Your first Girlmode - Surviving

So.

You have begun your HRT. The needle, the pill, the little sacrament. And now the moment presents itself—inevitable, terrifying, absurdly mundane: the first time you try to exist in the world as something closer to yourself.

It will not be neutral.

At times, it will feel almost miraculous. Like grace you didn’t earn. At others, grotesque. Exposed. As though you have miscalculated something fundamental and stepped into visibility wearing the wrong skin.

Both sensations are normal. Both will pass. Neither is the truth.

This is not a guide to perfection. That does not exist. This is, at best, an attempt at damage control. A prayer written in bullet points.

On Timing

Choose the evening.

Not out of romance—out of strategy. We are, in these early stages, creatures that benefit from softened edges. The diminishing light grants a certain generosity to perception. Details blur. Distinctions become negotiable. The world, for a few hours, stops squinting.

Avoid the theatrics of danger. Not 3 AM. Not empty streets where the only witness is a flickering streetlight. Aim instead for that narrow, tolerable window: late afternoon into early evening. Five to eight. The hour when people are tired and less inclined to stare.

Controlled environments. Preferably accompanied. A friend who knows your name, who will hold your hand in the bathroom, who will tell you you look fine, you look like you, you look like a girl even when you don’t believe it.

You are not proving anything yet. You are just practicing.

On Clothing

This is where most errors occur. Not from lack of effort—from excess of expression. The desire to finally be seen collides with the reality that being seen is exactly what you’re trying to survive.

There exists, whether we approve of it or not, a quiet grammar to femininity. Context governs it. Time, place, expectation. Your first appearance is not the moment to subvert it.

If your chosen scenario is ordinary—a market, a café, a brief outing—your clothing must cooperate with that ordinariness. You are already, by default, noticeable. Do not assist the process.

This is not about erasing style. It is about postponing it.

Dress in a way that does not invite inspection. Something adjacent to the women around you. Something that allows you to pass not as exceptional, but as unremarkable. There is safety in that. A kind of holy invisibility.

The fishnets, the theatrical silhouettes, the deliberate statements, the look at me, I’m here—they will have their time. This is not it.

This is just the rehearsal. Wear something that doesn’t make you want to cry in the dressing room. Dress like a mother

On Presentation

Restraint.

It will feel insufficient. That is expected. You will look in the mirror and see everything that’s wrong, everything that’s still there, every ghost of the boy you’re trying to bury.

Avoid excess. Avoid invention. A basic foundation is enough. Skin corrected, not transformed. Features suggested, not declared.

The goal is coherence, not spectacle. You are not constructing a face. You are negotiating one.

And remember: the mirror lies. It lies because you have trained it to. It lies because you have spent years staring at it with hatred. Give yourself a chance to be wrong about what you see.

On Conduct

This is the part people prefer to ignore. Do not.

Your safety depends less on how you look than on how you move through space. The body telegraphs. The body confesses. The body tells strangers whether you belong here or whether you are visiting.

If you are in a public setting, moderate yourself. Alcohol dulls judgment before it grants confidence. You need your judgment tonight. You need your exits.

If someone looks at you—particularly a man—do not engage. Not out of fear. Out of discipline. Ambiguity invites interpretation. Interpretation invites risk. The wrong glance, the wrong pause, the wrong hello can become a door you didn’t mean to open.

Keep interactions minimal. Controlled. A transaction. A smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. A thank you that means please leave.

On public transport, remain visible. Near exits. Near other women when possible. The herd offers a kind of protection, even if it doesn’t know it.

In unfamiliar environments, note the exits without making a ceremony of it. Let your eyes do the work your mouth doesn’t need to.

If something feels wrong, leave. Do not negotiate with discomfort. Do not apologize for leaving. Do not explain.

On Expectation

There is no such thing as a perfect first time.

You will be read incorrectly. You will be stared at. You may be questioned, silently or otherwise—the cashier who pauses too long, the man who looks at your hands, the child who asks is that a boy or a girl loud enough for everyone to hear.

The objective is not to eliminate these occurrences. It is to reduce their impact and preserve your safety.

You are not being tested. You are not being judged by a god who keeps score. You are just learning a new language, and you will stumble, and that is allowed.

On Reality

It would be irresponsible not to state this plainly.

Harassment exists. Violence exists. Violation exists.

They do not require you to be desirable. They do not require you to be careless. They require only opportunity. A dark street. An empty bus. A door that doesn’t lock.

And the most common response—despite what people like to believe, despite what the movies show—is not resistance. It is freezing. Dissociation. Compliance. The body doing what it learned to do long before you had words for it.

This is not theory. This is pattern. This is why we write field manuals.

Conclusion

This is not about suppressing who you are. It is about surviving long enough to become her comfortably.

Over time, the vigilance relaxes. The performance dissolves. You stop thinking about where to place your hands, how to hold your voice, whether to cross your legs or keep them together. You simply… exist.

Until then— be careful. Be deliberate. Be kind to the girl who is still learning how to breathe in public.

And, above all, remain intact.

The world will try to break you. Don’t help it.

Go home. Take off your clothes. Wash your face. Look in the mirror and say I did that. I survived that. I will do it again.

Because you will. Because you have to. Because there is no other way to become what you already are.

**Note: **

I was asked to write a text about my tips on how to be a woman. It was huge, so I decided to create this cumminuty. I plan to write more articles and invite everyone to share their tips as well.

Yes, I’m cynical, I’m somewhat conservative in my customs, but it’s from a good heart and with the intention of protection. They aren’t laws, they’re tips.