my niche: looking like a cast member of a Real Housewife franchise, playing the role of "divorcee-on-my-third-looking-for-my- fourth." The hair got bigger, the Spanx doubled, and — as I started working in designer stores — the clothes got brighter, shinier and more accessible (thanks to an employee discount). For a while, I submitted to the self-inflicted pressures of social media and brand creation, and I never wore the same thing twice.

Once I started to feel it was time to address my dysphoria between male and female and get serious about my transition, especially in the last three years, I started to have another kind of dysphoria, this time between Gaysha Starr and GS. I spent the ages of 21 to 47 being Gaysha and knew everything about her — but I didn't know GS very well.

I am in awe when looking at photos of myself from one year ago compared to now, as I continue to figure out what I want to look like. Thanks to a year of electrolysis combined with hormone therapy, my facial hair fell out, allowing me to avoid using heavy pan stick makeup. Now, I just use two different colors of concealer and a translucent powder so you can see my freckles. Instead of "baking my face" and contouring like a Kardashian, it's softer and rounder. My false eyelashes are wispier, and I am finding a balance with makeup: applying enough to feel polished and professional, especially for my work as the store director of a luxury retailer, but not so much that I look like I'm going on stage.

Sometimes, I occasionally wonder if more makeup will make me look "more real," but I think it will just help me hide who I really am: a newly out Transgender woman transitioning in a COVID world.

I used to spend a fortune on nail glue and press-on nails and just pop my nails off, damaging my nail beds. Now, I make sure my nude manicure is done every two weeks so they don't look too grown out — and I wonder if I could get away with an extra week, just to save some cash.

Also, thanks to the HRT, the balding in the back of my head stopped, and hair even started to grow in, helping me to feel more secure about my ability to present my femininity using my own hair. To offset my receding hairline in front, though, my good friend cut bangs with one precise snip this past spring, which suddenly took ten years off my appearance and instantly softened my features.

It also shaved probably another 20 minutes off my makeup process, as all I do is wash it a few times a week and flat-iron it. On some of my days off, I don't wear makeup and just throw my hair up. While I may not look like woman, I still feel like one to my core.

With the time I save getting ready, I can now do other things, like snooze, cuddle with my pup Nico, or plan out my day, rather than be in the mirror for two hours. When I do get ready, I now listen to self-help podcasts rather than a song on repeat.

Clothes do not make the woman

I naively thought that it was going to be an easy transition from my drag wardrobe to my "everyday" clothes, and that it would be realistic to appear like a Real Housewife every day. I assumed that the bright clothes in my walk-in closet and those shelves of stilettos would be comfortable and that I would want the same attention that they brought to me when I entered a Gay bar with my friends as in those places still at 50% capacity.

However, as I shopped for my new wardrobe, I racked up charges on my credit cards for clothes in darker, neutral colors and for tailored pieces that were more suited to a different kind of self- expression. My closet is a now a comfortable mix of high and low. As of late, I have learned the benefits and comfort of wearing day-off leggings and sports bras, an off-the-shoulder hoodie, and Nikes, living out my own Lululemon U Village stroller mom fantasy. The funny thing is that I wear the same five comfortable things over and over each week, in synch with the employee dry cleaning schedule.

But one of the hardest parts of presenting full-time the way I choose to is wearing multiple undergarments, in order to feel snatched in the waist. After being in them for a full day, I get welts and scarring. During the holidays, though, I gained weight and began to get naturally curvier, so for practical reasons and comfort, I now only wear Spanx when I must.

I don't pad my hips and backside the way I do in drag, so sometimes I will use a belt to create a waist, and this fall I will probably begin to waist-train with a corset.

Another challenge is wearing shoes that make my women's size 11 feet look not so big but that are still comfortable. I try not to wear flats, as I feel too masculine in them; I feel more feminine and in charge wearing heels.

(What I find ironic is that I do not often change the pitch of my voice to be higher or softer, as for now it takes too much effort to both concentrate on the content of a conversation and adjust how I sound.)

Regardless of what clothes and how much makeup I wear, I like most people, also try not to fall into the trap of overfiltering photos I post on my social media so that, instead of feeling better, I end up chasing an impossible version of myself that I will never be able to live up to. I also am not sure how I feel about the number of selfies I take and post and the content I curate, as I am still trying to figure out my transition publicly.

I chalk up some of my insecurities to my second puberty — and that, like most newly out people, I am in a phase of self-discovery and growth. I am on the path of accepting that I am going to not look like my drag persona Gaysha Starr. I will always be thankful for her chapter — but I am also proudly writing a new one as GS Matencio.