Gender Affirming Surgery
This is not something I write lightly, and it’s taken me a long time to find the words that feel true. I’m writing to share a change in direction—one that is deeply personal, quiet, and deliberate. It reflects a shift in priorities, a necessary step forward in becoming more aligned with who I am and what I need.
For most of my life, I’ve learnt to adapt, to make room for others, to carry on quietly. I’ve held parts of myself inward, sometimes out of protection, sometimes because I didn’t feel ready to ask for space or support. But I’ve reached a point where continuing to delay this next step is no longer an option. I need to move forward, and I need help to do it.
I am preparing to undergo Gender Affirming Surgery. For me, this isn’t a bold declaration or a public spectacle—it’s not about attention, or even visibility. It’s about alignment. It’s about making peace with my body, about easing a dissonance that’s lived inside me for as long as I can remember. This is not a cosmetic decision. It’s not a luxury. It is care, it is healing, and a form of survival.
That said, I want to be very clear: I am not centring this process around the surgery itself. I don’t want this moment in my life to be viewed through a sensationalised or overly clinical lens. I want to hold onto my privacy. I want to experience this transition with intention, grace, and as much ease as possible. And while I do not want to broadcast every detail of the process, I do need to open up enough to ask for support. Because I cannot do this on my own. Not financially, and not emotionally.
Gender Affirming Surgery is expensive. The costs involved—from the surgery itself, to travel, to recovery time, to time off work—are significant. The system we live in does not make this easy. In fact, it often feels as though it’s designed to wear us down, to make the idea of living authentically feel impossible or out of reach. The truth is, I’ve spent a lot of time fighting internally about whether to ask for help. It’s not easy to be vulnerable in this way, especially as I seek privacy more than ever. But I’m trying to do that now. Honestly, openly, and without shame.
If you’re reading this and you’re able to contribute financially, I would be deeply grateful. Any amount, no matter how small, makes a tangible difference. Your support would go directly toward the costs of this surgery and the necessary recovery period. But beyond the money, what I’m asking for is solidarity.
I know that many of you reading this have offered me love and understanding in so many quiet ways already. You’ve checked in, you’ve affirmed me, you’ve made space. That has never gone unnoticed. It has helped me arrive at this moment with a sense of courage, even if it’s accompanied by fear. This decision isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about becoming more myself. It’s about stepping more fully into who I’ve always been, without the weight of dysphoria clouding every thought, every movement, every moment of stillness. It’s about making it easier to breathe.
I want to be honest that I’m still carrying a lot of complicated emotions around this step—grief, anxiety, anticipation, and relief. I’m not trying to present myself as perfectly composed. I’m simply doing my best to meet this moment with honesty. This journey is mine, but like so many things, it’s shaped by the people around me—the ones who hold me up when things feel heavy. The ones who remind me that I don’t have to be loud to be seen. The ones who make it clear that even when I choose to move quietly, I am still held. This is what I’m asking for now: to be held. Not publicly, not performatively, but genuinely, in ways that offer me space to rest, to heal, and to keep going.
I’ve spent years trying to hold myself together without asking for too much. But this is a moment that requires more than what I alone can carry. And while it’s uncomfortable to ask for help, I know that asking doesn’t make me weak. It means I trust my community enough to be honest with them. So if you’ve ever wondered how to support someone like me—someone trans, someone quietly trying to live more truthfully—this is one of those moments. Not everyone has to give financially. Some people can share this, some can send a message, some can simply keep holding space. All of that matters. All of it helps.
I am not expecting to raise an enormous amount. I am simply trying to meet a real need, one that I can’t ignore any longer. Your kindness, your presence, and your care are what make this possible.
Cost Breakdown – Gender Affirming Surgery
Surgical Fees (including surgeon & anaesthetist): £8-9000
Hospital Fees (private clinic stay, equipment): £2-3000
Travel & Accommodation (consultations + surgery): £1000
Post-op Supplies (dressings, compression wear, prescriptions): £4-600
Aftercare (follow-up, counselling): £1000
Loss of Income (recovery time: 6–8 weeks): £2-3000
Total estimated: 14,400 to 17,600
I’m not sharing this to centre struggle or pain. I’m sharing it because I believe in the power of community, especially when we show up for each other in small, quiet, practical ways. This isn’t just about me. It’s about what happens when we allow people to move towards healing without shame. It’s about showing that trans people deserve access to safety, softness, and support—not just resilience.
To everyone who’s read this far, thank you. Thank you for witnessing this moment in my life. Thank you for honouring the fact that while this journey is private, it’s not something I have to face completely alone.
With sincerity and care,
P
Please consider sharing or making a donation here: https://gofund.me/b670a0cd
WRITTEN BY: P. ELDRIDGE
FOLLOW for more on Instagram: @sissyanarchy
I'm new here but, thank you so much for sharing. Your words touched me as someone working up the courage to transition myself. I hope you get what you need <3 I'm right there with you