Covid lockdown didn't make me trans or autistic, but it did teach me what euphoria felt like.

Lockdown allowed me to unmask for maybe the first time in my entire life and it was wonderful, but when it came time to put the mask back on, I literally couldn't. I was really worried about my mental health because of that. Turns out I maybe should have been more worried about my mental health while I was masking. It took an autistic therapist to help me piece it all together.

I haven't worn a 'proper' bra since 2020.
I took it off when i left my last shift on the ship where I had been locked in my cabin under quarantine for over a week and it never went back on. I didn't have covid but my coworker had been to India on his last shift off and had gotten sick and I was still recovering from my fourth round of walking pneumonia from strep and had a bad cough.
I had a funny feeling I'd never be returning to sea. My doctor told me to get the fuck off my ship asap, and so I did.

I've known i was non-binary for quite a long time and was pretty open about it but nothing prepared me for the feeling of not seeing my chest hoisted to my chin on a daily basis. For the first time ever I could look in the mirror and not criticize my body. I don't think i'd have put two and two together regarding dysphoria if my partner hadn't been going through her own transition, but it started to sink in more.

I started learning to sew in lockdown and found out I have an H cup chest. Before I came out as non-binary a friend referred to me as a bombshell and I wanted to die. I didn't have words for why, but i became aware the shell I had built to house my body was doing its job, and it made me so profoundly sad. It helped me realize why I consistently felt at odds in all my romantic relationships. That was when I really realized I needed to come out.

Needless to say, binding when you have a pontoon boat strapped to your chest isn't really effective, but i have a couple of compression tanks and a bandeau that i kind of use to keep things from getting too out of hand. For the moment, top surgery is covered where I live, but I have profound medical distrust after years of chronic pain and medical gaslighting, on top of all of this I was diagnosed with mecfs after my final bout of walking pneumonia and I worry about the stress of surgery on my already disregulated body at a hospital where no one masks.

I think my chest is something I've come to accept as kind of a ridiculously funny trait more than anything. It's like learning to live with a wonky front tooth or pointy ears or something. I'm never going to embody the complete androgyny I crave as an agender person, but I'm ok with my funny tits. I feel great when they hang down low, even if they make me look a little softer around the middle than I am. I found myself in so many ways over the last five years and I'm deeply grateful for that.