Faith Hockney

1. The Clean Year I Wish I’d Done Sooner

I spent decades managing my feelings in private. Pushing them down for a year or two at a time whenever life got busy or I was in a relationship. I told myself I was just being strong.

Looking back, I realise I was never really testing anything. I was only surviving until the feelings came back.

My mini version of The Clean Year were the first time I deliberately removed every amplifier at once. No porn, no cross-dressing, no masturbation, no alcohol or drugs, and almost no echo-chamber communities. Just me, my mind, and my actual body for twelve full months.

It was harder than I expected. It was also the most honest year of my life.

Have you ever had a period where the feelings went quiet? What changed during that time? I’d be interested to hear.

2. Society’s Pendulum

I wish I could sit here and promise you that once you step into the light as a trans person, the flags will keep waving and the protections will stay in place forever. I can’t make that promise.

History doesn’t care about our feelings or our morality, it only repeats its patterns. Groups that are celebrated in one era can become scapegoats in the next when economic stress, cultural backlash, or new moral panics arrive.

Coming out makes you permanently visible in a way that previous generations of gender-nonconforming people mostly avoided. That visibility can bring community and protection in calm times. It can also become a bright target when the pendulum swings.

I transitioned anyway. I pass. By every external measure I am one of the lucky ones. But I did it with my eyes open.

I want you to have the same chance, to step forward, if you choose to, with clarity rather than blind hope.

3. What Changed After Surgery

Even after all my philosophical preparation, I still wish I had done the full Clean Year before I ever touched hormones or booked surgery. Not because I regret transitioning. I don’t. But because the confidence I have now feels different from the confidence I had then.

One was hope.

The other is evidence.

The surgery itself went well. I healed. I live happily. Yet the deepest peace I feel today didn’t come from the operation. It came from the years of honest work that came before it, and the continued work that has followed.

If you are rushing toward medical steps right now, I gently ask you to pause. Not to stop you, but to give your future self the same steady ground I eventually found.

What would “steady ground” look like for you before making any irreversible choices?